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The Practice And Theory Of
Bolshevism
By
Bertrand Russell
Contents
PART
I - THE PRESENT CONDITION OF RUSSIA..
I -
WHAT IS HOPED FROM BOLSHEVISM
III
- LENIN, TROTSKY AND GORKY
V -
COMMUNISM AND THE SOVIET CONSTITUTION..
VI -
THE FAILURE OF RUSSIAN INDUSTRY
I -
THE MATERIALISTIC THEORY OF HISTORY.
II -
DECIDING FORCES IN POLITICS
III
- BOLSHEVIK CRITICISM OF DEMOCRACY.
IV -
REVOLUTION AND DICTATORSHIP
V -
MECHANISM AND THE INDIVIDUAL
VII
- CONDITIONS FOR THE SUCCESS OF COMMUNISM...
The R=
ussian
Revolution is one of the great heroic events of the world's history. It is
natural to compare it to the French Revolution, but it is in fact something=
of
even more importance. It does more to change daily life and the structure of
society: it also does more to change men's beliefs. The difference is
exemplified by the difference between Marx and Rousseau: the latter sentime=
ntal
and soft, appealing to emotion, obliterating sharp outlines; the former
systematic like Hegel, full of hard intellectual content, appealing to hist=
oric
necessity and the technical development of industry, suggesting a view of h=
uman
beings as puppets in the grip of omnipotent material forces. Bolshevism
combines the characteristics of the French Revolution with those of the ris=
e of
Islam; and the result is something radically new, which can only be underst=
ood
by a patient and passionate effort of imagination.
Before entering upon any detail, I wish to sta=
te,
as clearly and unambiguously as I can, my own attitude towards this new thi=
ng.
By far the most important aspect of the Russian
Revolution is as an attempt to realize Communism. I believe that Communism =
is
necessary to the world, and I believe that the heroism of Russia has fired
men's hopes in a way which was essential to the realization of Communism in=
the
future. Regarded as a splendid attempt, without which ultimate success would
have been very improbable, Bolshevism deserves the gratitude and admiration=
of
all the progressive part of mankind.
But the method by which Moscow aims at
establishing Communism is a pioneer method, rough and dangerous, too heroic=
to
count the cost of the opposition it arouses. I do not believe that by this
method a stable or desirable form of Communism can be established. Three is=
sues
seem to me possible from the present situation. The first is the ultimate
defeat of Bolshevism by the forces of capitalism. The second is the victory=
of
the Bolshevists accompanied by a complete loss of their ideals and a régime=
of
Napoleonic imperialism. The third is a prolonged world-war, in which
civilization will go under, and all its manifestations (including Communism)
will be forgotten.
It is because I do not believe that the method=
s of
the Third International can lead to the desired goal that I have thought it=
worth
while to point out what seem to me undesirable features in the present stat=
e of
Russia. I think there are lessons to be learnt which must be learnt if the
world is ever to achieve what is desired by those in the West who have symp=
athy
with the original aims of the Bolsheviks. I do not think these lessons can =
be
learnt except by facing frankly and fully whatever elements of failure there
are in Russia. I think these elements of failure are less attributable to f=
aults
of detail than to an impatient philosophy, which aims at creating a new wor=
ld
without sufficient preparation in the opinions and feelings of ordinary men=
and
women.
But although I do not believe that Communism c=
an
be realized immediately by the spread of Bolshevism, I do believe that, if =
Bolshevism
falls, it will have contributed a legend and a heroic attempt without which
ultimate success might never have come. A fundamental economic reconstructi=
on,
bringing with it very far-reaching changes in ways of thinking and feeling,=
in
philosophy and art and private relations, seems absolutely necessary if ind=
ustrialism
is to become the servant of man instead of his master. In all this, I am at=
one
with the Bolsheviks; politically, I criticize them only when their methods =
seem
to involve a departure from their own ideals.
There is, however, another aspect of Bolshevis=
m from
which I differ more fundamentally. Bolshevism is not merely a political
doctrine; it is also a religion, with elaborate dogmas and inspired scriptu=
res.
When Lenin wishes to prove some proposition, he does so, if possible, by
quoting texts from Marx and Engels. A full-fledged Communist is not merely a
man who believes that land and capital should be held in common, and their
produce distributed as nearly equally as possible. He is a man who entertai=
ns a
number of elaborate and dogmatic beliefs--such as philosophic materialism, =
for
example--which may be true, but are not, to a scientific temper, capable of
being known to be true with any certainty. This habit, of militant certainty
about objectively doubtful matters, is one from which, since the Renaissanc=
e,
the world has been gradually emerging, into that temper of constructive and
fruitful scepticism which constitutes the scientific outlook. I believe the
scientific outlook to be immeasurably important to the human race. If a more
just economic system were only attainable by closing men's minds against fr=
ee inquiry,
and plunging them back into the intellectual prison of the middle ages, I
should consider the price too high. It cannot be denied that, over any short
period of time, dogmatic belief is a help in fighting. If all Communists be=
come
religious fanatics, while supporters of capitalism retain a sceptical tempe=
r,
it may be assumed that the Communists will win, while in the contrary case =
the capitalists
would win. It seems evident, from the attitude of the capitalist world to
Soviet Russia, of the Entente to the Central Empires, and of England to Ire=
land
and India, that there is no depth of cruelty, perfidy or brutality from whi=
ch
the present holders of power will shrink when they feel themselves threaten=
ed.
If, in order to oust them, nothing short of religious fanaticism will serve=
, it
is they who are the prime sources of the resultant evil. And it is permissi=
ble
to hope that, when they have been dispossessed, fanaticism will fade, as ot=
her
fanaticisms have faded in the past.
The present holders of power are evil men, and=
the
present manner of life is doomed. To make the transition with a minimum of
bloodshed, with a maximum of preservation of whatever has value in our exis=
ting
civilization, is a difficult problem. It is this problem which has chiefly
occupied my mind in writing the following pages. I wish I could think that =
its
solution would be facilitated by some slight degree of moderation and humane
feeling on the part of those who enjoy unjust privileges in the world as it=
is.
The present work is the outcome of a visit to
Russia, supplemented by much reading and discussion both before and after. I
have thought it best to record what I saw separately from theoretical
considerations, and I have endeavoured to state my impressions without any =
bias
for or against the Bolsheviks. I received at their hands the greatest kindn=
ess
and courtesy, and I owe them a debt of gratitude for the perfect freedom wh=
ich
they allowed me in my investigations. I am conscious that I was too short a
time in Russia to be able to form really reliable judgments; however, I sha=
re
this drawback with most other westerners who have written on Russia since t=
he
October Revolution. I feel that Bolshevism is a matter of such importance t=
hat it
is necessary, for almost every political question, to define one's attitude=
in
regard to it; and I have hopes that I may help others to define their attit=
ude,
even if only by way of opposition to what I have written.
I have received invaluable assistance from my
secretary, Miss D.W. Black, who was in Russia shortly after I had left. The
chapter on Art and Education is written by her throughout. Neither is
responsible for the other's opinions.
BERT=
RAND
RUSSELL September, 1920.
I - WHAT IS HO=
PED FROM
BOLSHEVISM
To
understand Bolshevism it is not sufficient to know facts; it is necessary a=
lso
to enter with sympathy or imagination into a new spirit. The chief thing th=
at
the Bolsheviks have done is to create a hope, or at any rate to make strong=
and
widespread a hope which was formerly confined to a few. This aspect of the
movement is as easy to grasp at a distance as it is in Russia--perhaps even
easier, because in Russia present circumstances tend to obscure the view of=
the
distant future. But the actual situation in Russia can only be understood
superficially if we forget the hope which is the motive power of the whole.=
One
might as well describe the Thebaid without mentioning that the hermits expe=
cted
eternal bliss as the reward of their sacrifices here on earth.
I cannot share the hopes of the Bolsheviks any
more than those of the Egyptian anchorites; I regard both as tragic delusio=
ns,
destined to bring upon the world centuries of darkness and futile violence.=
The
principles of the Sermon on the Mount are admirable, but their effect upon
average human nature was very different from what was intended. Those who
followed Christ did not learn to love their enemies or to turn the other ch=
eek.
They learned instead to use the Inquisition and the stake, to subject the h=
uman
intellect to the yoke of an ignorant and intolerant priesthood, to degrade =
art
and extinguish science for a thousand years. These were the inevitable resu=
lts,
not of the teaching, but of fanatical belief in the teaching. The hopes whi=
ch inspire
Communism are, in the main, as admirable as those instilled by the Sermon on
the Mount, but they are held as fanatically, and are likely to do as much h=
arm.
Cruelty lurks in our instincts, and fanaticism is a camouflage for cruelty.
Fanatics are seldom genuinely humane, and those who sincerely dread cruelty
will be slow to adopt a fanatical creed. I do not know whether Bolshevism c=
an
be prevented from acquiring universal power. But even if it cannot, I am
persuaded that those who stand out against it, not from love of ancient inj=
ustice,
but in the name of the free spirit of Man, will be the bearers of the seeds=
of
progress, from which, when the world's gestation is accomplished, new life =
will
be born.
The war has left throughout Europe a mood of
disillusionment and despair which calls aloud for a new religion, as the on=
ly
force capable of giving men the energy to live vigorously. Bolshevism has s=
upplied
the new religion. It promises glorious things: an end of the injustice of r=
ich
and poor, an end of economic slavery, an end of war. It promises an end of =
the
disunion of classes which poisons political life and threatens our industri=
al
system with destruction. It promises an end to commercialism, that subtle
falsehood that leads men to appraise everything by its money value, and to
determine money value often merely by the caprices of idle plutocrats. It
promises a world where all men and women shall be kept sane by work, and wh=
ere
all work shall be of value to the community, not only to a few wealthy vamp=
ires.
It is to sweep away listlessness and pessimism and weariness and all the
complicated miseries of those whose circumstances allow idleness and whose
energies are not sufficient to force activity. In place of palaces and hove=
ls,
futile vice and useless misery, there is to be wholesome work, enough but n=
ot
too much, all of it useful, performed by men and women who have no time for
pessimism and no occasion for despair.
The existing capitalist system is doomed. Its
injustice is so glaring that only ignorance and tradition could lead
wage-earners to tolerate it. As ignorance diminishes, tradition becomes
weakened, and the war destroyed the hold upon men's minds of everything mer=
ely
traditional. It may be that, through the influence of America, the capitali=
st system
will linger for another fifty years; but it will grow continually weaker, a=
nd
can never recover the position of easy dominance which it held in the
nineteenth century. To attempt to bolster it up is a useless diversion of
energies which might be expended upon building something new. Whether the n=
ew
thing will be Bolshevism or something else, I do not know; whether it will =
be
better or worse than capitalism, I do not know. But that a radically new or=
der
of society will emerge, I feel no doubt. And I also feel no doubt that the =
new
order will be either some form of Socialism or a reversion to barbarism and
petty war such as occurred during the barbarian invasion. If Bolshevism rem=
ains
the only vigorous and effective competitor of capitalism, I believe that no
form of Socialism will be realized, but only chaos and destruction. This be=
lief,
for which I shall give reasons later, is one of the grounds upon which I op=
pose
Bolshevism. But to oppose it from the point of view of a supporter of
capitalism would be, to my mind, utterly futile and against the movement of
history in the present age.
The effect of Bolshevism as a revolutionary ho=
pe
is greater outside Russia than within the Soviet Republic. Grim realities h=
ave
done much to kill hope among those who are subject to the dictatorship of M=
oscow.
Yet even within Russia, the Communist party, in whose hands all political p=
ower
is concentrated, still lives by hope, though the pressure of events has mad=
e the
hope severe and stern and somewhat remote. It is this hope that leads to
concentration upon the rising generation. Russian Communists often avow that
there is little hope for those who are already adult, and that happiness can
only come to the children who have grown up under the new régime and been
moulded from the first to the group-mentality that Communism requires. It i=
s only
after the lapse of a generation that they hope to create a Russia that shall
realize their vision.
In the Western World, the hope inspired by
Bolshevism is more immediate, less shot through with tragedy. Western
Socialists who have visited Russia have seen fit to suppress the harsher
features of the present régime, and have disseminated a belief among their
followers that the millennium would be quickly realized there if there were=
no war
and no blockade. Even those Socialists who are not Bolsheviks for their own
country have mostly done very little to help men in appraising the merits or
demerits of Bolshevik methods. By this lack of courage they have exposed
Western Socialism to the danger of becoming Bolshevik through ignorance of =
the
price that has to be paid and of the uncertainty as to whether the desired =
goal
will be reached in the end. I believe that the West is capable of adopting =
less
painful and more certain methods of reaching Socialism than those that have
seemed necessary in Russia. And I believe that while some forms of Socialism
are immeasurably better than capitalism, others are even worse. Among those
that are worse I reckon the form which is being achieved in Russia, not onl=
y in
itself, but as a more insuperable barrier to further progress.
In judging of Bolshevism from what is to be se=
en
in Russia at present, it is necessary to disentangle various factors which =
contribute
to a single result. To begin with, Russia is one of the nations that were d=
efeated
in the war; this has produced a set of circumstances resembling those found=
in
Germany and Austria. The food problem, for example, appears to be essential=
ly
similar in all three countries. In order to arrive at what is specifically
Bolshevik, we must first eliminate what is merely characteristic of a count=
ry
which has suffered military disaster. Next we come to factors which are
Russian, which Russian Communists share with other Russians, but not with o=
ther
Communists. There is, for example, a great deal of disorder and chaos and
waste, which shocks Westerners (especially Germans) even when they are in c=
lose
political sympathy with the Bolsheviks. My own belief is that, although, wi=
th
the exception of a few very able men, the Russian Government is less effici=
ent
in organization than the Germans or the Americans would be in similar
circumstances, yet it represents what is most efficient in Russia, and does
more to prevent chaos than any possible alternative government would do. Ag=
ain,
the intolerance and lack of liberty which has been inherited from the Tsari=
st
régime is probably to be regarded as Russian rather than Communist. If a Co=
mmunist
Party were to acquire power in England, it would probably be met by a less
irresponsible opposition, and would be able to show itself far more tolerant
than any government can hope to be in Russia if it is to escape assassinati=
on.
This, however, is a matter of degree. A great part of the despotism which
characterizes the Bolsheviks belongs to the essence of their social philoso=
phy,
and would have to be reproduced, even if in a milder form, wherever that ph=
ilosophy
became dominant.
It is customary among the apologists of Bolshe=
vism
in the West to excuse its harshness on the ground that it has been produced=
by
the necessity of fighting the Entente and its mercenaries. Undoubtedly it is
true that this necessity has produced many of the worst elements in the pre=
sent
state of affairs. Undoubtedly, also, the Entente has incurred a heavy load =
of
guilt by its peevish and futile opposition. But the expectation of such
opposition was always part of Bolshevik theory. A general hostility to the
first Communist State was both foreseen and provoked by the doctrine of the
class war. Those who adopt the Bolshevik standpoint must reckon with the
embittered hostility of capitalist States; it is not worth while to adopt B=
olshevik
methods unless they can lead to good in spite of this hostility. To say that
capitalists are wicked and we have no responsibility for their acts is
unscientific; it is, in particular, contrary to the Marxian doctrine of
economic determinism. The evils produced in Russia by the enmity of the Ent=
ente
are therefore to be reckoned as essential in the Bolshevik method of transi=
tion
to Communism, not as specially Russian. I am not sure that we cannot even g=
o a
step further. The exhaustion and misery caused by unsuccessful war were
necessary to the success of the Bolsheviks; a prosperous population will not
embark by such methods upon a fundamental economic reconstruction. One can
imagine England becoming Bolshevik after an unsuccessful war involving the =
loss
of India--no improbable contingency in the next few years. But at present t=
he
average wage-earner in England will not risk what he has for the doubtful g=
ain of
a revolution. A condition of widespread misery may, therefore, be taken as
indispensable to the inauguration of Communism, unless, indeed, it were
possible to establish Communism more or less peacefully, by methods which w=
ould
not, even temporarily, destroy the economic life of the country. If the hop=
es
which inspired Communism at the start, and which still inspire its Western
advocates, are ever to be realized, the problem of minimizing violence in t=
he
transition must be faced. Unfortunately, violence is in itself delightful to
most really vigorous revolutionaries, and they feel no interest in the prob=
lem
of avoiding it as far as possible. Hatred of enemies is easier and more int=
ense
than love of friends. But from men who are more anxious to injure opponents
than to benefit the world at large no great good is to be expected.
I ent=
ered
Soviet Russia on May 11th and recrossed the frontier on June 16th. The Russ=
ian
authorities only admitted me on the express condition that I should travel =
with
the British Labour Delegation, a condition with which I was naturally very
willing to comply, and which that Delegation kindly allowed me to fulfil. We
were conveyed from the frontier to Petrograd, as well as on subsequent
journeys, in a special train de luxe; covered with mottoes about the Social
Revolution and the Proletariat of all countries; we were received everywher=
e by
regiments of soldiers, with the Internationale being played on the regiment=
al
band while civilians stood bare-headed and soldiers at the salute;
congratulatory orations were made by local leaders and answered by prominent
Communists who accompanied us; the entrances to the carriages were guarded =
by
magnificent Bashkir cavalry-men in resplendent uniforms; in short, everythi=
ng
was done to make us feel like the Prince of Wales. Innumerable functions we=
re
arranged for us: banquets, public meetings, military reviews, etc.
The assumption was that we had come to testify=
to
the solidarity of British Labour with Russian Communism, and on that assump=
tion
the utmost possible use was made of us for Bolshevik propaganda. We, on the
other hand, desired to ascertain what we could of Russian conditions and Ru=
ssian
methods of government, which was impossible in the atmosphere of a royal
progress. Hence arose an amicable contest, degenerating at times into a gam=
e of
hide and seek: while they assured us how splendid the banquet or parade was
going to be, we tried to explain how much we should prefer a quiet walk in =
the
streets. I, not being a member of the Delegation, felt less obligation than=
my companions
did to attend at propaganda meetings where one knew the speeches by heart
beforehand. In this way, I was able, by the help of neutral interpreters,
mostly English or American, to have many conversations with casual people w=
hom
I met in the streets or on village greens, and to find out how the whole sy=
stem
appears to the ordinary non-political man and woman. The first five days we
spent in Petrograd, the next eleven in Moscow. During this time we were liv=
ing in
daily contact with important men in the Government, so that we learned the
official point of view without difficulty. I saw also what I could of the i=
ntellectuals
in both places. We were all allowed complete freedom to see politicians of
opposition parties, and we naturally made full use of this freedom. We saw
Mensheviks, Social Revolutionaries of different groups, and Anarchists; we =
saw
them without the presence of any Bolsheviks, and they spoke freely after th=
ey
had overcome their initial fears. I had an hour's talk with Lenin, virtually
tête-à-tête; I met Trotsky, though only in company; I spent a night in the
country with Kamenev; and I saw a great deal of other men who, though less
known outside Russia, are of considerable importance in the Government.
At the end of our time in Moscow we all felt a
desire to see something of the country, and to get in touch with the peasan=
ts,
since they form about 85 per cent, of the population. The Government showed=
the
greatest kindness in meeting our wishes, and it was decided that we should
travel down the Volga from Nijni Novgorod to Saratov, stopping at many plac=
es,
large and small, and talking freely with the inhabitants. I found this part=
of
the time extraordinarily instructive. I learned to know more than I should =
have
thought possible of the life and outlook of peasants, village schoolmasters=
, small
Jew traders, and all kinds of people. Unfortunately, my friend, Clifford Al=
len,
fell ill, and my time was much taken up with him. This had, however, one go=
od
result, namely, that I was able to go on with the boat to Astrakhan, as he =
was
too ill to be moved off it. This not only gave me further knowledge of the
country, but made me acquainted with Sverdlov, Acting Minister of Transport,
who was travelling on the boat to organize the movement of oil from Baku up=
the
Volga, and who was one of the ablest as well as kindest people whom I met in
Russia.
One of the first things that I discovered after
passing the Red Flag which marks the frontier of Soviet Russia, amid a deso=
late
region of marsh, pine wood, and barbed wire entanglements, was the profound=
difference
between the theories of actual Bolsheviks and the version of those theories
current among advanced Socialists in this country. Friends of Russia here t=
hink
of the dictatorship of the proletariat as merely a new form of representati=
ve
government, in which only working men and women have votes, and the
constituencies are partly occupational, not geographical. They think that
"proletariat" means "proletariat," but
"dictatorship" does not quite mean "dictatorship." This=
is
the opposite of the truth. When a Russian Communist speaks of dictatorship,=
he
means the word literally, but when he speaks of the proletariat, he means t=
he
word in a Pickwickian sense. He means the "class-conscious" part =
of
the proletariat, i.e., the Communist Party.[1] He includes people by no mea=
ns
proletarian (such as Lenin and Tchicherin) who have the right opinions, and=
he
excludes such wage-earners as have not the right opinions, whom he classifi=
es
as lackeys of the bourgeoisie. The Communist who sincerely believes the par=
ty
creed is convinced that private property is the root of all evil; he is so
certain of this that he shrinks from no measures, however harsh, which seem
necessary for constructing and preserving the Communist State. He spares
himself as little as he spares others. He works sixteen hours a day, and
foregoes his Saturday half-holiday. He volunteers for any difficult or
dangerous work which needs to be done, such as clearing away piles of infec=
ted
corpses left by Kolchak or Denikin. In spite of his position of power and h=
is
control of supplies, he lives an austere life. He is not pursuing personal
ends, but aiming at the creation of a new social order. The same motives, h=
owever,
which make him austere make him also ruthless. Marx has taught that Communi=
sm
is fatally predestined to come about; this fits in with the Oriental traits=
in the
Russian character, and produces a state of mind not unlike that of the early
successors of Mahomet. Opposition is crushed without mercy, and without
shrinking from the methods of the Tsarist police, many of whom are still
employed at their old work. Since all evils are due to private property, the
evils of the Bolshevik régime while it has to fight private property will a=
utomatically
cease as soon as it has succeeded.
These views are the familiar consequences of
fanatical belief. To an English mind they reinforce the conviction upon whi=
ch
English life has been based ever since 1688, that kindliness and tolerance =
are
worth all the creeds in the world--a view which, it is true, we do not appl=
y to
other nations or to subject races.
In a very novel society it is natural to seek =
for
historical parallels. The baser side of the present Russian Government is m=
ost nearly
paralleled by the Directoire in France, but on its better side it is closely
analogous to the rule of Cromwell. The sincere Communists (and all the older
members of the party have proved their sincerity by years of persecution) a=
re
not unlike the Puritan soldiers in their stern politico-moral purpose.
Cromwell's dealings with Parliament are not unlike Lenin's with the Constit=
uent
Assembly. Both, starting from a combination of democracy and religious fait=
h, were
driven to sacrifice democracy to religion enforced by military dictatorship.
Both tried to compel their countries to live at a higher level of morality =
and
effort than the population found tolerable. Life in modern Russia, as in
Puritan England, is in many ways contrary to instinct. And if the Bolsheviks
ultimately fall, it will be for the reason for which the Puritans fell: bec=
ause
there comes a point at which men feel that amusement and ease are worth more
than all other goods put together.
Far closer than any actual historical parallel=
is
the parallel of Plato's Republic. The Communist Party corresponds to the
guardians; the soldiers have about the same status in both; there is in Rus=
sia an
attempt to deal with family life more or less as Plato suggested. I suppose=
it
may be assumed that every teacher of Plato throughout the world abhors
Bolshevism, and that every Bolshevik regards Plato as an antiquated bourgeo=
is.
Nevertheless, the parallel is extraordinarily exact between Plato's Republic
and the régime which the better Bolsheviks are endeavouring to create.
Bolshevism is internally aristocratic and
externally militant. The Communists in many ways resemble the British
public-school type: they have all the good and bad traits of an aristocracy
which is young and vital. They are courageous, energetic, capable of comman=
d,
always ready to serve the State; on the other hand, they are dictatorial, l=
acking
in ordinary consideration for the plebs. They are practically the sole
possessors of power, and they enjoy innumerable advantages in consequence. =
Most
of them, though far from luxurious, have better food than other people. Only
people of some political importance can obtain motor-cars or telephones.
Permits for railway journeys, for making purchases at the Soviet stores (wh=
ere
prices are about one-fiftieth of what they are in the market), for going to=
the
theatre, and so on, are, of course, easier to obtain for the friends of tho=
se
in power than for ordinary mortals. In a thousand ways, the Communists have=
a life
which is happier than that of the rest of the community. Above all, they are
less exposed to the unwelcome attentions of the police and the extraordinary
commission.
The Communist theory of international affairs =
is
exceedingly simple. The revolution foretold by Marx, which is to abolish
capitalism throughout the world, happened to begin in Russia, though Marxia=
n theory
would seem to demand that it should begin in America. In countries where the
revolution has not yet broken out, the sole duty of a Communist is to hasten
its advent. Agreements with capitalist States can only be make-shifts, and =
can
never amount on either side to a sincere peace. No real good can come to any
country without a bloody revolution: English Labour men may fancy that a
peaceful evolution is possible, but they will find their mistake. Lenin tol=
d me
that he hopes to see a Labour Government in England, and would wish his sup=
porters
to work for it, but solely in order that the futility of Parliamentarism ma=
y be
conclusively demonstrated to the British working man. Nothing will do any r=
eal
good except the arming of the proletariat and the disarming of the bourgeoi=
sie.
Those who preach anything else are social traitors or deluded fools.
For my part, after weighing this theory carefu=
lly,
and after admitting the whole of its indictment of bourgeois capitalism, I =
find
myself definitely and strongly opposed to it. The Third International is an=
organization
which exists to promote the class-war and to hasten the advent of revolution
everywhere. My objection is not that capitalism is less bad than the Bolshe=
viks
believe, but that Socialism is less good, not in its best form, but in the =
only
form which is likely to be brought about by war. The evils of war, especial=
ly
of civil war, are certain and very great; the gains to be achieved by victo=
ry
are problematical. In the course of a desperate struggle, the heritage of c=
ivilization
is likely to be lost, while hatred, suspicion, and cruelty become normal in=
the
relations of human beings. In order to succeed in war, a concentration of p=
ower
is necessary, and from concentration of power the very same evils flow as f=
rom
the capitalist concentration of wealth. For these reasons chiefly, I cannot
support any movement which aims at world revolution. The damage to civiliza=
tion
done by revolution in one country may be repaired by the influence of anoth=
er
in which there has been no revolution; but in a universal cataclysm
civilization might go under for a thousand years. But while I cannot advoca=
te
world revolution, I cannot escape from the conclusion that the Governments =
of
the leading capitalist countries are doing everything to bring it about. Ab=
use
of our power against Germany, Russia, and India (to say nothing of any other
countries) may well bring about our downfall, and produce those very evils
which the enemies of Bolshevism most dread.
The true Communist is thoroughly international.
Lenin, for example, so far as I could judge, is not more concerned with the
interests of Russia than with those of other countries; Russia is, at the
moment, the protagonist of the social revolution, and, as such, valuable to=
the
world, but Lenin would sacrifice Russia rather than the revolution, if the =
alternative
should ever arise. This is the orthodox attitude, and is no doubt genuine in
many of the leaders. But nationalism is natural and instinctive; through pr=
ide
in the revolution, it grows again even in the breasts of Communists. Throug=
h the
Polish war, the Bolsheviks have acquired the support of national feeling, a=
nd
their position in the country has been immensely strengthened.
The only time I saw Trotsky was at the Opera in
Moscow. The British Labour Delegation were occupying what had been the Tsar=
's
box. After speaking with us in the ante-chamber, he stepped to the front of=
the
box and stood with folded arms while the house cheered itself hoarse. Then =
he
spoke a few sentences, short and sharp, with military precision, winding up=
by
calling for "three cheers for our brave fellows at the front," to
which the audience responded as a London audience would have responded in t=
he
autumn of 1914. Trotsky and the Red Army undoubtedly now have behind them a
great body of nationalist sentiment. The reconquest of Asiatic Russia has e=
ven
revived what is essentially an imperialist way of feeling, though this woul=
d be
indignantly repudiated by many of those in whom I seemed to detect it. Expe=
rience
of power is inevitably altering Communist theories, and men who control a v=
ast
governmental machine can hardly have quite the same outlook on life as they=
had
when they were hunted fugitives. If the Bolsheviks remain in power, it is m=
uch
to be feared that their Communism will fade, and that they will increasingly
resemble any other Asiatic Government--for example, our own Government in
India.
Soon =
after
my arrival in Moscow I had an hour's conversation with Lenin in English, wh=
ich
he speaks fairly well. An interpreter was present, but his services were
scarcely required. Lenin's room is very bare; it contains a big desk, some =
maps
on the walls, two book-cases, and one comfortable chair for visitors in
addition to two or three hard chairs. It is obvious that he has no love of
luxury or even comfort. He is very friendly, and apparently simple, entirely
without a trace of hauteur. If one met him without knowing who he was, one =
would
not guess that he is possessed of great power or even that he is in any way
eminent. I have never met a personage so destitute of self-importance. He l=
ooks
at his visitors very closely, and screws up one eye, which seems to increase
alarmingly the penetrating power of the other. He laughs a great deal; at f=
irst
his laugh seems merely friendly and jolly, but gradually I came to feel it
rather grim. He is dictatorial, calm, incapable of fear, extraordinarily de=
void
of self-seeking, an embodied theory. The materialist conception of history,=
one
feels, is his life-blood. He resembles a professor in his desire to have th=
e theory
understood and in his fury with those who misunderstand or disagree, as als=
o in
his love of expounding, I got the impression that he despises a great many
people and is an intellectual aristocrat.
The first question I asked him was as to how f=
ar
he recognized the peculiarity of English economic and political conditions?=
I
was anxious to know whether advocacy of violent revolution is an indispensa=
ble
condition of joining the Third International, although I did not put this
question directly because others were asking it officially. His answer was
unsatisfactory to me. He admitted that there is little chance of revolution=
in
England now, and that the working man is not yet disgusted with Parliamenta=
ry
government. But he hopes that this result may be brought about by a Labour
Ministry. He thinks that, if Mr. Henderson, for instance, were to become Pr=
ime Minister,
nothing of importance would be done; organized Labour would then, so he hop=
es
and believes, turn to revolution. On this ground, he wishes his supporters =
in
this country to do everything in their power to secure a Labour majority in
Parliament; he does not advocate abstention from Parliamentary contests, but
participation with a view to making Parliament obviously contemptible. The
reasons which make attempts at violent revolution seem to most of us both
improbable and undesirable in this country carry no weight with him, and se=
em
to him mere bourgeois prejudices. When I suggested that whatever is possibl=
e in
England can be achieved without bloodshed, he waved aside the suggestion as
fantastic. I got little impression of knowledge or psychological imaginatio=
n as
regards Great Britain. Indeed the whole tendency of Marxianism is against
psychological imagination, since it attributes everything in politics to pu=
rely
material causes.
I asked him next whether he thought it possibl=
e to
establish Communism firmly and fully in a country containing such a large
majority of peasants. He admitted that it was difficult, and laughed over t=
he exchange
the peasant is compelled to make, of food for paper; the worthlessness of
Russian paper struck him as comic. But he said--what is no doubt true--that
things will right themselves when there are goods to offer to the peasant. =
For
this he looks partly to electrification in industry, which, he says, is a
technical necessity in Russia, but will take ten years to complete.[2] He s=
poke
with enthusiasm, as they all do, of the great scheme for generating electri=
cal
power by means of peat. Of course he looks to the raising of the blockade as
the only radical cure; but he was not very hopeful of this being achieved
thoroughly or permanently except through revolutions in other countries. Pe=
ace
between Bolshevik Russia and capitalist countries, he said, must always be
insecure; the Entente might be led by weariness and mutual dissensions to
conclude peace, but he felt convinced that the peace would be of brief
duration. I found in him, as in almost all leading Communists, much less
eagerness than existed in our delegation for peace and the raising of the b=
lockade.
He believes that nothing of real value can be achieved except through world
revolution and the abolition of capitalism; I felt that he regarded the
resumption of trade with capitalist countries as a mere palliative of doubt=
ful
value.
He described the division between rich and poor peasants, and the Government propaganda among the latter against the former, leading to acts of violence which he seemed to find amusing. He spoke as th= ough the dictatorship over the peasant would have to continue a long time, becau= se of the peasant's desire for free trade. He said he knew from statistics (wh= at I can well believe) that the peasants have had more to eat these last two yea= rs than they ever had before, "and yet they are against us," he adde= d a little wistfully. I asked him what to reply to critics who say that in the country he has merely created peasant proprietorship, not Communism; he rep= lied that that is not quite the truth, but he did not say what the truth is.[3]<= o:p>
The last question I asked him was whether
resumption of trade with capitalist countries, if it took place, would not
create centres of capitalist influence, and make the preservation of Commun=
ism
more difficult? It had seemed to me that the more ardent Communists might w=
ell
dread commercial intercourse with the outer world, as leading to an
infiltration of heresy, and making the rigidity of the present system almost
impossible. I wished to know whether he had such a feeling. He admitted that
trade would create difficulties, but said they would be less than those of =
the
war. He said that two years ago neither he nor his colleagues thought they
could survive against the hostility of the world. He attributes their survi=
val
to the jealousies and divergent interests of the different capitalist natio=
ns;
also to the power of Bolshevik propaganda. He said the Germans had laughed =
when
the Bolsheviks proposed to combat guns with leaflets, but that the event had
proved the leaflets quite as powerful. I do not think he recognizes that the
Labour and Socialist parties have had any part in the matter. He does not s=
eem
to know that the attitude of British Labour has done a great deal to make a
first-class war against Russia impossible, since it has confined the Govern=
ment
to what could be done in a hole-and-corner way, and denied without a too
blatant mendacity.
He thoroughly enjoys the attacks of Lord
Northcliffe, to whom he wishes to send a medal for Bolshevik propaganda.
Accusations of spoliation, he remarked, may shock the bourgeois, but have a=
n opposite
effect upon the proletarian.
I think if I had met him without knowing who he
was, I should not have guessed that he was a great man; he struck me as too
opinionated and narrowly orthodox. His strength comes, I imagine, from his
honesty, courage, and unwavering faith--religious faith in the Marxian gosp=
el, which
takes the place of the Christian martyr's hopes of Paradise, except that it=
is
less egotistical. He has as little love of liberty as the Christians who
suffered under Diocletian, and retaliated when they acquired power. Perhaps
love of liberty is incompatible with whole-hearted belief in a panacea for =
all
human ills. If so, I cannot but rejoice in the sceptical temper of the West=
ern
world. I went to Russia a Communist; but contact with those who have no dou=
bts
has intensified a thousandfold my own doubts, not as to Communism in itself,
but as to the wisdom of holding a creed so firmly that for its sake men are
willing to inflict widespread misery.
Trotsky, whom the Communists do not by any mea=
ns
regard as Lenin's equal, made more impression upon me from the point of vie=
w of
intelligence and personality, though not of character. I saw too little of =
him,
however, to have more than a very superficial impression. He has bright eye=
s, military
bearing, lightning intelligence and magnetic personality. He is very
good-looking, with admirable wavy hair; one feels he would be irresistible =
to
women. I felt in him a vein of gay good humour, so long as he was not cross=
ed in
any way. I thought, perhaps wrongly, that his vanity was even greater than =
his
love of power--the sort of vanity that one associates with an artist or act=
or.
The comparison with Napoleon was forced upon one. But I had no means of
estimating the strength of his Communist conviction, which may be very sinc=
ere
and profound.
An extraordinary contrast to both these men was
Gorky, with whom I had a brief interview in Petrograd. He was in bed,
apparently very ill and obviously heart-broken. He begged me, in anything I
might say about Russia, always to emphasize what Russia has suffered. He
supports the Government--as I should do, if I were a Russian--not because he
thinks it faultless, but because the possible alternatives are worse. One f=
elt
in him a love of the Russian people which makes their present martyrdom alm=
ost
unbearable, and prevents the fanatical faith by which the pure Marxians are
upheld. I felt him the most lovable, and to me the most sympathetic, of all=
the
Russians I saw. I wished for more knowledge of his outlook, but he spoke wi=
th
difficulty and was constantly interrupted by terrible fits of coughing, so =
that
I could not stay. All the intellectuals whom I met--a class who have suffer=
ed terribly--expressed
their gratitude to him for what he has done on their behalf. The materialis=
tic
conception of history is all very well, but some care for the higher things=
of
civilization is a relief. The Bolsheviks are sometimes said to have done gr=
eat
things for art, but I could not discover that they had done more than prese=
rve something
of what existed before. When I questioned one of them on the subject, he gr=
ew
impatient, and said: "We haven't time for a new art, any more than for=
a
new religion." Unavoidably, although the Government favours art as muc=
h as
it can, the atmosphere is one in which art cannot flourish, because art is
anarchic and resistant to organization. Gorky has done all that one man cou=
ld
to preserve the intellectual and artistic life of Russia. I feared that he =
was
dying, and that, perhaps, it was dying too. But he recovered, and I hope it=
will
recover also.
It has
often been said that, whatever the inadequacy of Bolshevik organization in
other fields, in art and in education at least they have made great progres=
s.
To take first of all art: it is true that they
began by recognizing, as perhaps no other revolutionary government would, t=
he
importance and spontaneity of the artistic impulse, and therefore while the=
y controlled
or destroyed the counter-revolutionary in all other social activities, they
allowed the artist, whatever his political creed, complete freedom to conti=
nue
his work. Moreover, as regards clothing and rations they treated him especi=
ally
well. This, and the care devoted to the upkeep of churches, public monument=
s,
and museums, are well-known facts, to which there has already been ample
testimony.
The preservation of the old artistic community
practically intact was the more remarkable in view of the pronounced sympat=
hy
of most of them with the old régime. The theory, however, was that art and
politics belonged to two separate realms; but great honour would of course =
be the
portion of those artists who would be inspired by the revolution.
Three years' experience, however, have proved =
the
falsity of this doctrine and led to a divorce between art and popular feeli=
ng
which a sensitive observer cannot fail to remark. It is glaringly apparent =
in the
hitherto most vital of all Russian arts, the theatre. The artists have
continued to perform the old classics in tragedy or comedy, and the old-sty=
le
operette. The theatre programmes have remained the same for the last two ye=
ars,
and, but for the higher standard of artistic performance, might belong to t=
he
theatres of Paris or London. As one sits in the theatre, one is so acutely =
conscious
of the discrepancy between the daily life of the audience and that depicted=
in
the play that the latter seems utterly dead and meaningless. To some of the=
more
fiery Communists it appears that a mistake has been made. They complain that
bourgeois art is being preserved long after its time, they accuse the artis=
ts
of showing contempt for their public, of being as untouched by the
revolutionary mood as an elderly bourgeoise bewailing the loss of her perso=
nal
comfort; they would like to see only the revolutionary mood embodied in art,
and to achieve this would make a clean sweep, enforcing the writing and
performance of nothing but revolutionary plays and the painting of
revolutionary pictures. Nor can it be argued that they are wrong as to the
facts: it is plain that the preservation of the old artistic tradition has =
served
very little purpose; but on the other hand it is equally plain that an arti=
st
cannot be drilled like a military recruit. There is, fortunately, no sign t=
hat
these tactics will be directly adopted, but in an indirect fashion they are
already being applied. An artist is not to blame if his temperament leads h=
im
to draw cartoons of leading Bolsheviks, or satirize the various comical
aspects--and they are many--of the Soviet régime. To force such a man, howe=
ver,
to turn his talent only against Denikin, Yudenitch and Kolchak, or the lead=
ers
of the Entente, is momentarily good for Communism, but it is discouraging to
the artist, and may prove in the long run bad for art, and possibly for Com=
munism
also. It is plain from the religious nature of Communism in Russia, that su=
ch
controlling of the impulse to artistic creation is inevitable, and that
propaganda art alone can flourish in such an atmosphere. For example, no po=
etry
or literature that is not orthodox will reach the printing press. It is so =
easy
to make the excuse of lack of paper and the urgent need for manifestoes. Th=
us
there may well come to be a repetition of the attitude of the mediæval Chur=
ch
to the sagas and legends of the people, except that, in this case, it is the
folk tales which will be preserved, and the more sensitive and civilized
products banned. The only poet who seems to be much spoken of at present in
Russia is one who writes rough popular songs. There are revolutionary odes,=
but
one may hazard a guess that they resemble our patriotic war poetry.
I said that this state of affairs may in the l=
ong
run be bad for art, but the contrary may equally well prove to be the truth=
. It
is of course discouraging and paralysing to the old-style artist, and it is=
death
to the old individual art which depended on subtlety and oddity of temperam=
ent,
and arose very largely from the complicated psychology of the idle. There it
stands, this old art, the purest monument to the nullity of the art-for-art=
's-sake
doctrine, like a rich exotic plant of exquisite beauty, still apparently in=
its
glory, till one perceives that the roots are cut, and that leaf by leaf it =
is
gradually fading away.
But, unlike the Puritans in this respect, the
Bolsheviks have not sought to dig up the roots, and there are signs that the
paralysis is merely temporary. Moreover, individual art is not the only for=
m,
and in particular the plastic arts have shown that they can live by mass ac=
tion,
and flourish under an intolerant faith. Communist artists of the future may
erect public buildings surpassing in beauty the mediæval churches, they may
paint frescoes, organize pageants, make Homeric songs about their heroes.
Communist art will begin, and is beginning now, in the propaganda pictures,=
and
stories such as those designed for peasants and children. There is, for
instance, a kind of Rake's Progress or "How she became a Communist,&qu=
ot;
in which the Entente leaders make a sorry and grotesque appearance. Lenin a=
nd
Trotsky already figure in woodcuts as Moses and Aaron, deliverers of their =
people,
while the mother and child who illustrate the statistics of the maternity
exhibition have the grace and beauty of mediæval madonnas. Russia is only n=
ow
emerging from the middle ages, and the Church tradition in painting is pass=
ing
with incredible smoothness into the service of Communist doctrine. These
pictures have, too, an oriental flavour: there are brown Madonnas in the
Russian churches, and such an one illustrates the statistics of infant
mortality in India, while the Russian mother, broad-footed, in gay petticoat
and kerchief, sits in a starry meadow suckling her baby from a very ample w=
hite
breast. I think that this movement towards the Church tradition may be
unconscious and instinctive, and would perhaps be deplored by many Communis=
ts,
for whom grandiose bad Rodin statuary and the crudity of cubism better expr=
ess
what they mean by revolution. But this revolution is Russian and not French,
and its art, if all goes well, should inevitably bear the popular Russian
stamp. It is would-be primitive and popular art that is vulgar. Such at lea=
st
is the reflection engendered by an inspection of Russian peasant work as co=
mpared
with the spirit of Children's Tales.
The Russian peasant's artistic impulse is no
legend. Besides the carving and embroidery which speak eloquently to peasant
skill, one observes many instances in daily life. He will climb down, when =
his slowly-moving
train stops by the wayside, to gather branches and flowers with which he wi=
ll
decorate the railway carriage both inside and out, he will work willingly at
any task which has beauty for its object, and was all too prone under the o=
ld
régime to waste his time and his employer's material in fashioning small me=
tal
or wooden objects with his hands.
If the bourgeois tradition then will not serve,
there is a popular tradition which is still live and passionate and which m=
ay
perhaps persist. Unhappily it has a formidable enemy in the organization an=
d development
of industry, which is far more dangerous to art than Communist doctrine.
Indeed, industry in its early stages seems everywhere doomed to be the enem=
y of
beauty and instinctive life. One might hope that this would not prove to be=
so
in Russia, the first Socialist State, as yet unindustrial, able to draw on =
the
industrial experience of the whole world, were it not that one discovers wi=
th a
certain misgiving in the Bolshevik leaders the rasping arid temperament of
those to whom the industrial machine is an end in itself, and, in addition,
reflects that these industrially minded men have as yet no practical
experience, nor do there exist men of goodwill to help them. It does not se=
em
reasonable to hope that Russia can pass through the period of industrializa=
tion
without a good deal of mismanagement, involving waste resulting in too long
hours, child labour and other evils with which the West is all too familiar.
What the Bolsheviks would not therefore willingly do to art, the Juggernaut=
which
they are bent on setting in motion may accomplish for them.
The next generation in Russia will have to con=
sist
of practical hard-working men, the old-style artists will die off and
successors will not readily arise. A State which is struggling with economi=
c difficulties
is bound to be slow to admit an artistic vocation, since this involves
exemption from practical work. Moreover the majority of minds always turn
instinctively to the real need of the moment. A man therefore who is adapte=
d by
talent and temperament to becoming an opera singer, will under the pressure=
of
Communist enthusiasm and Government encouragement turn his attention to
economics. (I am here quoting an actual instance.) The whole Russian people=
at
this stage in their development strike one as being forced by the logic of
their situation to make a similar choice.
It may be all to the good that there should be
fewer professional artists, since some of the finest work has been done by =
men
and groups of men to whom artistic expression was only a pastime. They were=
not
hampered by the solemnity and reverence for art which too often destroy the
spontaneity of the professional. Indeed a revival of this attitude to art is
one of the good results which may be hoped for from a Communist revolution =
in a
more advanced industrial community. There the problem of education will be =
to
stimulate the creative impulses towards art and science so that men may know
how to employ their leisure hours. Work in the factory can never be made to
provide an adequate outlet. The only hope, if men are to remain human being=
s under
industrialism, is to reduce hours to the minimum. But this is only possible
when production and organization are highly efficient, which will not be the
case for a long time in Russia. Hence not only does it appear that the numb=
er
of artists will grow less, but that the number of people undamaged in their
artistic impulses and on that account able to create or appreciate as amate=
urs
is likely to be deplorably small. It is in this damaging effect of industry=
on
human instinct that the immediate danger to art in Russia lies.
The effect of industry on the crafts is quite
obvious. A craftsman who is accustomed to work with his hands, following the
tradition developed by his ancestors, is useless when brought face to face =
with
a machine. And the man who can handle the machine will only be concerned wi=
th
quantity and utility in the first instance. Only gradually do the claims of
beauty come to be recognized. Compare the modern motor car with the first of
its species, or even, since the same law seems to operate in nature, the
prehistoric animal with its modern descendant. The same relation exists bet=
ween
them as between man and the ape, or the horse and the hipparion. The moveme=
nt
of life seems to be towards ever greater delicacy and complexity, and man c=
arries
it forward in the articles that he makes and the society that he develops.
Industry is a new tool, difficult to handle, but it will produce just as
beautiful objects as did the mediæval builder and craftsman, though not unt=
il
it has been in being for a long time and belongs to tradition.
One may expect, therefore, that while the craf=
ts
in Russia will lose in artistic value, the drama, sculpture and painting and
all those arts which have nothing to do with the machine and depend entirel=
y upon
mental and spiritual inspiration will receive an impetus from the Communist
faith. Whether the flowering period will be long or short depends partly on=
the
political situation, but chiefly on the rapidity of industrial development.=
It
may be that the machine will ultimately conquer the Communist faith and gri=
nd
out the human impulses, and Russia become during this transition period as
inartistic and soulless as was America until quite recent years. One would =
like
to hope that mechanical progress will be swift and social idealism sufficie=
ntly
strong to retain control. But the practical difficulties are almost insuper=
able.
Such signs of the progress of art as it is
possible to notice at this early stage would seem to bear out the above
argument. For instance, an attempt is being made to foster the continuation=
of
peasant embroidery, carving, &c., in the towns. It is done by people who
have evidently lost the tradition already. They are taught to copy the mode=
ls
which are placed in the Peasant Museum, but there is no comparison between =
the
live little wooden lady who smiles beneath the glass case, and the soulless
staring-eyed creature who is offered for sale, nor between the quite ordina=
ry
carved fowl one may buy and the amusing life-like figure one may merely gaze
at.
But when one comes to art directly inspired by
Communism it is a different story. Apart from the propaganda pictures alrea=
dy
referred to, there are propaganda plays performed by the Red Army in its sp=
are moments,
and there are the mass pageant plays performed on State occasions. I had the
good fortune to witness one of each kind.
The play was called Zarevo (The Dawn), and was
performed on a Saturday night on a small stage in a small hall in an entire=
ly
amateur fashion. It represented Russian life just before the revolution. It=
was
intense and tragic and passionately acted. Dramatic talent is not rare in
Russia. Almost the only comic relief was provided by the Tsarist police, who
made one appearance towards the end, got up like comic military characters =
in a
musical comedy--just as, in mediæval miracle plays, the comic character was
Satan. The play's intention was to show a typical Russian working-class fam=
ily.
There were the old father, constantly drunk on vodka, alternately maudlin a=
nd
scolding; the old mother; two sons, the one a Communist and the other an An=
archist;
the wife of the Communist, who did dressmaking; her sister, a prostitute; a=
nd a
young girl of bourgeois family, also a Communist, involved in a plot with t=
he
Communist son, who was of course the hero of the play.
The first act revealed the stern and heroic
Communist maintaining his views despite the reproaches of father and mother=
and
the nagging of his wife. It showed also the Anarchist brother (as might be
expected from the Bolshevik hostility to Anarchism) as an unruly, lazy, ne'=
er-do-well,
with a passionate love for Sonia, the young bourgeoise, which was likely to
become dangerous if not returned. She, on the other hand, obviously preferr=
ed
the Communist. It was clear that he returned her love, but it was not quite
clear that he would wish the relation to be anything more than platonic
comradeship in the service of their common ideal. An unsuccessful strike,
bringing want and danger from the police, together with increasing jealousy=
on the
part of the Anarchist, led up to the tragic dénouement. I was not quite
definite as to how this was brought about. All violent action was performed=
off
the stage, and this made the plot at times difficult to follow. But it seem=
ed
that the Anarchist in a jealous rage forged a letter from his brother to br=
ing
Sonia to a rendezvous, and there murdered her, at the same time betraying h=
is
brother to the police. When the latter came to effect his arrest, and accuse
him also, as the most likely person, of the murder, the Anarchist was seized
with remorse and confessed. Both were therefore led away together. Once the=
plot
is sketched, the play calls for no comment. It had not great merit, though =
it
is unwise to hazard a judgment on a play whose dialogue was not fully
interpreted, but it was certainly real, and the link between audience and
performers was established as it never seemed to be in the professional
theatre. After the performance, the floor was cleared for dancing, and the
audience were in a mood of thorough enjoyment.
The pageant of the "World Commune,"
which was performed at the opening of the Third International Congress in
Petrograd, was a still more important and significant phenomenon. I do not
suppose that anything of the kind has been staged since the days of the
mediæval mystery plays. It was, in fact, a mystery play designed by the High
Priests of the Communist faith to instruct the people. It was played on the
steps of an immense white building that was once the Stock Exchange, a buil=
ding
with a classical colonnade on three sides of it, with a vast flight of step=
s in
front, that did not extend the whole width of the building but left at each
side a platform that was level with the floor of the colonnade. In front of
this building a wide road ran from a bridge over one arm of the river to a
bridge over the other, so that the stretches of water and sky on either side
seemed to the eye of imagination like the painted wings of a gigantic stage.
Two battered red columns of fantastic design, that were once light towers to
guide ships, stood on either side midway between the extremities of the
building and the water, but on the opposite side of the road. These two tow=
ers
were beflagged and illuminated and carried the limelight, and between and b=
ehind
them was gathered a densely packed audience of forty or fifty thousand peop=
le.
The play began at sundown, while the sky was still red away to the right and
the palaces on the far bank to the left still aglow with the setting sun, a=
nd
it continued under the magic of the darkening sky. At first the beauty and
grandeur of the setting drew the attention away from the performers, but
gradually one became aware that on the platform before the columns kings and
queens and courtiers in sumptuous conventional robes, and attended by soldi=
ers,
were conversing in dumb show with one another. A few climbed the steps of a
small wooden platform that was set up in the middle, and one indicated by a
lifted hand that here should be built a monument to the power of capitalism
over the earth. All gave signs of delight. Sentimental music was heard, and=
the
gay company fell to waltzing away the hours. Meanwhile, from below on the r=
oad
level, there streamed out of the darkness on either side of the building an=
d up
the half-lit steps, their fetters ringing in harmony with the music, the
enslaved and toiling masses coming in response to command to build the monu=
ment
for their masters. It is impossible to describe the exquisite beauty of the
slow movement of those dark figures aslant the broad flight of steps;
individual expressions were of course indistinguishable, and yet the moveme=
nt
and attitude of the groups conveyed pathos and patient endurance as well as=
any
individual speech or gesture in the ordinary theatre. Some groups carried
hammer and anvil, and others staggered under enormous blocks of stone. Love=
for
the ballet has perhaps made the Russians understand the art of moving group=
s of
actors in unison. As I watched these processions climbing the steps in
apparently careless and spontaneous fashion, and yet producing so graceful a
result, I remembered the mad leap of the archers down the stage in Prince I=
gor,
which is also apparently careless and spontaneous and full of wild and
irregular beauty, yet never varies a hair-breadth from one performance to t=
he
next.
For a time the workers toiled in the shadow in
their earthly world, and dancing continued in the lighted paradise of the
rulers above, until presently, in sign that the monument was complete, a la=
rge yellow
disc was hoisted amid acclamation above the highest platform between the
columns. But at the same moment a banner was uplifted amongst the people, a=
nd a
small figure was seen gesticulating. Angry fists were shaken and the banner=
and
speaker disappeared, only to reappear almost immediately in another part of=
the
dense crowd. Again hostility, until finally among the French workers away u=
p on
the right, the first Communist manifesto found favour. Rallying around their
banner the communards ran shouting down the steps, gathering supporters as =
they
came. Above, all is confusion, kings and queens scuttling in unroyal fashion
with flying velvet robes to safe citadels right and left, while the army
prepares to defend the main citadel of capitalism with its golden disc of p=
ower.
The communards scale the steps to the fortress which they finally capture, =
haul
down the disc and set their banner in its place. The merry music of the
Carmagnole is heard, and the victors are seen expressing their delight by
dancing first on one foot and then on the other, like marionettes. Below, t=
he masses
dance with them in a frenzy of joy. But a pompous procession of Prussian
legions is seen approaching, and, amid shrieks and wails of despair, the pe=
ople
are driven back, and their leaders set in a row and shot. Thereafter came o=
ne
of the most moving scenes in the drama. Several dark-clad women appeared
carrying a black pall supported on sticks, which they set in front of the
bodies of the leaders so that it stood out, an irregular pointed black shape
against the white columns behind. But for this melancholy monument the stage
was now empty. Thick clouds of black smoke arose from braziers on either si=
de and
obscured the steps and the platform. Through the smoke came the distant sou=
nd
of Chopin's Marche Funèbre, and as the air became clearer white figures cou=
ld
be dimly seen moving around the black pall in a solemn dance of mourning.
Behind them the columns shone ghostly and unreal against the glimmering mau=
ve
rays of an uncertain and watery dawn.
The second part of the pageant opened in July
1914. Once again the rulers were feasting and the workers at toil, but the
scene was enlivened by the presence of the leaders of the Second Internatio=
nal,
a group of decrepit professorial old men, who waddled in in solemn processi=
on
carrying tomes full of international learning. They sat in a row between the
rulers and the people, deep in study, spectacles on nose. The call to war w=
as
the signal for a dramatic appeal from the workers to these leaders, who ref=
used
to accept the Red Flag, but weakly received patriotic flags from their
respective governments. Jaurès, elevated to be the symbol of protest, tower=
ed
above the people, crying in a loud voice, but fell back immediately as the =
assassin's
shot rang out. Then the people divided into their national groups and the w=
ar
began. It was at this point that "God Save the King" was played as
the English soldiers marched out, in a comic manner which made one think of=
it
as "Gawd save the King." Other national anthems were burlesqued i=
n a
similar fashion, but none quite so successfully. A ridiculous effigy of the
Tsar with a knout in his hand now occupied the symbolic position and domina=
ted
the scene. The incidents of the war which affected Russia were then played.=
Spectacular
cavalry charges on the road, marching soldiers, batteries of artillery, a
pathetic procession of cripples and nurses, and other scenes too numerous to
describe, made up that part of the pageant devoted to the war.
Then came the Russian Revolution in all its
stages. Cars dashed by full of armed men, red flags appeared everywhere, the
people stormed the citadel and hauled down the effigy of the Tsar. The Kere=
nsky
Government assumed control and drove them forth to war again, but soon they
returned to the charge, destroyed the Provisional Government, and hoisted a=
ll
the emblems of the Russian Soviet Republic. The Entente leaders, however, w=
ere
seen preparing their troops for battle, and the pageant went on to show the
formation of the Red Army under its emblem the Red Star. White figures with
golden trumpets appeared foretelling victory for the proletariat. The last
scene, the World Commune, is described in the words of the abstract, taken =
from
a Russian newspaper, as follows:--
Ca=
nnon
shots announce the breaking of the blockade against Soviet Russia, and the victory of the=
World
Proletariat. The Red Army retur=
ns
from the front, and passes in triumphant review before the leaders of the
Revolution. At their feet lie t=
he
crowns of kings and the gold of the bankers. Ships draped with flags are seen carrying workers =
from
the west. The workers of the wh=
ole
world, with the emblems of labour, gather for the celebration of the World Comm=
une.
In the heavens luminous inscrip=
tions
in different languages appear, greeting the Congress: "Long live the Thi=
rd
International! Workers of the w=
orld,
unite! Triumph to the sounds of the hymn of the World Commune, the 'International'.&q=
uot;
Even so glowing an account, however, hardly do=
es
it justice. It had the pomp and majesty of the Day of Judgment itself. Rock=
ets
climbed the skies and peppered them with a thousand stars, fireworks blazed=
on all
sides, garlanded and beflagged ships moved up and down the river, chariots
bearing the emblems of prosperity, grapes and corn, travelled slowly along =
the
road. The Eastern peoples came carrying gifts and emblems. The actors, mass=
ed
upon the steps, waved triumphant hands, trumpets sounded, and the song of t=
he
International from ten thousand throats rose like a mighty wave engulfing t=
he
whole.
Though the end of this drama may have erred on=
the
side of the grandiose, this may perhaps be forgiven the organizers in view =
of
the occasion for which they prepared it. Nothing, however, could detract fr=
om
the beauty and dramatic power of the opening and of many of the scenes.
Moreover, the effects obtained by movement in the mass were almost
intoxicating. The first entrance of the masses gave a sense of dumb and pat=
ient
force that was moving in the extreme, and the frenzied delight of the danci=
ng
crowd at the victory of the French communards stirred one to ecstasy. The
pageant lasted for five hours or more, and was as exhausting emotionally as=
the
Passion Play is said to be. I had the vision of a great period of Communist
art, more especially of such open-air spectacles, which should have the
grandeur and scope and eternal meaning of the plays of ancient Greece, the =
mediæval
mysteries, or the Shakespearean theatre. In building, writing, acting, even=
in
painting, work would be done, as it once was, by groups, not by one hand or
mind, and evolution would proceed slowly until once again the individual
emerged from the mass.
In considering Education under the Bolshevik
régime, the same two factors which I have already dealt with in discussing =
art,
namely industrial development and the communist doctrine, must be taken int=
o account.
Industrial development is in reality one of the tenets of Communism, but as=
it
is one which in Russia is likely to endanger the doctrine as a whole I have
thought it better to consider it as a separate item.
As in the matter of art, so in education, those
who have given unqualified praise seem to have taken the short and superfic=
ial
view. It is hardly necessary to launch into descriptions of the crèches, co=
untry
homes or palaces for children, where Montessori methods prevail, where the
pupils cultivate their little gardens, model in plasticine, draw and sing a=
nd
act, and dance their Eurythmic dances barefoot on floors once sacred to the
tread of the nobility. I saw a reception and distributing house in Petrograd
with which no fault could be found from the point of view of scientific
organization. The children were bright-eyed and merry, and the rooms airy a=
nd
clean. I saw, too, a performance by school children in Moscow which include=
d some
quite wonderful Eurythmic dancing, in particular an interpretation of Grieg=
's
Tanz in der Halle des Bergkönigs by the Dalcroze method, but with a colour =
and
warmth which were Russian, and in odd contrast to the mathematical precision
associated with most Dalcroze performances.
But in spite of the obvious merit of such
institutions as exist, misgivings would arise. To begin with, it must be
remembered that it is necessary first to admit that children should be deli=
vered
up almost entirely to the State. Nominally, the mother still comes to see h=
er
child in these schools, but in actual fact, the drafting of children to the
country must intervene, and the whole temper of the authorities seemed to be
directed towards breaking the link between mother and child. To some this w=
ill
seem an advantage, and it is a point which admits of lengthy discussion, bu=
t as
it belongs rather to the question of women and the family under Communism, I
can do no more than mention it here.
Then, again, it must be remembered that the
tactics of the Bolsheviks towards such schools as existed under the old rég=
ime
in provincial towns and villages, have not been the same as their tactics
towards the theatres. The greater number of these schools are closed, in pa=
rt, it
would seem, from lack of personnel, and in part from fear of counter-revolu=
tionary
propaganda. The result is that, though those schools which they have created
are good and organized on modern lines, on the whole there would seem to be
less diffusion of child education than before. In this, as in most other
departments, the Bolsheviks show themselves loath to attempt anything which
cannot be done on a large scale and impregnated with Communist doctrine. It
goes without saying that Communist doctrine is taught in schools, as Christ=
ianity
has been taught hitherto, moreover the Communist teachers show bitter hosti=
lity
to other teachers who do not accept the doctrine. At the children's
entertainment alluded to above, the dances and poems performed had nearly a=
ll
some close relation to Communism, and a teacher addressed the children for
something like an hour and a half on the duties of Communists and the error=
s of
Anarchism.
This teaching of Communism, however necessary =
it
may appear for the building of the Communist state of the future, does seem=
to
me to be an evil in that it is done emotionally and fanatically, with an ap=
peal
to hate and militant ardour rather than to constructive reason. It binds the
free intellect and destroys initiative. An industrial state needs not only
obedient and patient workers and artists, it needs also men and women with
initiative in scientific research. It is idle to provide channels for
scientific research later if it is to be choked at the source. That source =
is
an enquiring and free intellect unhampered by iron dogma. Beneficial to
artistic and emotional development therefore, the teaching of Communism as a
faith may well be most pernicious to the scientific and intellectual side o=
f education,
and will lead direct to the pragmatist view of knowledge and scientific
research which the Church and the capitalist already find it so convenient =
to
adopt.
But to come to the chief and most practical
question, the relation of education to industry. Sooner or later education =
in
Russia must become subordinate to the needs of industrial development. That=
the
Bolsheviks already realize this is proved by the articles of Lunacharsky wh=
ich
recently appeared in Le Phare (Geneva). It was the spectre of industry that
haunted me throughout the consideration of education as in the consideratio=
n of
art, and what I have said above of its dangers to the latter seems to me al=
so
to apply here. Montessori schools belong, in my view, to that stage in
industrial development when education is directed as much towards leisure o=
ccupations
as towards preparation for professional life. Possibly the fine flower of
useless scientific enquiry belongs to this stage also. Nobody in Russia is
likely to have much leisure for a good many years to come, if the Bolshevik
programme of industrial development is efficiently carried out. And there
seemed to me to be something pathetic and almost cruel in this varied and
agreeable education of the child, when one reflected on the long hours of
grinding toil to which he was soon to be subject in workshop or factory. Fo=
r I
repeat that I do not believe industrial work in the early days of industry =
can
be made tolerable to the worker. Once again I experienced the dread of seei=
ng
the ideals of the Russian revolutionaries go down before the logic of
necessity. They are beginning to pride themselves on being hard, practical =
men,
and it seems quite reasonable to fear that they should come to regard this =
full
and humane development of the child as a mere luxury and ultimately neglect=
it.
Worse still, the few of these schools which already exist may perhaps become
exclusive to the Communists and their children, or that company of Samurai
which is to leaven and govern the mass of the people. If so, they will soon=
come
to resemble our public schools, in that they will prepare, in an artificial
play atmosphere, men who will pass straight to the position of leaders, whi=
le
the portion of the proletariat who serve under them will be reading and
writing, just so much technical training as is necessary, and Communist
doctrine.
This is a nightmare hypothesis, but the
difficulties of the practical problem seem to warrant its entertainment. The
number of people in Russia who can even read and write is extremely small, =
the
need to get them employed industrially as rapidly as possible is very great=
, hence
the system of education which develops out of this situation cannot be very
ambitious or enlightened. Further it will have to continue over a sufficien=
tly
long period of time to allow of the risk of its becoming stable and
traditional. In adult education already the pupil comes for a short period,
learns Communism, reading and writing--there is hardly time to give him much
more--and returns to leaven the army or his native village. In achieving th=
is
the Bolsheviks are already doing a very important and valuable work, but th=
ey
cannot hope for a long while to become the model of public instruction which
they have hitherto been represented to be. And the conditions of their beco=
ming
so ultimately are adherence to their ideals through a very long period of
stress, and a lessening of fanaticism in their Communist teaching, conditio=
ns
which, unhappily, seem to be mutually incompatible.
The whole of the argument set out in this chap=
ter
may be summed up in the statement of one fact which the mere idealist is pr=
one
to overlook, namely that Russia is a country at a stage in economic develop=
ment
not much more advanced than America in the pioneer days. The old civilizati=
on
was aristocratic and exotic; it could not survive in the modern world. It is
true that it produced great men, but its foundations were rotten. The new
civilization may, for the moment, be less productive of individual works of
genius, but it has a new solidity and gives promise of a new unity. It may =
be
that I have taken too hopeful a view and that the future evolution of Russia
will have as little connection with the life and tradition of its present p=
opulation
as modern America with the life of the Red Indian tribes. The fact that the=
re
exists in Russia a population at a far higher stage of culture, which will =
be
industrially educated, not exterminated, militates against this hypothesis,=
but
the need for education may make progress slower than it was in the United
States.
One would not have looked for the millennium of
Communism, nor even for valuable art and educational experiment in the Amer=
ica
of early railroading and farming days. Nor must one look for such things fr=
om Russia
yet. It may be that during the next hundred years there, economic evolution
will obscure Communist ideals, until finally, in a country that has reached=
the
stage of present-day America, the battle will be fought out again to a
victorious and stable issue. Unless, indeed, the Marxian scripture prove to=
be
not infallible, and faith and heroic devotion show themselves capable of
triumphing over economic necessity.
Befor=
e I
went to Russia I imagined that I was going to see an interesting experiment=
in
a new form of representative government. I did see an interesting experimen=
t,
but not in representative government. Every one who is interested in Bolshe=
vism
knows the series of elections, from the village meeting to the All-Russian
Soviet, by which the people's commissaries are supposed to derive their pow=
er.
We were told that, by the recall, the occupational constituencies, and so o=
n, a
new and far more perfect machinery had been devised for ascertaining and
registering the popular will. One of the things we hoped to study was the
question whether the Soviet system is really superior to Parliamentarism in
this respect.
We were not able to make any such study, becau=
se
the Soviet system is moribund.[4] No conceivable system of free election wo=
uld
give majorities to the Communists, either in town or country. Various metho=
ds
are therefore adopted for giving the victory to Government candidates. In t=
he
first place, the voting is by show of hands, so that all who vote against t=
he
Government are marked men. In the second place, no candidate who is not a
Communist can have any printing done, the printing works being all in the h=
ands
of the State. In the third place, he cannot address any meetings, because t=
he
halls all belong to the State. The whole of the press is, of course, offici=
al;
no independent daily is permitted. In spite of all these obstacles, the Men=
sheviks
have succeeded in winning about 40 seats out of 1,500 on the Moscow Soviet,=
by
being known in certain large factories where the electoral campaign could be
conducted by word of mouth. They won, in fact, every seat that they contest=
ed.
But although the Moscow Soviet is nominally
sovereign in Moscow, it is really only a body of electors who choose the
executive committee of forty, out of which, in turn, is chosen the Presidiu=
m,
consisting of nine men who have all the power. The Moscow Soviet, as a whol=
e,
meets rarely; the Executive Committee is supposed to meet once a week, but =
did
not meet while we were in Moscow. The Presidium, on the contrary, meets dai=
ly.
Of course, it is easy for the Government to exercise pressure over the elec=
tion
of the executive committee, and again over the election of the Presidium. It
must be remembered that effective protest is impossible, owing to the
absolutely complete suppression of free speech and free Press. The result is
that the Presidium of the Moscow Soviet consists only of orthodox Communist=
s.
Kamenev, the President of the Moscow Soviet,
informed us that the recall is very frequently employed; he said that in Mo=
scow
there are, on an average, thirty recalls a month. I asked him what were the=
principal
reasons for the recall, and he mentioned four: drinking, going to the front
(and being, therefore, incapable of performing the duties), change of polit=
ics
on the part of the electors, and failure to make a report to the electors o=
nce
a fortnight, which all members of the Soviet are expected to do. It is evid=
ent
that the recall affords opportunities for governmental pressure, but I had =
no
chance of finding out whether it is used for this purpose.
In country districts the method employed is
somewhat different. It is impossible to secure that the village Soviet shall
consist of Communists, because, as a rule, at any rate in the villages I sa=
w, there
are no Communists. But when I asked in the villages how they were represent=
ed
on the Volost (the next larger area) or the Gubernia, I was met always with=
the
reply that they were not represented at all. I could not verify this, and i=
t is
probably an overstatement, but all concurred in the assertion that if they
elected a non-Communist representative he could not obtain a pass on the
railway and, therefore, could not attend the Volost or Gubernia Soviet. I s=
aw a
meeting of the Gubernia Soviet of Saratov. The representation is so arranged
that the town workers have an enormous preponderance over the surrounding
peasants; but even allowing for this, the proportion of peasants seemed
astonishingly small for the centre of a very important agricultural area.
The All-Russian Soviet, which is constitutiona=
lly
the supreme body, to which the People's Commissaries are responsible, meets
seldom, and has become increasingly formal. Its sole function at present, so
far as I could discover, is to ratify, without discussion, previous decisio=
ns of
the Communist Party on matters (especially concerning foreign policy) upon
which the constitution requires its decision.
All real power is in the hands of the Communist
Party, who number about 600,000 in a population of about 120 millions. I ne=
ver
came across a Communist by chance: the people whom I met in the streets or =
in
the villages, when I could get into conversation with them, almost invariab=
ly
said they were of no party. The only other answer I ever had was from some =
of
the peasants, who openly stated that they were Tsarists. It must be said th=
at
the peasants' reasons for disliking the Bolsheviks are very inadequate. It =
is
said--and all I saw confirmed the assertion--that the peasants are better o=
ff
than they ever were before. I saw no one--man, woman, or child--who looked
underfed in the villages. The big landowners are dispossessed, and the peas=
ants
have profited. But the towns and the army still need nourishing, and the Go=
vernment
has nothing to give the peasants in return for food except paper, which the
peasants resent having to take. It is a singular fact that Tsarist roubles =
are
worth ten times as much as Soviet roubles, and are much commoner in the
country. Although they are illegal, pocket-books full of them are openly
displayed in the market places. I do not think it should be inferred that t=
he
peasants expect a Tsarist restoration: they are merely actuated by custom a=
nd
dislike of novelty. They have never heard of the blockade; consequently the=
y cannot
understand why the Government is unable to give them the clothes and
agricultural implements that they need. Having got their land, and being
ignorant of affairs outside their own neighbourhood, they wish their own
village to be independent, and would resent the demands of any Government
whatever.
Within the Communist Party there are, of cours=
e,
as always in a bureaucracy, different factions, though hitherto the external
pressure has prevented disunion. It seemed to me that the personnel of the =
bureaucracy
could be divided into three classes. There are first the old revolutionists,
tested by years of persecution. These men have most of the highest posts.
Prison and exile have made them tough and fanatical and rather out of touch
with their own country. They are honest men, with a profound belief that
Communism will regenerate the world. They think themselves utterly free from
sentiment, but, in fact, they are sentimental about Communism and about the
régime that they are creating; they cannot face the fact that what they are=
creating
is not complete Communism, and that Communism is anathema to the peasant, w=
ho
wants his own land and nothing else. They are pitiless in punishing corrupt=
ion
or drunkenness when they find either among officials; but they have built u=
p a
system in which the temptations to petty corruption are tremendous, and the=
ir
own materialistic theory should persuade them that under such a system corr=
uption
must be rampant.
The second class in the bureaucracy, among whom
are to be found most of the men occupying political posts just below the to=
p, consists
of arrivistes, who are enthusiastic Bolsheviks because of the material succ=
ess
of Bolshevism. With them must be reckoned the army of policemen, spies, and
secret agents, largely inherited from the Tsarist times, who make their pro=
fit
out of the fact that no one can live except by breaking the law. This aspec=
t of
Bolshevism is exemplified by the Extraordinary Commission, a body practical=
ly independent
of the Government, possessing its own regiments, who are better fed than the
Red Army. This body has the power of imprisoning any man or woman without t=
rial
on such charges as speculation or counter-revolutionary activity. It has sh=
ot
thousands without proper trial, and though now it has nominally lost the po=
wer
of inflicting the death penalty, it is by no means certain that it has
altogether lost it in fact. It has spies everywhere, and ordinary mortals l=
ive
in terror of it.
The third class in the bureaucracy consists of=
men
who are not ardent Communists, who have rallied to the Government since it =
has
proved itself stable, and who work for it either out of patriotism or becau=
se they
enjoy the opportunity of developing their ideas freely without the obstacle=
of
traditional institutions. Among this class are to be found men of the type =
of
the successful business man, men with the same sort of ability as is found =
in
the American self-made Trust magnate, but working for success and power, not
for money. There is no doubt that the Bolsheviks are successfully solving t=
he
problem of enlisting this kind of ability in the public service, without pe=
rmitting
it to amass wealth as it does in capitalist communities. This is perhaps th=
eir
greatest success so far, outside the domain of war. It makes it possible to
suppose that, if Russia is allowed to have peace, an amazing industrial
development may take place, making Russia a rival of the United States. The
Bolsheviks are industrialists in all their aims; they love everything in mo=
dern
industry except the excessive rewards of the capitalists. And the harsh
discipline to which they are subjecting the workers is calculated, if anyth=
ing
can, to give them the habits of industry and honesty which have hitherto be=
en
lacking, and the lack of which alone prevents Russia from being one of the
foremost industrial countries.
At fi=
rst
sight it is surprising that Russian industry should have collapsed as badly=
as
it has done, and still more surprising that the efforts of the Communists h=
ave
not been more successful in reviving it. As I believe that the continued
efficiency of industry is the main condition for success in the transition =
to a
Communist State, I shall endeavour to analyse the causes of the collapse, w=
ith
a view to the discovery of ways by which it can be avoided elsewhere.
Of the fact of the collapse there can be no do=
ubt.
The Ninth Congress of the Communist Party (March-April, 1920) speaks of
"the incredible catastrophes of public economy," and in connection
with transport, which is one of the vital elements of the problem, it ackno=
wledges
"the terrible collapse of the transport and the railway system," =
and urges
the introduction of "measures which cannot be delayed and which are to
obviate the complete paralysis of the railway system and, together with thi=
s,
the ruin of the Soviet Republic." Almost all those who have visited Ru=
ssia
would confirm this view of the gravity of the situation. In the factories, =
in
great works like those of Putilov and Sornovo, very little except war work =
is
being done; machinery stands idle and plant is becoming unusable. One sees
hardly any new manufactured articles in Russia, beyond a certain very
inadequate quantity of clothes and boots--always excepting what is needed f=
or
the army. And the difficulty of obtaining food is conclusive evidence of th=
e absence
of goods such as are needed by the peasants.
How has this state of affairs arisen? And why =
does
it continue?
A great deal of disorganization occurred before
the first revolution and under Kerensky. Russian industry was partly depend=
ent
on Poland; the war was conducted by methods of reckless extravagance,
especially as regards rolling-stock; under Kerensky there was a tendency to=
universal
holiday, under the impression that freedom had removed the necessity for wo=
rk.
But when all this is admitted to the full, it remains true that the state of
industry under the Bolsheviks is much worse than even under Kerensky.
The first and most obvious reason for this is =
that
Russia was quite unusually dependent upon foreign assistance. Not only did =
the machinery
in the factories and the locomotives on the railways come from abroad, but =
the
organizing and technical brains in industry were mainly foreign. When the
Entente became hostile to Russia, the foreigners in Russian industry either
left the country or assisted counter-revolution. Even those who were in fact
loyal naturally became suspect, and could not well be employed in responsib=
le
posts, any more than Germans could in England during the war. The native
Russians who had technical or business skill were little better; they almost
all practised sabotage in the first period of the Bolshevik régime. One hea=
rs
amusing stories of common sailors frantically struggling with complicated
accounts, because no competent accountant would work for the Bolsheviks.
But those days passed. When the Government was
seen to be stable, a great many of those who had formerly sabotaged it beca=
me
willing to accept posts under it, and are now in fact so employed, often at
quite exceptional salaries. Their importance is thoroughly realized. One re=
solution
at the above-mentioned Congress says (I quote verbally the unedited document
which was given to us in Moscow):
Be=
ing of
opinion that without a scientific organization of industry, even the widest application=
of
compulsory labour service, as t=
he
great labour heroism of the working class, will not only fail to secure the
establishment of a powerful soc=
ialist
production, but will also fail to assist the country to free itself from the clutches of
poverty--the Congress considers=
it
imperative to register all able specialists of the various departments of public eco=
nomy
and widely to utilize them for =
the
purpose of industrial organization.
The
Congress considers the elucidation for the wide masses of the workers of the tremendous charact=
er of
the economic problems of the co=
untry
to be one of the chief problems of industrial and general political agit=
ation
and propaganda; and of equal
importance to this, technical education, and administrative and scientific technic=
al
experience. The Congress makes =
it
obligatory on all the members of the party mercilessly to fight that particular
obnoxious form, the ignorant co=
nceit
which deems the working class capable of solving all problems without the assi=
stance
in the most responsible cases of
specialists of the bourgeois school, the management. Demagogic elements who
speculate on this kind of preju=
dice
in the more backward section of our working classes, can have no place in the ranks of the=
party
of Scientific Socialism.
But Russia alone is unable to supply the amoun=
t of
skill required, and is very deficient in technical instructors, as well as =
in
skilled workmen. One was told, over and over again, that the first step in =
improvement
would be the obtaining of spare parts for locomotives. It seems strange that
these could not be manufactured in Russia. To some extent they can be, and =
we
were shown locomotives which had been repaired on Communist Saturdays. But =
in
the main the machinery for making spare parts is lacking and the skill requ=
ired
for its manufacture does not exist. Thus dependence on the outside world pe=
rsists,
and the blockade continues to do its deadly work of spreading hunger,
demoralization and despair.
The food question is intimately bound up with =
the
question of industry. There is a vicious circle, for not only does the abse=
nce
of manufactured goods cause a food shortage in the towns, but the food shor=
tage,
in turn, diminishes the strength of the workers and makes them less able to
produce goods. I cannot but think that there has been some mismanagement as
regards the food question. For example, in Petrograd many workers have
allotments and often work in them for eight hours after an eight hours' day=
in
their regular employment. But the food produced in the allotments is taken =
for
general consumption, not left to each individual producer. This is in
accordance with Communist theory, but of course greatly diminishes the
incentive to work, and increases the red tape and administrative machinery.=
Lack of fuel has been another very grave sourc=
e of
trouble. Before the war coal came mostly from Poland and the Donetz Basin.
Poland is lost to Russia, and the Donetz Basin was in the hands of Denikin,=
who
so destroyed the mines before retreating that they are still not in working
order. The result is a practically complete absence of coal. Oil, which is
equally important in Russia, was also lacking until the recent recovery of
Baku. All that I saw on the Volga made me believe that real efficiency has =
been
shown in reorganizing the transport of oil, and doubtless this will do
something to revive industry. But the oil used to be worked very largely by
Englishmen, and English machinery is much needed for refining it. In the
meantime, Russia has had to depend upon wood, which involves immense labour.
Most of the houses are not warmed in winter, so that people live in a
temperature below freezing-point. Another consequence of lack of fuel was t=
he bursting
of water-pipes, so that people in Petrograd, for the most part, have to go =
down
to the Neva to fetch their water--a considerable addition to the labour of =
an
already overworked day.
I find it difficult to believe that, if greater
efficiency had existed in the Government, the food and fuel difficulties co=
uld
not have been considerably alleviated. In spite of the needs of the army, t=
here
are still many horses in Russia; I saw troops of thousands of horses on the
Volga, which apparently belonged to Kalmuk tribes. By the help of carts and
sledges, it ought to be possible, without more labour than is warranted by =
the
importance of the problem, to bring food and timber into Moscow and Petrogr=
ad.
It must be remembered that both cities are surrounded by forests, and Mosco=
w at
least is surrounded by good agricultural land. The Government has devoted a=
ll
its best energies hitherto to the two tasks of war and propaganda, while in=
dustry
and the food problem have been left to a lesser degree of energy and
intelligence. It is no doubt probable that, if peace is secured, the econom=
ic
problems will receive more attention than hitherto. But the Russian charact=
er
seems less adapted to steady work of an unexciting nature than to heroic
efforts on great occasions; it has immense passive endurance, but not much
active tenacity. Whether, with the menace of foreign invasion removed, enou=
gh
day-by-day detailed energy would exist for the reorganization of industry, =
is a
doubtful question, as to which only time can decide.
This leads to the conclusion--which I think is
adopted by most of the leading men in Russia--that it will be very difficult
indeed to save the revolution without outside economic assistance. Outside
assistance from capitalist countries is dangerous to the principles of Comm=
unism,
as well as precarious from the likelihood of fresh causes of quarrel. But t=
he
need of help is urgent, and if the policy of promoting revolution elsewhere
were to succeed, it would probably render the nations concerned temporarily
incapable of supplying Russian needs. It is, therefore, necessary for Russi=
a to
accept the risks and uncertainties involved in attempting to make peace with
the Entente and to trade with America. By continuing war, Russia can do
infinite damage to us, especially in Asia, but cannot hope, for many years,=
to achieve
any degree of internal prosperity. The situation, therefore, is one in whic=
h,
even from the narrowest point of view, peace is to the interest of both
parties.
It is difficult for an outsider with only
superficial knowledge to judge of the efforts which have been made to
reorganize industry without outside help. These efforts have chiefly taken =
the
form of industrial conscription. Workers in towns seek to escape to the cou=
ntry,
in order to have enough to eat; but this is illegal and severely punished. =
The
same Communist Report from which I have already quoted speaks on this subje=
ct
as follows:
La=
bour
Desertion.--Owing to the fact that a considerable part of the workers either in search =
of
better food conditions or often=
for
the purposes of speculation, voluntarily leave their places of employment or change =
from
place to place, which inevitably
harms production and deteriorates the general position of the working class, the Co=
ngress
considers one of the most urgent
problems of Soviet Government and of the Trade Union organization to be established =
as the
firm, systematic and insistent
struggle with labour desertion, The way to fight this is to publish a list of desertion
fines, the creation of a labour
Detachment of Deserters under fine, and, finally, internment in concentration camps.
It is hoped to extend the system to the peasan=
try:
The
defeat of the White Armies and the problems of peaceful construction in connection with the
incredible catastrophes of publ=
ic
economy demand an extraordinary effort of all the powers of the proletariat and the dra=
fting
into the process of public labo=
ur of
the wide masses of the peasantry.
On the vital subject of transport, in a passag=
e of
which I have already quoted a fragment, the Communist Party declares:
Fo=
r the
most immediate future transport remains the centre of the attention and the efforts of the =
Soviet
Government. The improvement of
transport is the indispensable basis upon which even the most moderate success in all=
other
spheres of production and first=
of
all in the provision question can be gained.
The
chief difficulty with regard to the improvement of transport is the weakness of the Tran=
sport
Trade Union, which is due in the
first case to the heterogeneity of the personnel of the railways, amongst whom there a=
re
still a number of those who bel=
ong to
the period of disorganization, and, secondly, to the fact that the most
class-conscious and best elemen=
ts of
the railway proletariat were at the various fronts of the civil war.
Considering wide Trade Union assistance to the railway workers to be one of the principal tasks of t=
he
Party, and as the only condition
under which transport can be raised to its height, the Congress at the same time recogni=
zes
the inflexible necessity of emp=
loying
exclusive and extraordinary measures (martial law, and so forth). Such nec=
essity
is the result of the terrible
collapse of the transport and the railroad system and is to introduce measures which ca=
nnot
be delayed and which are to obv=
iate
the complete paralysis of the railway system and, together with this, the ruin of =
the
Soviet Republic.
The general attitude to the militarization of
labour is stated in the Resolution with which this section of the Proceedin=
gs
begins:
The
ninth Congress approves of the decision of the Central Committee of the Russian Communist Pa=
rty on
the mobilization of the industr=
ial
proletariat, compulsory labour service, militarization of production and the
application of military detachm=
ents
to economic needs.
In
connection with the above, the Congress decrees that the Party organization should in every way
assist the Trade Unions and the
Labour Sections in registering all skilled workers with a view of employing them in the
various branches of production =
with
the same consistency and strictness as was done, and is being carried out at the
present time, in relation to the
commanding staff for army needs.
Ev=
ery
skilled worker is to return to his particular trade Exceptions, i.e. the retention of the
skilled worker in any other bra=
nch of
Soviet service, is allowed only with the sanction of the corresponding central=
and
local authorities.
It is, of course, evident that in these measur=
es
the Bolsheviks have been compelled to travel a long way from the ideals whi=
ch
originally inspired the revolution. But the situation is so desperate that =
they
could not be blamed if their measures were successful. In a shipwreck all h=
ands
must turn to, and it would be ridiculous to prate of individual liberty. The
most distressing feature of the situation is that these stern laws seem to =
have
produced so little effect. Perhaps in the course of years Russia might beco=
me
self-supporting without help from the outside world, but the suffering mean=
time
would be terrible. The early hopes of the revolution would fade more and mo=
re. Every
failure of industry, every tyrannous regulation brought about by the desper=
ate
situation, is used by the Entente as a justification of its policy. If a ma=
n is
deprived of food and drink, he will grow weak, lose his reason, and finally
die. This is not usually considered a good reason for inflicting death by
starvation. But where nations are concerned, the weakness and struggles are
regarded as morally culpable, and are held to justify further punishment. S=
o at
least it has been in the case of Russia. Nothing produced a doubt in our go=
verning
minds as to the rightness of our policy except the strength of the Red Army=
and
the fear of revolution in Asia. Is it surprising that professions of
humanitarian feeling on the part of English people are somewhat coldly rece=
ived
in Soviet Russia?
Daily=
life
in Moscow, so far as I could discover, has neither the horrors depicted by =
the
Northcliffe Press nor the delights imagined by the more ardent of our young=
er
Socialists.
On the one hand, there is no disorder, very li=
ttle
crime, not much insecurity for those who keep clear of politics. Everybody
works hard; the educated people have, by this time, mostly found their way =
into
Government offices or teaching or some other administrative profession in w=
hich
their education is useful. The theatres, the opera and the ballet continue =
as
before, and are quite admirable; some of the seats are paid for, others are
given free to members of trade unions. There is, of course, no drunkenness,=
or at
any rate so little that none of us ever saw a sign of it. There is very lit=
tle
prostitution, infinitely less than in any other capital. Women are safer fr=
om molestation
than anywhere else in the world. The whole impression is one of virtuous,
well-ordered activity.
On the other hand, life is very hard for all
except men in good posts. It is hard, first of all, owing to the food short=
age.
This is familiar to all who have interested themselves in Russia, and it is
unnecessary to dwell upon it. What is less realized is that most people work
much longer hours than in this country. The eight-hour day was introduced w=
ith
a flourish of trumpets; then, owing to the pressure of the war, it was exte=
nded
to ten hours in certain trades. But no provision exists against extra work =
at
other jobs, and very many people do extra work, because the official rates =
do
not afford a living wage. This is not the fault of the Government, at any r=
ate
as regards the major part; it is due chiefly to war and blockade. When the
day's work is over, a great deal of time has to be spent in fetching food a=
nd
water and other necessaries of life. The sight of the workers going to and =
fro,
shabbily clad, with the inevitable bundle in one hand and tin can in the ot=
her,
through streets almost entirely empty of traffic, produces the effect of li=
fe
in some vast village, rather than in an important capital city.
Holidays, such as are common throughout all but
the very poorest class in this country, are very difficult in Russia. A tra=
in
journey requires a permit, which is only granted on good reasons being show=
n; with
the present shortage of transport, this regulation is quite unavoidable.
Railway queues are a common feature in Moscow; it often takes several days =
to
get a permit. Then, when it has been obtained, it may take several more day=
s to
get a seat in a train. The ordinary trains are inconceivably crowded, far m=
ore
so, though that seems impossible, than London trains at the busiest hour. On
the shorter journeys, passengers are even known to ride on the roof and
buffers, or cling like flies to the sides of the waggons. People in Moscow =
travel
to the country whenever they can afford the time and get a permit, because =
in
the country there is enough to eat. They go to stay with relations--most pe=
ople
in Moscow, in all classes, but especially among manual workers, have relati=
ons
in the country. One cannot, of course, go to an hotel as one would in other
countries. Hotels have been taken over by the State, and the rooms in them
(when they are still used) are allocated by the police to people whose busi=
ness
is recognized as important by the authorities. Casual travel is therefore i=
mpossible
even on a holiday.
Journeys have vexations in addition to the slowness and overcrowding of the trains. Police search the travellers for evidences of "speculation," especially for food. The police play, altogether, a much greater part in daily life than they do in other countries--much greater than they did, for example, in Prussia twenty-five years ago, when there was a vigorous campaign against Socialism. Everybody breaks the law almost daily, and no one knows which among his acquaintances= is a spy of the Extraordinary Commission. Even in the prisons, among prisoners, there are spies, who are allowed certain privileges but not their liberty.<= o:p>
Newspapers are not taken in, except by very few
people, but they are stuck up in public places, where passers-by occasional=
ly
glance at them.[5] There is very little to read; owing to paper shortage, b=
ooks
are rare, and money to buy them is still rarer. One does not see people
reading, as one does here in the Underground for example. There is practica=
lly
no social life, partly because of the food shortage, partly because, when
anybody is arrested, the police are apt to arrest everybody whom they find =
in
his company, or who comes to visit him. And once arrested, a man or woman,
however innocent, may remain for months in prison without trial. While we w=
ere
in Moscow, forty social revolutionaries and Anarchists were hunger-striking=
to enforce
their demand to be tried and to be allowed visits. I was told that on the e=
ighth
day of the strike the Government consented to try them, and that few could =
be
proved guilty of any crime; but I had no means of verifying this.
Industrial conscription is, of course, rigidly
enforced. Every man and woman has to work, and slacking is severely punishe=
d,
by prison or a penal settlement. Strikes are illegal, though they sometimes
occur. By proclaiming itself the friend of the proletarian, the Government =
has been
enabled to establish an iron discipline, beyond the wildest dreams of the m=
ost
autocratic American magnate. And by the same professions the Government has=
led
Socialists from other countries to abstain from reporting unpleasant featur=
es
in what they have seen.
The Tolstoyans, of whom I saw the leaders, are
obliged by their creed to resist every form of conscription, though some ha=
ve
found ways of compromising. The law concerning conscientious objectors to
military service is practically the same as ours, and its working depends u=
pon the
temper of the tribunal before which a man comes. Some conscientious objecto=
rs
have been shot; on the other hand, some have obtained absolute exemption.
Life in Moscow, as compared to life in London,=
is
drab, monotonous, and depressed. I am not, of course, comparing life there =
with
that of the rich here, but with that of the average working-class family. W=
hen it
is realized that the highest wages are about fifteen shillings a month, thi=
s is
not surprising. I do not think that life could, under any system, be very
cheerful in a country so exhausted by war as Russia, so I am not saying thi=
s as
a criticism of the Bolsheviks. But I do think there might be less police
interference, less vexatious regulation, and more freedom for spontaneous
impulses towards harmless enjoyments.
Religion is still very strong. I went into many
churches, where I saw obviously famished priests in gorgeous vestments, and=
a
congregation enormously devout. Generally more than half the congregation w=
ere
men, and among the men many were soldiers. This applies to the towns as wel=
l as
to the country. In Moscow I constantly saw people in the streets crossing
themselves.
There is a theory that the Moscow working man
feels himself free from capitalist domination, and therefore bears hardships
gladly. This is no doubt true of the minority who are active Communists, bu=
t I
do not think it has any truth for the others. The average working man, to j=
udge
by a rather hasty impression, feels himself the slave of the Government, and
has no sense whatever of having been liberated from a tyranny.
I recognize to the full the reasons for the bad
state of affairs, in the past history of Russia and the recent policy of the
Entente. But I have thought it better to record impressions frankly, trusti=
ng
the readers to remember that the Bolsheviks have only a very limited share =
of
responsibility for the evils from which Russia is suffering.
The p=
roblem
of inducing the peasants to feed the towns is one which Russia shares with
Central Europe, and from what one hears Russia has been less unsuccessful t=
han
some other countries in dealing with this problem. For the Soviet Governmen=
t,
the problem is mainly concentrated in Moscow and Petrograd; the other towns=
are
not very large, and are mostly in the centre of rich agricultural districts=
. It
is true that in the North even the rural population normally depends upon f=
ood
from more southerly districts; but the northern population is small. It is =
commonly
said that the problem of feeding Moscow and Petrograd is a transport proble=
m,
but I think this is only partially true. There is, of course, a grave
deficiency of rolling-stock, especially of locomotives in good repair. But
Moscow is surrounded by very good land. In the course of a day's motoring in
the neighbourhood, I saw enough cows to supply milk to the whole child
population of Moscow, although what I had come to see was children's sanato=
ria,
not farms. All kinds of food can be bought in the market at high prices. I =
travelled
over a considerable extent of Russian railways, and saw a fair number of go=
ods
trains. For all these reasons, I feel convinced that the share of the trans=
port
problem in the food difficulties has been exaggerated. Of course transport =
plays
a larger part in the shortage in Petrograd than in Moscow, because food com=
es
mainly from south of Moscow. In Petrograd, most of the people one sees in t=
he streets
show obvious signs of under-feeding. In Moscow, the visible signs are much =
less
frequent, but there is no doubt that under-feeding, though not actual
starvation, is nearly universal.
The Government supplies rations to every one w=
ho
works in the towns at a very low fixed price. The official theory is that t=
he
Government has a monopoly of the food and that the rations are sufficient to
sustain life. The fact is that the rations are not sufficient, and that the=
y are
only a portion of the food supply of Moscow. Moreover, people complain, I do
not know how truly, that the rations are delivered irregularly; some say, a=
bout
every other day. Under these circumstances, almost everybody, rich or poor,
buys food in the market, where it costs about fifty times the fixed Governm=
ent
price. A pound of butter costs about a month's wages. In order to be able t=
o afford
extra food, people adopt various expedients. Some do additional work, at ex=
tra
rates, after their official day's work is over. For, though there is suppos=
ed
to be by law an eight-hours day, extended to ten in certain vital industrie=
s,
the wage paid for it is not a living wage, and there is nothing to prevent a
man from undertaking other work in his spare time. But the usual resource is
what is called "speculation," i.e., buying and selling. Some pers=
on
formerly rich sells clothes or furniture or jewellery in return for food; t=
he
buyer sells again at an enhanced price, and so on through perhaps twenty ha=
nds,
until a final purchaser is found in some well-to-do peasant or nouveau riche
speculator. Again, most people have relations in the country, whom they vis=
it
from time to time, bringing back with them great bags of flour. It is illeg=
al
for private persons to bring food into Moscow, and the trains are searched;
but, by corruption or cunning, experienced people can elude the search. The
food market is illegal, and is raided occasionally; but as a rule it is win=
ked
at. Thus the attempt to suppress private commerce has resulted in an amount=
of
unprofessional buying and selling which far exceeds what happens in capital=
ist
countries. It takes up a great deal of time that might be more profitably
employed; and, being illegal, it places practically the whole population of
Moscow at the mercy of the police. Moreover, it depends largely upon the st=
ores
of goods belonging to those who were formerly rich, and when these are expe=
nded
the whole system must collapse, unless industry has meanwhile been re-estab=
lished
on a sound basis.
It is clear that the state of affairs is
unsatisfactory, but, from the Government's point of view, it is not easy to=
see
what ought to be done. The urban and industrial population is mainly concer=
ned
in carrying on the work of government and supplying munitions to the army.
These are very necessary tasks, the cost of which ought to be defrayed out =
of
taxation. A moderate tax in kind on the peasants would easily feed Moscow a=
nd
Petrograd. But the peasants take no interest in war or government. Russia i=
s so
vast that invasion of one part does not touch another part; and the peasants
are too ignorant to have any national consciousness, such as one takes for
granted in England or France or Germany. The peasants will not willingly pa=
rt
with a portion of their produce merely for purposes of national defence, but
only for the goods they need--clothes, agricultural implements, &c.--wh=
ich
the Government, owing to the war and the blockade, is not in a position to =
supply.
When the food shortage was at its worst, the
Government antagonized the peasants by forced requisitions, carried out with
great harshness by the Red Army. This method has been modified, but the
peasants still part unwillingly with their food, as is natural in view of t=
he uselessness
of paper and the enormously higher prices offered by private buyers.
The food problem is the main cause of popular
opposition to the Bolsheviks, yet I cannot see how any popular policy could
have been adopted. The Bolsheviks are disliked by the peasants because they
take so much food; they are disliked in the towns because they take so litt=
le.
What the peasants want is what is called free trade, i.e., de-control of
agricultural produce. If this policy were adopted, the towns would be faced=
by
utter starvation, not merely by hunger and hardship. It is an entire
misconception to suppose that the peasants cherish any hostility to the
Entente. The Daily News of July 13th, in an otherwise excellent leading
article, speaks of "the growing hatred of the Russian peasant, who is
neither a Communist nor a Bolshevik, for the Allies generally and this coun=
try
in particular." The typical Russian peasant has never heard of the All=
ies
or of this country; he does not know that there is a blockade; all he knows=
is that
he used to have six cows but the Government reduced him to one for the sake=
of
poorer peasants, and that it takes his corn (except what is needed for his =
own
family) at a very low price. The reasons for these actions do not interest =
him,
since his horizon is bounded by his own village. To a remarkable extent, ea=
ch
village is an independent unit. So long as the Government obtains the food =
and soldiers
that it requires, it does not interfere, and leaves untouched the old villa=
ge
communism, which is extraordinarily unlike Bolshevism and entirely dependent
upon a very primitive stage of culture.
The Government represents the interests of the
urban and industrial population, and is, as it were, encamped amid a peasant
nation, with whom its relations are rather diplomatic and military than gov=
ernmental
in the ordinary sense. The economic situation, as in Central Europe, is
favourable to the country and unfavourable to the towns. If Russia were
governed democratically, according to the will of the majority, the inhabit=
ants
of Moscow and Petrograd would die of starvation. As it is, Moscow and Petro=
grad
just manage to live, by having the whole civil and military power of the St=
ate
devoted to their needs. Russia affords the curious spectacle of a vast and =
powerful
Empire, prosperous at the periphery, but faced with dire want at the centre.
Those who have least prosperity have most power; and it is only through the=
ir
excess of power that they are enabled to live at all. The situation is due =
at
bottom to two facts: that almost the whole industrial energies of the
population have had to be devoted to war, and that the peasants do not
appreciate the importance of the war or the fact of the blockade.
It is futile to blame the Bolsheviks for an
unpleasant and difficult situation which it has been impossible for them to
avoid. Their problem is only soluble in one of two ways: by the cessation of
the war and the blockade, which would enable them to supply the peasants wi=
th
the goods they need in exchange for food; or by the gradual development of =
an
independent Russian industry. This latter method would be slow, and would
involve terrible hardships, but some of the ablest men in the Government
believe it to be possible if peace cannot be achieved. If we force this met=
hod
upon Russia by the refusal of peace and trade, we shall forfeit the only
inducement we can hold out for friendly relations; we shall render the Sovi=
et
State unassailable and completely free to pursue the policy of promoting
revolution everywhere. But the industrial problem is a large subject, which=
has
been already discussed in Chapter VI.
In the
course of these chapters, I have had occasion to mention disagreeable featu=
res
of the Bolshevik régime. But it must always be remembered that these are
chiefly due to the fact that the industrial life of Russia has been paralys=
ed
except as ministering to the wants of the Army, and that the Government has=
had
to wage a bitter and doubtful civil and external war, involving the constant
menace of domestic enemies. Harshness, espionage, and a curtailment of libe=
rty result
unavoidably from these difficulties. I have no doubt whatever that the sole
cure for the evils from which Russia is suffering is peace and trade. Peace=
and
trade would put an end to the hostility of the peasants, and would at once
enable the Government to depend upon popularity rather than force. The
character of the Government would alter rapidly under such conditions.
Industrial conscription, which is now rigidly enforced, would become
unnecessary. Those who desire a more liberal spirit would be able to make t=
heir
voices heard without the feeling that they were assisting reaction and the
national enemies. The food difficulties would cease, and with them the need=
for
an autocratic system in the towns.
It must not be assumed, as is common with
opponents of Bolshevism, that any other Government could easily be establis=
hed
in Russia. I think every one who has been in Russia recently is convinced t=
hat
the existing Government is stable. It may undergo internal developments, and
might easily, but for Lenin, become a Bonapartist military autocracy. But t=
his
would be a change from within--not perhaps a very great change--and would
probably do little to alter the economic system. From what I saw of the Rus=
sian
character and of the opposition parties, I became persuaded that Russia is =
not
ready for any form of democracy, and needs a strong Government. The Bolshev=
iks
represent themselves as the Allies of Western advanced Socialism, and from =
this
point of view they are open to grave criticism. For their international
programme there is, to my mind, nothing to be said. But as a national
Government, stripped of their camouflage, regarded as the successors of Pet=
er
the Great, they are performing a necessary though unamiable task. They are
introducing, as far as they can, American efficiency among a lazy and
undisciplined population. They are preparing to develop the natural resourc=
es
of their country by the methods of State Socialism, for which, in Russia, t=
here
is much to be said. In the Army they are abolishing illiteracy, and if they=
had
peace they would do great things for education everywhere.
But if we continue to refuse peace and trade, =
I do
not think the Bolsheviks will go under. Russia will endure great hardships,=
in
the years to come as before. But the Russians are inured to misery as no We=
stern
nation is; they can live and work under conditions which we should find
intolerable. The Government will be driven more and more, from mere
self-preservation, into a policy of imperialism. The Entente has been doing
everything to expose Germany to a Russian invasion of arms and leaflets, by
allowing Poland to engage in war and compelling Germany to disarm. All Asia
lies open to Bolshevik ambitions. Almost the whole of the former Russian Em=
pire
in Asia is quite firmly in their grasp. Trains are running at a reasonable
speed to Turkestan, and I saw cotton from there being loaded on to Volga
steamers. In Persia and Turkey, revolts are taking place, with Bolshevik
support. It is only a question of a few years before India will be in touch=
with
the Red Army. If we continue to antagonize the Bolsheviks, I do not see what
force exists that can prevent them from acquiring the whole of Asia within =
ten
years.
The Russian Government is not yet definitely
imperialistic in spirit, and would still prefer peace to conquest. The coun=
try
is weary of war and denuded of goods. But if the Western Powers insist upon
war, another spirit, which is already beginning to show itself, will become=
dominant.
Conquest will be the only alternative to submission. Asiatic conquest will =
not
be difficult. But for us, from the imperialist standpoint, it will mean utt=
er
ruin. And for the Continent it will mean revolutions, civil wars, economic
cataclysms. The policy of crushing Bolshevism by force was always foolish a=
nd
criminal; it has now become impossible and fraught with disaster. Our own G=
overnment,
it would seem, have begun to realize the dangers, but apparently they do not
realize them sufficiently to enforce their view against opposition.
In the Theses presented to the Second Congress=
of
the Third International (July 1920), there is a very interesting article by=
Lenin
called "First Sketch of the Theses on National and Colonial Questions&=
quot;
(Theses, pp. 40-47). The following passages seemed to me particularly
illuminating:--
The
present world-situation in politics places on the order of the day the dictatorship of the
proletariat; and all the events=
of
world politics are inevitably concentrated round one centre of gravity: the struggle of the
international bourgeoisie again=
st the
Soviet Republic, which inevitably groups round it, on the one hand the
Sovietist movements of the adva=
nced
working men of all countries, on the other hand all the national movements of emancip=
ation
of colonies and oppressed natio=
ns
which have been convinced by a bitter experience that there is no salvation=
for
them except in the victory of t=
he
Soviet Government over world-imperialism.
We
cannot therefore any longer confine ourselves to recognizing and proclaiming the union=
of
the workers of all countries. I=
t is henceforth
necessary to pursue the realiza=
tion
of the strictest union of all the national and colonial movements of emancipation wi=
th
Soviet Russia, by giving to this
union forms corresponding to the degree of evolution of the proletarian movement=
among
the proletariat of each country=
, or
of the democratic-bourgeois movement of emancipation among the workers and pe=
asants
of backward countries or backwa=
rd
nationalities.
The
federal principle appears to us as a transitory form towards the complete unity of the wor=
kers
of all countries.
This is the formula for co-operation with Sinn
Fein or with Egyptian and Indian nationalism. It is further defined later. =
In
regard to backward countries, Lenin says, we must have in view:--
The
necessity of the co-operation of all Communists in the democratic-bourgeois movement of
emancipation in those countries=
.
Again:
"The Communist International must conclude temporary alliances =
with the bourgeois democracy of backw=
ard
countries, but must never fuse =
with
it." The class-conscious proletariat must "show itself particularly circum=
spect
towards the survivals of nation=
al
sentiment in countries long oppressed," and must "consent to certain useful conce=
ssions."
The Asiatic policy of the Russian Government w=
as
adopted as a move against the British Empire, and as a method of inducing t=
he
British Government to make peace. It plays a larger part in the schemes of =
the leading
Bolsheviks than is realized by the Labour Party in this country. Its method=
is
not, for the present, to preach Communism, since the Persians and Hindoos a=
re
considered scarcely ripe for the doctrines of Marx. It is nationalist movem=
ents
that are supported by money and agitators from Moscow. The method of
quasi-independent states under Bolshevik protection is well understood. It =
is
obvious that this policy affords opportunities for imperialism, under the c=
over
of propaganda, and there is no doubt that some among the Bolsheviks are
fascinated by its imperialist aspect. The importance officially attached to=
the
Eastern policy is illustrated by the fact that it was the subject of the
concluding portion of Lenin's speech to the recent Congress of the Third
International (July 1920).
Bolshevism, like everything Russian, is partly
Asiatic in character. One may distinguish two distinct trends, developing i=
nto
two distinct policies. On the one side are the practical men, who wish to
develop Russia industrially, to secure the gains of the Revolution national=
ly, to
trade with the West, and gradually settle down into a more or less ordinary
State. These men have on their side the fact of the economic exhaustion of
Russia, the danger of ultimate revolt against Bolshevism if life continues =
to
be as painful as it is at present, and the natural sentiment of humanity th=
at
wishes to relieve the sufferings of the people; also the fact that, if
revolutions elsewhere produce a similar collapse of industry, they will mak=
e it
impossible for Russia to receive the outside help which is urgently needed.=
In
the early days, when the Government was weak, they had unchallenged control=
of policy,
but success has made their position less secure.
On the other side there is a blend of two quite
different aims: first, the desire to promote revolution in the Western nati=
ons,
which is in line with Communist theory, and is also thought to be the only =
way
of obtaining a really secure peace; secondly, the desire for Asiatic domini=
on,
which is probably accompanied in the minds of some with dreams of sapphires=
and
rubies and golden thrones and all the glories of their forefather Solomon. =
This
desire produces an unwillingness to abandon the Eastern policy, although it=
is
realized that, until it is abandoned, peace with capitalist England is impo=
ssible.
I do not know whether there are some to whom the thought occurs that if Eng=
land
were to embark on revolution we should become willing to abandon India to t=
he
Russians. But I am certain that the converse thought occurs, namely that, if
India could be taken from us, the blow to imperialist feeling might lead us=
to
revolution. In either case, the two policies, of revolution in the West and
conquest (disguised as liberation of oppressed peoples) in the East, work in
together, and dovetail into a strongly coherent whole.
Bolshevism as a social phenomenon is to be
reckoned as a religion, not as an ordinary political movement. The important
and effective mental attitudes to the world may be broadly divided into the
religious and the scientific. The scientific attitude is tentative and
piecemeal, believing what it finds evidence for, and no more. Since Galileo,
the scientific attitude has proved itself increasingly capable of ascertain=
ing
important facts and laws, which are acknowledged by all competent people
regardless of temperament or self-interest or political pressure. Almost all
the progress in the world from the earliest times is attributable to science
and the scientific temper; almost all the major ills are attributable to
religion.
By a religion I mean a set of beliefs held as
dogmas, dominating the conduct of life, going beyond or contrary to evidenc=
e,
and inculcated by methods which are emotional or authoritarian, not
intellectual. By this definition, Bolshevism is a religion: that its dogmas=
go
beyond or contrary to evidence, I shall try to prove in what follows. Those=
who
accept Bolshevism become impervious to scientific evidence, and commit
intellectual suicide. Even if all the doctrines of Bolshevism were true, th=
is
would still be the case, since no unbiased examination of them is tolerated.
One who believes, as I do, that the free intellect is the chief engine of h=
uman
progress, cannot but be fundamentally opposed to Bolshevism, as much as to =
the
Church of Rome.
Among religions, Bolshevism is to be reckoned =
with
Mohammedanism rather than with Christianity and Buddhism. Christianity and
Buddhism are primarily personal religions, with mystical doctrines and a lo=
ve of
contemplation. Mohammedanism and Bolshevism are practical, social, unspirit=
ual,
concerned to win the empire of this world. Their founders would not have
resisted the third of the temptations in the wilderness. What Mohammedanism=
did
for the Arabs, Bolshevism may do for the Russians. As Ali went down before =
the
politicians who only rallied to the Prophet after his success, so the genui=
ne
Communists may go down before those who are now rallying to the ranks of th=
e Bolsheviks.
If so, Asiatic empire with all its pomps and splendours may well be the next
stage of development, and Communism may seem, in historical retrospect, as
small a part of Bolshevism as abstinence from alcohol is of Mohammedanism. =
It
is true that, as a world force, whether for revolution or for empire,
Bolshevism must sooner or later be brought by success into a desperate conf=
lict
with America; and America is more solid and strong, as yet, than anything t=
hat Mohammed's
followers had to face. But the doctrines of Communism are almost certain, in
the long run, to make progress among American wage-earners, and the opposit=
ion
of America is therefore not likely to be eternal. Bolshevism may go under in
Russia, but even if it does it will spring up again elsewhere, since it is
ideally suited to an industrial population in distress. What is evil in it =
is
mainly due to the fact that it has its origin in distress; the problem is t=
o disentangle
the good from the evil, and induce the adoption of the good in countries not
goaded into ferocity by despair.
Russia is a backward country, not yet ready for
the methods of equal co-operation which the West is seeking to substitute f=
or
arbitrary power in politics and industry. In Russia, the methods of the Bol=
sheviks
are probably more or less unavoidable; at any rate, I am not prepared to
criticize them in their broad lines. But they are not the methods appropria=
te
to more advanced countries, and our Socialists will be unnecessarily retrog=
rade
if they allow the prestige of the Bolsheviks to lead them into slavish
imitation. It will be a far less excusable error in our reactionaries if, b=
y their
unteachableness, they compel the adoption of violent methods. We have a
heritage of civilization and mutual tolerance which is important to ourselv=
es
and to the world. Life in Russia has always been fierce and cruel, to a far
greater degree than with us, and out of the war has come a danger that this
fierceness and cruelty may become universal. I have hopes that in England t=
his
may be avoided through the moderation of both sides. But it is essential to=
a
happy issue that melodrama should no longer determine our views of the
Bolsheviks: they are neither angels to be worshipped nor devils to be
exterminated, but merely bold and able men attempting with great skill an
almost impossible task.
I - THE MATERI=
ALISTIC
THEORY OF HISTORY
The
materialistic conception of history, as it is called, is due to Marx, and
underlies the whole Communist philosophy. I do not mean, of course, that a =
man
could not be a Communist without accepting it, but that in fact it is accep=
ted
by the Communist Party, and that it profoundly influences their views as to
politics and tactics. The name does not convey at all accurately what is me=
ant
by the theory. It means that all the mass-phenomena of history are determin=
ed
by economic motives. This view has no essential connection with materialism=
in
the philosophic sense. Materialism in the philosophic sense may be defined =
as
the theory that all apparently mental occurrences either are really physica=
l,
or at any rate have purely physical causes. Materialism in this sense also =
was
preached by Marx, and is accepted by all orthodox Marxians. The arguments f=
or
and against it are long and complicated, and need not concern us, since, in
fact, its truth or falsehood has little or no bearing on politics.
In particular, philosophic materialism does not
prove that economic causes are fundamental in politics. The view of Buckle,=
for
example, according to which climate is one of the decisive factors, is equa=
lly compatible
with materialism. So is the Freudian view, which traces everything to sex.
There are innumerable ways of viewing history which are materialistic in the
philosophic sense without being economic or falling within the Marxian form=
ula.
Thus the "materialistic conception of history" may be false even =
if
materialism in the philosophic sense should be true.
On the other hand, economic causes might be at=
the
bottom of all political events even if philosophic materialism were false.
Economic causes operate through men's desire for possessions, and would be =
supreme
if this desire were supreme, even if desire could not, from a philosophic p=
oint
of view, be explained in materialistic terms.
There is, therefore, no logical connection eit=
her
way between philosophic materialism and what is called the "materialis=
tic conception
of history."
It is of some moment to realize such facts as
this, because otherwise political theories are both supported and opposed f=
or
quite irrelevant reasons, and arguments of theoretical philosophy are emplo=
yed
to determine questions which depend upon concrete facts of human nature. Th=
is
mixture damages both philosophy and politics, and is therefore important to
avoid.
For another reason, also, the attempt to base a
political theory upon a philosophical doctrine is undesirable. The philosop=
hical
doctrine of materialism, if true at all, is true everywhere and always; we
cannot expect exceptions to it, say, in Buddhism or in the Hussite movement=
. And
so it comes about that people whose politics are supposed to be a consequen=
ce
of their metaphysics grow absolute and sweeping, unable to admit that a gen=
eral
theory of history is likely, at best, to be only true on the whole and in t=
he
main. The dogmatic character of Marxian Communism finds support in the supp=
osed
philosophic basis of the doctrine; it has the fixed certainty of Catholic
theology, not the changing fluidity and sceptical practicality of modern
science.
Treated as a practical approximation, not as an
exact metaphysical law, the materialistic conception of history has a very
large measure of truth. Take, as an instance of its truth, the influence of=
industrialism
upon ideas. It is industrialism, rather than the arguments of Darwinians and
Biblical critics, that has led to the decay of religious belief in the urban
working class. At the same time, industrialism has revived religious belief
among the rich. In the eighteenth century French aristocrats mostly became
free-thinkers; now their descendants are mostly Catholics, because it has
become necessary for all the forces of reaction to unite against the revolu=
tionary
proletariat. Take, again, the emancipation of women. Plato, Mary Wolstonecr=
aft,
and John Stuart Mill produced admirable arguments, but influenced only a few
impotent idealists. The war came, leading to the employment of women in
industry on a large scale, and instantly the arguments in favour of votes f=
or
women were seen to be irresistible. More than that, traditional sexual mora=
lity
collapsed, because its whole basis was the economic dependence of women upo=
n their
fathers and husbands. Changes in such a matter as sexual morality bring with
them profound alterations in the thoughts and feelings of ordinary men and
women; they modify law, literature, art, and all kinds of institutions that
seem remote from economics.
Such facts as these justify Marxians in speaki=
ng,
as they do, of "bourgeois ideology," meaning that kind of morality
which has been imposed upon the world by the possessors of capital. Content=
ment
with one's lot may be taken as typical of the virtues preached by the rich =
to
the poor. They honestly believe it is a virtue--at any rate they did former=
ly.
The more religious among the poor also believed it, partly from the influen=
ce
of authority, partly from an impulse to submission, what MacDougall calls
"negative self-feeling," which is commoner than some people think.
Similarly men preached the virtue of female chastity, and women usually
accepted their teaching; both really believed the doctrine, but its persist=
ence
was only possible through the economic power of men. This led erring women =
to
punishment here on earth, which made further punishment hereafter seem
probable. When the economic penalty ceased, the conviction of sinfulness gr=
adually
decayed. In such changes we see the collapse of "bourgeois ideology.&q=
uot;
But in spite of the fundamental importance of
economic facts in determining the politics and beliefs of an age or nation,=
I
do not think that non-economic factors can be neglected without risks of er=
rors
which may be fatal in practice.
The most obvious non-economic factor, and the =
one
the neglect of which has led Socialists most astray, is nationalism. Of cou=
rse
a nation, once formed, has economic interests which largely determine its p=
olitics;
but it is not, as a rule, economic motives that decide what group of human
beings shall form a nation. Trieste, before the war, considered itself Ital=
ian,
although its whole prosperity as a port depended upon its belonging to Aust=
ria.
No economic motive can account for the opposition between Ulster and the re=
st
of Ireland. In Eastern Europe, the Balkanization produced by self-determina=
tion
has been obviously disastrous from an economic point of view, and was deman=
ded for
reasons which were in essence sentimental. Throughout the war wage-earners,
with only a few exceptions, allowed themselves to be governed by nationalist
feeling, and ignored the traditional Communist exhortation: "Workers of
the world, unite." According to Marxian orthodoxy, they were misled by
cunning capitalists, who made their profit out of the slaughter. But to any=
one
capable of observing psychological facts, it is obvious that this is largel=
y a
myth. Immense numbers of capitalists were ruined by the war; those who were=
young
were just as liable to be killed as the proletarians were. No doubt commerc=
ial
rivalry between England and Germany had a great deal to do with causing the
war; but rivalry is a different thing from profit-seeking. Probably by
combination English and German capitalists could have made more than they d=
id
out of rivalry, but the rivalry was instinctive, and its economic form was
accidental. The capitalists were in the grip of nationalist instinct as muc=
h as
their proletarian "dupes." In both classes some have gained by the
war; but the universal will to war was not produced by the hope of gain. It=
was
produced by a different set of instincts, and one which Marxian psychology
fails to recognize adequately.
The Marxian assumes that a man's "herd,&q=
uot;
from the point of view of herd-instinct, is his class, and that he will com=
bine
with those whose economic class-interest is the same as his. This is only v=
ery partially
true in fact. Religion has been the most decisive factor in determining a m=
an's
herd throughout long periods of the world's history. Even now a Catholic
working man will vote for a Catholic capitalist rather than for an unbeliev=
ing
Socialist. In America the divisions in local elections are mainly on religi=
ous
lines. This is no doubt convenient for the capitalists, and tends to make t=
hem
religious men; but the capitalists alone could not produce the result. The =
result
is produced by the fact that many working men prefer the advancement of the=
ir
creed to the improvement of their livelihood. However deplorable such a sta=
te
of mind may be, it is not necessarily due to capitalist lies.
All politics are governed by human desires. The
materialist theory of history, in the last analysis, requires the assumption
that every politically conscious person is governed by one single desire--t=
he desire
to increase his own share of commodities; and, further, that his method of
achieving this desire will usually be to seek to increase the share of his
class, not only his own individual share. But this assumption is very far f=
rom
the truth. Men desire power, they desire satisfactions for their pride and =
their
self-respect. They desire victory over rivals so profoundly that they will
invent a rivalry for the unconscious purpose of making a victory possible. =
All these
motives cut across the pure economic motive in ways that are practically
important.
There is need of a treatment of political moti=
ves
by the methods of psycho-analysis. In politics, as in private life, men inv=
ent
myths to rationalize their conduct. If a man thinks that the only reasonabl=
e motive
in politics is economic self-advancement, he will persuade himself that the
things he wishes to do will make him rich. When he wants to fight the Germa=
ns,
he tells himself that their competition is ruining his trade. If, on the ot=
her
hand, he is an "idealist," who holds that his politics should aim=
at
the advancement of the human race, he will tell himself that the crimes of =
the
Germans demand their humiliation. The Marxian sees through this latter
camouflage, but not through the former. To desire one's own economic
advancement is comparatively reasonable; to Marx, who inherited
eighteenth-century rationalist psychology from the British orthodox economi=
sts,
self-enrichment seemed the natural aim of a man's political actions. But mo=
dern
psychology has dived much deeper into the ocean of insanity upon which the
little barque of human reason insecurely floats. The intellectual optimism =
of a
bygone age is no longer possible to the modern student of human nature. Yet=
it
lingers in Marxism, making Marxians rigid and Procrustean in their treatmen=
t of
the life of instinct. Of this rigidity the materialistic conception of hist=
ory
is a prominent instance.
In the next chapter I shall attempt to outline= a political psychology which seems to me more nearly true than that of Marx.<= o:p>
The l=
arger
events in the political life of the world are determined by the interaction=
of
material conditions and human passions. The operation of the passions on the
material conditions is modified by intelligence. The passions themselves ma=
y be
modified by alien intelligence guided by alien passions. So far, such
modification has been wholly unscientific, but it may in time become as pre=
cise
as engineering.
The classification of the passions which is mo=
st
convenient in political theory is somewhat different from that which would =
be adopted
in psychology.
We may begin with desires for the necessaries =
of
life: food, drink, sex, and (in cold climates) clothing and housing. When t=
hese
are threatened, there is no limit to the activity and violence that men will
display.
Planted upon these primitive desires are a num=
ber
of secondary desires. Love of property, of which the fundamental political =
importance
is obvious, may be derived historically and psychologically from the hoardi=
ng
instinct. Love of the good opinion of others (which we may call vanity) is a
desire which man shares with many animals; it is perhaps derivable from
courtship, but has great survival value, among gregarious animals, in regar=
d to
others besides possible mates. Rivalry and love of power are perhaps
developments of jealousy; they are akin, but not identical.
These four passions--acquisitiveness, vanity,
rivalry, and love of power--are, after the basic instincts, the prime mover=
s of
almost all that happens in politics. Their operation is intensified and reg=
ularized
by herd instinct. But herd instinct, by its very nature, cannot be a prime
mover, since it merely causes the herd to act in unison, without determining
what the united action is to be. Among men, as among other gregarious anima=
ls,
the united action, in any given circumstances, is determined partly by the
common passions of the herd, partly by imitation of leaders. The art of
politics consists in causing the latter to prevail over the former.
Of the four passions we have enumerated, only =
one,
namely acquisitiveness, is concerned at all directly with men's relations t=
o their
material conditions. The other three--vanity, rivalry, and love of power--a=
re
concerned with social relations. I think this is the source of what is
erroneous in the Marxian interpretation of history, which tacitly assumes t=
hat
acquisitiveness is the source of all political actions. It is clear that ma=
ny
men willingly forego wealth for the sake of power and glory, and that natio=
ns
habitually sacrifice riches to rivalry with other nations. The desire for s=
ome
form of superiority is common to almost all energetic men. No social system=
which
attempts to thwart it can be stable, since the lazy majority will never be a
match for the energetic minority.
What is called "virtue" is an offsho=
ot
of vanity: it is the habit of acting in a manner which others praise.
The operation of material conditions may be
illustrated by the statement (Myers's Dawn of History) that four of the
greatest movements of conquest have been due to drought in Arabia, causing =
the nomads
of that country to migrate into regions already inhabited. The last of these
four movements was the rise of Islam. In these four cases, the primal need =
of
food and drink was enough to set events in motion; but as this need could o=
nly
be satisfied by conquest, the four secondary passions must have very soon c=
ome
into play. In the conquests of modern industrialism, the secondary passions
have been almost wholly dominant, since those who directed them had no need=
to fear
hunger or thirst. It is the potency of vanity and love of power that gives =
hope
for the industrial future of Soviet Russia, since it enables the Communist
State to enlist in its service men whose abilities might give them vast wea=
lth
in a capitalistic society.
Intelligence modifies profoundly the operation=
of
material conditions. When America was first discovered, men only desired go=
ld
and silver; consequently the portions first settled were not those that are=
now
most profitable. The Bessemer process created the German iron and steel
industry; inventions requiring oil have created a demand for that commodity
which is one of the chief influences in international politics.
The intelligence which has this profound effec=
t on
politics is not political, but scientific and technical: it is the kind of =
intelligence
which discovers how to make nature minister to human passions. Tungsten had=
no
value until it was found to be useful in the manufacture of shells and elec=
tric
light, but now people will, if necessary, kill each other in order to acqui=
re
tungsten. Scientific intelligence is the cause of this change.
The progress or retrogression of the world
depends, broadly speaking, upon the balance between acquisitiveness and
rivalry. The former makes for progress, the latter for retrogression. When
intelligence provides improved methods of production, these may be employed=
to
increase the general share of goods, or to set apart more of the labour pow=
er
of the community for the business of killing its rivals. Until 1914, acquis=
itiveness
had prevailed, on the whole, since the fall of Napoleon; the past six years
have seen a prevalence of the instinct of rivalry. Scientific intelligence
makes it possible to indulge this instinct more fully than is possible for
primitive peoples, since it sets free more men from the labour of producing
necessaries. It is possible that scientific intelligence may, in time, reach
the point when it will enable rivalry to exterminate the human race. This is
the most hopeful method of bringing about an end of war.
For those who do not like this method, there is
another: the study of scientific psychology and physiology. The physiologic=
al
causes of emotions have begun to be known, through the studies of such men =
as Cannon
(Bodily Changes in Pain, Hunger, Fear and Rage). In time, it may become
possible, by physiological means, to alter the whole emotional nature of a
population. It will then depend upon the passions of the rulers how this po=
wer
is used. Success will come to the State which discovers how to promote
pugnacity to the extent required for external war, but not to the extent wh=
ich
would lead to domestic dissensions. There is no method by which it can be
insured that rulers shall desire the good of mankind, and therefore there i=
s no
reason to suppose that the power to modify men's emotional nature would cau=
se
progress.
If men desired to diminish rivalry, there is an
obvious method. Habits of power intensify the passion of rivalry; therefore=
a
State in which power is concentrated will, other things being equal, be mor=
e bellicose
than one in which power is diffused. For those who dislike wars, this is an
additional argument against all forms of dictatorship. But dislike of war is
far less common than we used to suppose; and those who like war can use the
same argument to support dictatorship.
The
Bolshevik argument against Parliamentary democracy as a method of achieving
Socialism is a powerful one. My answer to it lies rather in pointing out wh=
at I
believe to be fallacies in the Bolshevik method, from which I conclude that=
no
swift method exists of establishing any desirable form of Socialism. But le=
t us
first see what the Bolshevik argument is.
In the first place, it assumes that those to w=
hom
it is addressed are absolutely certain that Communism is desirable, so cert=
ain
that they are willing, if necessary, to force it upon an unwilling populati=
on
at the point of the bayonet. It then proceeds to argue that, while capitali=
sm
retains its hold over propaganda and its means of corruption, Parliamentary
methods are very unlikely to give a majority for Communism in the House of
Commons, or to lead to effective action by such a majority even if it exist=
ed.
Communists point out how the people are deceived, and how their chosen lead=
ers
have again and again betrayed them. From this they argue that the destructi=
on
of capitalism must be sudden and catastrophic; that it must be the work of a
minority; and that it cannot be effected constitutionally or without violen=
ce.
It is therefore, in their view, the duty of the Communist party in a capita=
list
country to prepare for armed conflict, and to take all possible measure for
disarming the bourgeoisie and arming that part of the proletariat which is
willing to support the Communists.
There is an air of realism and disillusionment
about this position, which makes it attractive to those idealists who wish =
to
think themselves cynics. But I think there are various points in which it f=
ails
to be as realistic as it pretends.
In the first place, it makes much of the treac=
hery
of Labour leaders in constitutional movements, but does not consider the
possibility of the treachery of Communist leaders in a revolution. To this =
the Marxian
would reply that in constitutional movements men are bought, directly or
indirectly, by the money of the capitalists, but that revolutionary Communi=
sm
would leave the capitalists no money with which to attempt corruption. This=
has
been achieved in Russia, and could be achieved elsewhere. But selling onese=
lf
to the capitalists is not the only possible form of treachery. It is also
possible, having acquired power, to use it for one's own ends instead of for
the people. This is what I believe to be likely to happen in Russia: the es=
tablishment
of a bureaucratic aristocracy, concentrating authority in its own hands, and
creating a régime just as oppressive and cruel as that of capitalism. Marxi=
ans
never sufficiently recognize that love of power is quite as strong a motive,
and quite as great a source of injustice, as love of money; yet this must be
obvious to any unbiased student of politics. It is also obvious that the me=
thod
of violent revolution leading to a minority dictatorship is one peculiarly =
calculated
to create habits of despotism which would survive the crisis by which they =
were
generated. Communist politicians are likely to become just like the politic=
ians
of other parties: a few will be honest, but the great majority will merely
cultivate the art of telling a plausible tale with a view to tricking the
people into entrusting them with power. The only possible way by which
politicians as a class can be improved is the political and psychological e=
ducation
of the people, so that they may learn to detect a humbug. In England men ha=
ve
reached the point of suspecting a good speaker, but if a man speaks badly t=
hey
think he must be honest. Unfortunately, virtue is not so widely diffused as
this theory would imply.
In the second place, it is assumed by the
Communist argument that, although capitalist propaganda can prevent the
majority from becoming Communists, yet capitalist laws and police forces ca=
nnot
prevent the Communists, while still a minority, from acquiring a supremacy =
of military
power. It is thought that secret propaganda can undermine the army and navy,
although it is admittedly impossible to get the majority to vote at electio=
ns
for the programme of the Bolsheviks. This view is based upon Russian
experience, where the army and navy had suffered defeat and had been brutal=
ly
ill used by incompetent Tsarist authorities. The argument has no applicatio=
n to
more efficient and successful States. Among the Germans, even in defeat, it=
was
the civilian population that began the revolution.
There is a further assumption in the Bolshevik
argument which seems to me quite unwarrantable. It is assumed that the
capitalist governments will have learned nothing from the experience of Rus=
sia.
Before the Russian Revolution, governments had not studied Bolshevik theory.
And defeat in war created a revolutionary mood throughout Central and Easte=
rn
Europe. But now the holders of power are on their guard. There seems no rea=
son
whatever to suppose that they will supinely permit a preponderance of armed
force to pass into the hands of those who wish to overthrow them, while,
according to the Bolshevik theory, they are still sufficiently popular to be
supported by a majority at the polls. Is it not as clear as noonday that in=
a
democratic country it is more difficult for the proletariat to destroy the
Government by arms than to defeat it in a general election? Seeing the imme=
nse
advantages of a Government in dealing with rebels, it seems clear that
rebellion could have little hope of success unless a very large majority
supported it. Of course, if the army and navy were specially revolutionary,
they might effect an unpopular revolution; but this situation, though somet=
hing
like it occurred in Russia, is hardly to be expected in the Western nations.
This whole Bolshevik theory of revolution by a minority is one which might =
just
conceivably have succeeded as a secret plot, but becomes impossible as soon=
as
it is openly avowed and advocated.
But perhaps it will be said that I am caricatu=
ring
the Bolshevik doctrine of revolution. It is urged by advocates of this
doctrine, quite truly, that all political events are brought about by minor=
ities,
since the majority are indifferent to politics. But there is a difference
between a minority in which the indifferent acquiesce, and a minority so ha=
ted
as to startle the indifferent into belated action. To make the Bolshevik
doctrine reasonable, it is necessary to suppose that they believe the major=
ity
can be induced to acquiesce, at least temporarily, in the revolution made by
the class-conscious minority. This, again, is based upon Russian experience:
desire for peace and land led to a widespread support of the Bolsheviks in =
November
1917 on the part of people who have subsequently shown no love for Communis=
m.
I think we come here to an essential part of
Bolshevik philosophy. In the moment of revolution, Communists are to have s=
ome
popular cry by which they win more support than mere Communism could win.
Having thus acquired the State machine, they are to use it for their own en=
ds.
But this, again, is a method which can only be practised successfully so lo=
ng
as it is not avowed. It is to some extent habitual in politics. The Unionis=
ts
in 1900 won a majority on the Boer War, and used it to endow brewers and Ch=
urch
schools. The Liberals in 1906 won a majority on Chinese labour, and used it=
to
cement the secret alliance with France and to make an alliance with Tsarist
Russia. President Wilson, in 1916, won his majority on neutrality, and used=
it
to come into the war. This method is part of the stock-in-trade of democrac=
y.
But its success depends upon repudiating it until the moment comes to pract=
ise it.
Those who, like the Bolsheviks, have the honesty to proclaim in advance the=
ir
intention of using power for other ends than those for which it was given t=
hem,
are not likely to have a chance of carrying out their designs.
What seems to me to emerge from these
considerations is this: That in a democratic and politically educated count=
ry,
armed revolution in favour of Communism would have no chance of succeeding
unless it were supported by a larger majority than would be required for the
election of a Communist Government by constitutional methods. It is possibl=
e that,
if such a Government came into existence, and proceeded to carry out its
programme, it would be met by armed resistance on the part of capital,
including a large proportion of the officers in the army and navy. But in
subduing this resistance it would have the support of that great body of
opinion which believes in legality and upholds the constitution. Moreover,
having, by hypothesis, converted a majority of the nation, a Communist
Government could be sure of loyal help from immense numbers of workers, and
would not be forced, as the Bolsheviks are in Russia, to suspect treachery
everywhere. Under these circumstances, I believe that the resistance of the
capitalists could be quelled without much difficulty, and would receive lit=
tle
support from moderate people. Whereas, in a minority revolt of Communists a=
gainst
a capitalist Government, all moderate opinion would be on the side of capit=
alism.
The contention that capitalist propaganda is w=
hat
prevents the adoption of Communism by wage-earners is only very partially t=
rue.
Capitalist propaganda has never been able to prevent the Irish from voting
against the English, though it has been applied to this object with great
vigour. It has proved itself powerless, over and over again, in opposing
nationalist movements which had almost no moneyed support. It has been unab=
le
to cope with religious feeling. And those industrial populations which would
most obviously benefit by Socialism have, in the main, adopted it, in spite=
of
the opposition of employers. The plain truth is that Socialism does not aro=
use
the same passionate interest in the average citizen as is roused by nationa=
lity
and used to be roused by religion. It is not unlikely that things may chang=
e in
this respect: we may be approaching a period of economic civil wars compara=
ble
to that of the religious civil wars that followed the Reformation. In such a
period, nationalism is submerged by party: British and German Socialists, or
British and German capitalists, will feel more kinship with each other than
with compatriots of the opposite political camp. But when that day comes, t=
here
will be no difficulty, in highly industrial countries, in securing Socialist
majorities; if Socialism is not then carried without bloodshed, it will be =
due
to the unconstitutional action of the rich, not to the need of revolutionary
violence on the part of the advocates of the proletariat. Whether such a st=
ate
of opinion grows up or not depends mainly upon the stubbornness or
conciliatoriness of the possessing classes, and, conversely, upon the
moderation or violence of those who desire fundamental economic change. The
majority which Bolsheviks regard as unattainable is chiefly prevented by th=
e ruthlessness
of their own tactics.
Apart from all arguments of detail, there are =
two
broad objections to violent revolution in a democratic community. The first=
is
that, when once the principle of respecting majorities as expressed at the =
ballot-box
is abandoned, there is no reason to suppose that victory will be secured by=
the
particular minority to which one happens to belong. There are many minoriti=
es
besides Communists: religious minorities, teetotal minorities, militarist
minorities, capitalist minorities. Any one of these could adopt the method =
of
obtaining power advocated by the Bolsheviks, and any one would be just as
likely to succeed as they are. What restrains these minorities, more or les=
s,
at present, is respect for the law and the constitution. Bolsheviks tacitly
assume that every other party will preserve this respect while they themsel=
ves,
unhindered, prepare the revolution. But if their philosophy of violence bec=
omes
popular, there is not the slightest reason to suppose that they will be its
beneficiaries. They believe that Communism is for the good of the majority;
they ought to believe that they can persuade the majority on this question,=
and
to have the patience to set about the task of winning by propaganda.
The second argument of principle against the
method of minority violence is that abandonment of law, when it becomes
widespread, lets loose the wild beast, and gives a free rein to the primiti=
ve
lusts and egoisms which civilization in some degree curbs. Every student of=
mediæval
thought must have been struck by the extraordinarily high value placed upon=
law
in that period. The reason was that, in countries infested by robber barons,
law was the first requisite of progress. We, in the modern world, take it f=
or
granted that most people will be law-abiding, and we hardly realize what
centuries of effort have gone to making such an assumption possible. We for=
get
how many of the good things that we unquestionably expect would disappear o=
ut
of life if murder, rape, and robbery with violence became common. And we fo=
rget
even more how very easily this might happen. The universal class-war
foreshadowed by the Third International, following upon the loosening of
restraints produced by the late war, and combined with a deliberate inculca=
tion
of disrespect for law and constitutional government, might, and I believe
would, produce a state of affairs in which it would be habitual to murder m=
en
for a crust of bread, and in which women would only be safe while armed men=
protected
them. The civilized nations have accepted democratic government as a method=
of
settling internal disputes without violence. Democratic government may have=
all
the faults attributed to it, but it has the one great merit that people are=
, on
the whole, willing to accept it as a substitute for civil war in political
disputes. Whoever sets to work to weaken this acceptance, whether in Ulster=
or
in Moscow, is taking a fearful responsibility. Civilization is not so stable
that it cannot be broken up; and a condition of lawless violence is not one=
out
of which any good thing is likely to emerge. For this reason, if for no oth=
er,
revolutionary violence in a democracy is infinitely dangerous.
IV - REVOLUTIO=
N AND
DICTATORSHIP
The
Bolsheviks have a very definite programme for achieving Communism--a progra=
mme
which has been set forth by Lenin repeatedly, and quite recently in the rep=
ly
of the Third International to the questionnaire submitted by the Independent
Labour Party.
Capitalists, we are assured, will stick at not=
hing
in defence of their privileges. It is the nature of man, in so far as he is
politically conscious, to fight for the interests of his class so long as
classes exist. When the conflict is not pushed to extremes, methods of conc=
iliation
and political deception may be preferable to actual physical warfare; but as
soon as the proletariat make a really vital attack upon the capitalists, th=
ey
will be met by guns and bayonets. This being certain and inevitable, it is =
as
well to be prepared for it, and to conduct propaganda accordingly. Those who
pretend that pacific methods can lead to the realization of Communism are f=
alse
friends to the wage-earners; intentionally or unintentionally, they are cov=
ert
allies of the bourgeoisie.
There must, then, according to Bolshevik theor=
y,
be armed conflict sooner or later, if the injustices of the present economic
system are ever to be remedied. Not only do they assume armed conflict: they
have a fairly definite conception of the way in which it is to be conducted.
This conception has been carried out in Russia, and is to be carried out,
before very long, in every civilized country. The Communists, who represent=
the
class-conscious wage-earners, wait for some propitious moment when events h=
ave
caused a mood of revolutionary discontent with the existing Government. They
then put themselves at the head of the discontent, carry through a successf=
ul
revolution, and in so doing acquire the arms, the railways, the State treas=
ure,
and all the other resources upon which the power of modern Governments is b=
uilt.
They then confine political power to Communists, however small a minority t=
hey
may be of the whole nation. They set to work to increase their number by
propaganda and the control of education. And meanwhile, they introduce
Communism into every department of economic life as quickly as possible.
Ultimately, after a longer or shorter period,
according to circumstances, the nation will be converted to Communism, the
relics of capitalist institutions will have been obliterated, and it will b=
e possible
to restore freedom. But the political conflicts to which we are accustomed =
will
not reappear. All the burning political questions of our time, according to=
the
Communists, are questions of class conflict, and will disappear when the
division of classes disappears. Accordingly the State will no longer be
required, since the State is essentially an engine of power designed to give
the victory to one side in the class conflict. Ordinary States are designed=
to
give the victory to the capitalists; the proletarian State (Soviet Russia) =
is designed
to give the victory to the wage-earners. As soon as the community contains =
only
wage-earners, the State will cease to have any functions. And so, through a
period of dictatorship, we shall finally arrive at a condition very similar=
to
that aimed at by Anarchist Communism.
Three questions arise in regard to this method=
of
reaching Utopia. First, would the ultimate state foreshadowed by the Bolshe=
viks
be desirable in itself? Secondly, would the conflict involved in achieving =
it
by the Bolshevik method be so bitter and prolonged that its evils would
outweigh the ultimate good? Thirdly, is this method likely to lead, in the =
end,
to the state which the Bolsheviks desire, or will it fail at some point and
arrive at a quite different result? If we are to be Bolsheviks, we must ans=
wer
all these questions in a sense favourable to their programme.
As regards the first question, I have no
hesitation in answering it in a manner favourable to Communism. It is clear
that the present inequalities of wealth are unjust. In part, they may be
defended as affording an incentive to useful industry, but I do not think t=
his defence
will carry us very far. However, I have argued this question before in my b=
ook
on Roads to Freedom, and I will not spend time upon it now. On this matter,=
I
concede the Bolshevik case. It is the other two questions that I wish to
discuss.
Our second question was: Is the ultimate good
aimed at by the Bolsheviks sufficiently great to be worth the price that,
according to their own theory, will have to be paid for achieving it?
If anything human were absolutely certain, we
might answer this question affirmatively with some confidence. The benefits=
of Communism,
if it were once achieved, might be expected to be lasting; we might
legitimately hope that further change would be towards something still bett=
er,
not towards a revival of ancient evils. But if we admit, as we must do, that
the outcome of the Communist revolution is in some degree uncertain, it bec=
omes
necessary to count the cost; for a great part of the cost is all but certai=
n.
Since the revolution of October, 1917, the Sov=
iet
Government has been at war with almost all the world, and has had at the sa=
me
time to face civil war at home. This is not to be regarded as accidental, o=
r as
a misfortune which could not be foreseen. According to Marxian theory, what=
has
happened was bound to happen. Indeed, Russia has been wonderfully fortunate=
in
not having to face an even more desperate situation. First and foremost, the
world was exhausted by the war, and in no mood for military adventures. Nex=
t,
the Tsarist régime was the worst in Europe, and therefore rallied less supp=
ort
than would be secured by any other capitalist Government. Again, Russia is =
vast
and agricultural, making it capable of resisting both invasion and blockade
better than Great Britain or France or Germany. The only other country that
could have resisted with equal success is the United States, which is at
present very far removed from a proletarian revolution, and likely long to
remain the chief bulwark of the capitalist system. It is evident that Great
Britain, attempting a similar revolution, would be forced by starvation to
yield within a few months, provided America led a policy of blockade. The s=
ame
is true, though in a less degree, of continental countries. Therefore, unle=
ss
and until an international Communist revolution becomes possible, we must
expect that any other nation following Russia's example will have to pay an
even higher price than Russia has had to pay.
Now the price that Russia is having to pay is =
very
great. The almost universal poverty might be thought to be a small evil in
comparison with the ultimate gain, but it brings with it other evils of whi=
ch the
magnitude would be acknowledged even by those who have never known poverty =
and
therefore make light of it. Hunger brings an absorption in the question of
food, which, to most people, makes life almost purely animal. The general
shortage makes people fierce, and reacts upon the political atmosphere. The
necessity of inculcating Communism produces a hot-house condition, where ev=
ery
breath of fresh air must be excluded: people are to be taught to think in a
certain way, and all free intelligence becomes taboo. The country comes to
resemble an immensely magnified Jesuit College. Every kind of liberty is ba=
nned
as being "bourgeois"; but it remains a fact that intelligence lan=
guishes
where thought is not free.
All this, however, according to the leaders of=
the
Third International, is only a small beginning of the struggle, which must =
become
world-wide before it achieves victory. In their reply to the Independent La=
bour
Party they say:
It=
is
probable that upon the throwing off of the chains of the capitalist Governments, the revolutio=
nary
proletariat of Europe will meet=
the
resistance of Anglo-Saxon capital in the persons of British and American capit=
alists
who will attempt to blockade it=
. It
is then possible that the revolutionary proletariat of Europe will rise in un=
ion
with the peoples of the East and
commence a revolutionary struggle, the scene of which will be the entire world, to de=
al a
final blow to British and Ameri=
can
capitalism (The Times, July 30, 1920).
The war here prophesied, if it ever takes plac=
e,
will be one compared to which the late war will come to seem a mere affair =
of
outposts. Those who realize the destructiveness of the late war, the
devastation and impoverishment, the lowering of the level of civilization t=
hroughout
vast areas, the general increase of hatred and savagery, the letting loose =
of
bestial instincts which had been curbed during peace--those who realize all
this will hesitate to incur inconceivably greater horrors, even if they bel=
ieve
firmly that Communism in itself is much to be desired. An economic system
cannot be considered apart from the population which is to carry it out; and
the population resulting from such a world-war as Moscow calmly contemplates
would be savage, bloodthirsty and ruthless to an extent that must make any =
system
a mere engine of oppression and cruelty.
This brings us to our third question: Is the
system which Communists regard as their goal likely to result from the adop=
tion
of their methods? This is really the most vital question of the three.
Advocacy of Communism by those who believe in
Bolshevik methods rests upon the assumption that there is no slavery except
economic slavery, and that when all goods are held in common there must be
perfect liberty. I fear this is a delusion.
There must be administration, there must be
officials who control distribution. These men, in a Communist State, are the
repositories of power. So long as they control the army, they are able, as =
in
Russia at this moment, to wield despotic power even if they are a small min=
ority.
The fact that there is Communism--to a certain extent--does not mean that t=
here
is liberty. If the Communism were more complete, it would not necessarily m=
ean
more freedom; there would still be certain officials in control of the food
supply, and these officials could govern as they pleased so long as they
retained the support of the soldiers. This is not mere theory: it is the pa=
tent
lesson of the present condition of Russia. The Bolshevik theory is that a s=
mall
minority are to seize power, and are to hold it until Communism is accepted
practically universally, which, they admit, may take a long time. But power=
is
sweet, and few men surrender it voluntarily. It is especially sweet to those
who have the habit of it, and the habit becomes most ingrained in those who
have governed by bayonets, without popular support. Is it not almost inevit=
able
that men placed as the Bolsheviks are placed in Russia, and as they maintain
that the Communists must place themselves wherever the social revolution su=
cceeds,
will be loath to relinquish their monopoly of power, and will find reasons =
for
remaining until some new revolution ousts them? Would it not be fatally easy
for them, without altering economic structure, to decree large salaries for
high Government officials, and so reintroduce the old inequalities of wealt=
h?
What motive would they have for not doing so? What motive is possible except
idealism, love of mankind, non-economic motives of the sort that Bolsheviks
decry? The system created by violence and the forcible rule of a minority m=
ust
necessarily allow of tyranny and exploitation; and if human nature is what
Marxians assert it to be, why should the rulers neglect such opportunities =
of
selfish advantage?
It is sheer nonsense to pretend that the ruler=
s of
a great empire such as Soviet Russia, when they have become accustomed to
power, retain the proletarian psychology, and feel that their class-interes=
t is
the same as that of the ordinary working man. This is not the case in fact =
in
Russia now, however the truth may be concealed by fine phrases. The Governm=
ent
has a class-consciousness and a class-interest quite distinct from those of=
the
genuine proletarian, who is not to be confounded with the paper proletarian=
of
the Marxian schema. In a capitalist state, the Government and the capitalis=
ts
on the whole hang together, and form one class; in Soviet Russia, the
Government has absorbed the capitalist mentality together with the
governmental, and the fusion has given increased strength to the upper clas=
s.
But I see no reason whatever to expect equality or freedom to result from s=
uch
a system, except reasons derived from a false psychology and a mistaken ana=
lysis
of the sources of political power.
I am compelled to reject Bolshevism for two
reasons: First, because the price mankind must pay to achieve Communism by
Bolshevik methods is too terrible; and secondly because, even after paying =
the
price, I do not believe the result would be what the Bolsheviks profess to =
desire.
But if their methods are rejected, how are we =
ever
to arrive at a better economic system? This is not an easy question, and I
shall treat it in a separate chapter.
Is it
possible to effect a fundamental reform of the existing economic system by =
any
other method than that of Bolshevism? The difficulty of answering this ques=
tion
is what chiefly attracts idealists to the dictatorship of the proletariat. =
If,
as I have argued, the method of violent revolution and Communist rule is not
likely to have the results which idealists desire, we are reduced to despair
unless we call see hope in other methods. The Bolshevik arguments against a=
ll other
methods are powerful. I confess that, when the spectacle of present-day Rus=
sia
forced me to disbelieve in Bolshevik methods, I was at first unable to see =
any
way of curing the essential evils of capitalism. My first impulse was to
abandon political thinking as a bad job, and to conclude that the strong and
ruthless must always exploit the weaker and kindlier sections of the
population. But this is not an attitude that can be long maintained by any
vigorous and temperamentally hopeful person. Of course, if it were the trut=
h,
one would have to acquiesce. Some people believe that by living on sour milk
one can achieve immortality. Such optimists are answered by a mere refutati=
on;
it is not necessary to go on and point out some other way of escaping death.
Similarly an argument that Bolshevism will not lead to the millennium would
remain valid even if it could be shown that the millennium cannot be reache=
d by
any other road. But the truth in social questions is not quite like truth in
physiology or physics, since it depends upon men's beliefs. Optimism tends =
to
verify itself by making people impatient of avoidable evils; while despair,=
on
the other hand, makes the world as bad as it believes it to be. It is there=
fore
imperative for those who do not believe in Bolshevism to put some other hop=
e in
its place.
I think there are two things that must be admi=
tted:
first, that many of the worst evils of capitalism might survive under
Communism; secondly, that the cure for these evils cannot be sudden, since =
it requires
changes in the average mentality.
What are the chief evils of the present system=
? I
do not think that mere inequality of wealth, in itself, is a very grave evi=
l.
If everybody had enough, the fact that some have more than enough would be
unimportant. With a very moderate improvement in methods of production, it
would be easy to ensure that everybody should have enough, even under
capitalism, if wars and preparations for wars were abolished. The problem of
poverty is by no means insoluble within the existing system, except when
account is taken of psychological factors and the uneven distribution of po=
wer.
The graver evils of the capitalist system all
arise from its uneven distribution of power. The possessors of capital wiel=
d an
influence quite out of proportion to their numbers or their services to the=
community.
They control almost the whole of education and the press; they decide what =
the
average man shall know or not know; the cinema has given them a new method =
of
propaganda, by which they enlist the support of those who are too frivolous
even for illustrated papers. Very little of the intelligence of the world is
really free: most of it is, directly or indirectly, in the pay of business
enterprises or wealthy philanthropists. To satisfy capitalist interests, men
are compelled to work much harder and more monotonously than they ought to =
work,
and their education is scamped. Wherever, as in barbarous or semi-civilized
countries, labour is too weak or too disorganized to protect itself, appall=
ing
cruelties are practised for private profit. Economic and political
organizations become more and more vast, leaving less and less room for
individual development and initiative. It is this sacrifice of the individu=
al
to the machine that is the fundamental evil of the modern world.
To cure this evil is not easy, because efficie=
ncy
is promoted, at any given moment, though not in the long run, by sacrificing
the individual to the smooth working of a vast organization, whether milita=
ry
or industrial. In war and in commercial competition, it is necessary to con=
trol
individual impulses, to treat men as so many "bayonets" or
"sabres" or "hands," not as a society of separate peopl=
e with
separate tastes and capacities. Some sacrifice of individual impulses is, of
course, essential to the existence of an ordered community, and this degree=
of
sacrifice is, as a rule, not regretable even from the individual's point of
view. But what is demanded in a highly militarized or industrialized nation
goes far beyond this very moderate degree. A society which is to allow much
freedom to the individual must be strong enough to be not anxious about home
defence, moderate enough to refrain from difficult external conquests, and =
rich
enough to value leisure and a civilized existence more than an increase of
consumable commodities.
But where the material conditions for such a s=
tate
of affairs exist, the psychological conditions are not likely to exist unle=
ss
power is very widely diffused throughout the community. Where power is conc=
entrated
in a few, it will happen, unless those few are very exceptional people, that
they will value tangible achievements in the way of increase in trade or em=
pire
more than the slow and less obvious improvements that would result from bet=
ter
education combined with more leisure. The joys of victory are especially gr=
eat
to the holders of power, while the evils of a mechanical organization fall
almost exclusively upon the less influential. For these reasons, I do not b=
elieve
that any community in which power is much concentrated will long refrain fr=
om
conflicts of the kind involving a sacrifice of what is most valuable in the
individual. In Russia at this moment, the sacrifice of the individual is
largely inevitable, because of the severity of the economic and military
struggle. But I did not feel, in the Bolsheviks, any consciousness of the
magnitude of this misfortune, or any realization of the importance of the
individual as against the State. Nor do I believe that men who do realize t=
his
are likely to succeed, or to come to the top, in times when everything has =
to
be done against personal liberty. The Bolshevik theory requires that every
country, sooner or later, should go through what Russia is going through no=
w.
And in every country in such a condition we may expect to find the governme=
nt
falling into the hands of ruthless men, who have not by nature any love for
freedom, and who will see little importance in hastening the transition from
dictatorship to freedom. It is far more likely that such men will be tempte=
d to
embark upon new enterprises, requiring further concentration of forces, and
postponing indefinitely the liberation of the populations which they use as
their material.
For these reasons, equalization of wealth with=
out
equalization of power seems to me a rather small and unstable achievement. =
But equalization
of power is not a thing that can be achieved in a day. It requires a
considerable level of moral, intellectual, and technical education. It requ=
ires
a long period without extreme crises, in order that habits of tolerance and
good nature may become common. It requires vigour on the part of those who =
are
acquiring power, without a too desperate resistance on the part of those wh=
ose
share is diminishing. This is only possible if those who are acquiring powe=
r are
not very fierce, and do not terrify their opponents by threats of ruin and
death. It cannot be done quickly, because quick methods require that very
mechanism and subordination of the individual which we should struggle to
prevent.
But even equalization of power is not the whol=
e of
what is needed politically. The right grouping of men for different purpose=
s is
also essential. Self-government in industry, for example, is an indispensab=
le
condition of a good society. Those acts of an individual or a group which h=
ave
no very great importance for outsiders ought to be freely decided by that i=
ndividual
or group. This is recognized as regards religion, but ought to be recognized
over a much wider field.
Bolshevik theory seems to me to err by
concentrating its attention upon one evil, namely inequality of wealth, whi=
ch
it believes to be at the bottom of all others. I do not believe any one evil
can be thus isolated, but if I had to select one as the greatest of politic=
al evils,
I should select inequality of power. And I should deny that this is likely =
to
be cured by the class-war and the dictatorship of the Communist party. Only
peace and a long period of gradual improvement can bring it about.
Good relations between individuals, freedom fr=
om
hatred and violence and oppression, genera diffusion of education, leisure
rationally employed, the progress of art and science--these seem to me among
the most important ends that a political theory ought to have in view. I do=
not
believe that they can be furthered, except very rarely, by revolution and w=
ar;
and I am convinced that at the present moment they can only be promoted by a
diminution in the spirit of ruthlessness generated by the war. For these
reasons, while admitting the necessity and even utility of Bolshevism in
Russia, I do not wish to see it spread, or to encourage the adoption of its
philosophy by advanced parties in the Western nations. VI
WHY RUSSIAN COMMUNISM HAS FAILED
The
civilized world seems almost certain, sooner or later, to follow the exampl=
e of
Russia in attempting a Communist organization of society. I believe that the
attempt is essential to the progress and happiness of mankind during the ne=
xt
few centuries, but I believe also that the transition has appalling dangers=
. I
believe that, if the Bolshevik theory as to the method of transition is ado=
pted
by Communists in Western nations, the result will be a prolonged chaos, lea=
ding
neither to Communism nor to any other civilized system, but to a relapse in=
to
the barbarism of the Dark Ages. In the interests of Communism, no less than=
in
the interests of civilization, I think it imperative that the Russian failu=
re
should be admitted and analysed. For this reason, if for no other, I cannot
enter into the conspiracy of concealment which many Western Socialists who =
have
visited Russia consider necessary.
I shall try first to recapitulate the facts wh=
ich
make me regard the Russian experiment as a failure, and then to seek out the
causes of failure.
The most elementary failure in Russia is in re=
gard
to food. In a country which formerly produced a vast exportable surplus of
cereals and other agricultural produce, and in which the non-agricultural p=
opulation
is only 15 per cent. of the total, it ought to be possible, without great
difficulty, to provide enough food for the towns. Yet the Government has fa=
iled
badly in this respect. The rations are inadequate and irregular, so that it=
is
impossible to preserve health and vigour without the help of food purchased
illicitly in the markets at speculative prices. I have given reasons for
thinking that the breakdown of transport, though a contributory cause, is n=
ot
the main reason for the shortage. The main reason is the hostility of the p=
easants,
which, in turn, is due to the collapse of industry and to the policy of for=
ced
requisitions. In regard to corn and flour, the Government requisitions all =
that
the peasant produces above a certain minimum required for himself and his
family. If, instead, it exacted a fixed amount as rent, it would not destroy
his incentive to production, and would not provide nearly such a strong mot=
ive
for concealment. But this plan would have enabled the peasants to grow rich,
and would have involved a confessed abandonment of Communist theory. It has
therefore been thought better to employ forcible methods, which led to
disaster, as they were bound to do.
The collapse of industry was the chief cause of
the food difficulties, and has in turn been aggravated by them. Owing to the
fact that there is abundant food in the country, industrial and urban worke=
rs
are perpetually attempting to abandon their employment for agriculture. Thi=
s is
illegal, and is severely punished, by imprisonment or convict labour.
Nevertheless it continues, and in so vast a country as Russia it is not
possible to prevent it. Thus the ranks of industry become still further
depleted.
Except as regards munitions of war, the collap=
se
of industry in Russia is extraordinarily complete. The resolutions passed by
the Ninth Congress of the Communist Party (April, 1920) speak of "the
incredible catastrophes of public economy." This language is not too
strong, though the recovery of the Baku oil has done something to produce a=
revival
along the Volga basin.
The failure of the whole industrial side of the
national economy, including transport, is at the bottom of the other failur=
es
of the Soviet Government. It is, to begin with, the main cause of the unpop=
ularity
of the Communists both in town and country: in town, because the people are
hungry; in the country, because food is taken with no return except paper. =
If
industry had been prosperous, the peasants could have had clothes and
agricultural machinery, for which they would have willingly parted with eno=
ugh
food for the needs of the towns. The town population could then have subsis=
ted
in tolerable comfort; disease could have been coped with, and the general
lowering of vitality averted. It would not have been necessary, as it has b=
een in
many cases, for men of scientific or artistic capacity to abandon the pursu=
its
in which they were skilled for unskilled manual labour. The Communist Repub=
lic
might have been agreeable to live in--at least for those who had been very =
poor
before.
The unpopularity of the Bolsheviks, which is
primarily due to the collapse of industry, has in turn been accentuated by =
the
measures which it has driven the Government to adopt. In view of the fact t=
hat it
was impossible to give adequate food to the ordinary population of Petrograd
and Moscow, the Government decided that at any rate the men employed on
important public work should be sufficiently nourished to preserve their
efficiency. It is a gross libel to say that the Communists, or even the lea=
ding
People's Commissaries, live luxurious lives according to our standards; but=
it
is a fact that they are not exposed, like their subjects, to acute hunger a=
nd
the weakening of energy that accompanies it. No tone can blame them for thi=
s,
since the work of government must be carried on; but it is one of the ways =
in which
class distinctions have reappeared where it was intended that they should be
banished. I talked to an obviously hungry working man in Moscow, who pointe=
d to
the Kremlin and remarked: "In there they have enough to eat." He =
was
expressing a widespread feeling which is fatal to the idealistic appeal that
Communism attempts to make.
Owing to unpopularity, the Bolsheviks have had=
to
rely upon the army and the Extraordinary Commission, and have been compelle=
d to
reduce the Soviet system to an empty form. More and more the pretence of re=
presenting
the proletariat has grown threadbare. Amid official demonstrations and
processions and meetings the genuine proletarian looks on, apathetic and
disillusioned, unless he is possessed of unusual energy and fire, in which =
case
he looks to the ideas of syndicalism or the I.W.W. to liberate him from a
slavery far more complete than that of capitalism. A sweated wage, long hou=
rs, industrial
conscription, prohibition of strikes, prison for slackers, diminution of the
already insufficient rations in factories where the production falls below =
what
the authorities expect, an army of spies ready to report any tendency to
political disaffection and to procure imprisonment for its promoters--this =
is
the reality of a system which still professes to govern in the name of the
proletariat.
At the same time the internal and external per=
il
has necessitated the creation of a vast army recruited by conscription, exc=
ept
as regards a Communist nucleus, from among a population utterly weary of wa=
r,
who put the Bolsheviks in power because they alone promised peace. Militari=
sm
has produced its inevitable result in the way of a harsh and dictatorial
spirit: the men in power go through their day's work with the consciousness
that they command three million armed men, and that civilian opposition to
their will can be easily crushed.
Out of all this has grown a system painfully l=
ike the
old government of the Tsar--a system which is Asiatic in its centralized
bureaucracy, its secret service, its atmosphere of governmental mystery and=
submissive
terror. In many ways it resembles our Government of India. Like that
Government, it stands for civilization, for education, sanitation, and West=
ern
ideas of progress; it is composed in the main of honest and hard-working me=
n,
who despise those whom they govern, but believe themselves possessed of
something valuable which they must communicate to the population, however
little it may be desired. Like our Government in India, they live in terror=
of
popular risings, and are compelled to resort to cruel repressions in order =
to
preserve their power. Like it, they represent an alien philosophy of life, =
which
cannot be forced upon the people without a change of instinct, habit, and
tradition so profound as to dry up the vital springs of action, producing
listlessness and despair among the ignorant victims of militant enlightenme=
nt.
It may be that Russia needs sternness and discipline more than anything els=
e;
it may be that a revival of Peter the Great's methods is essential to progr=
ess.
From this point of view, much of what it is natural to criticize in the
Bolsheviks becomes defensible; but this point of view has little affinity to
Communism. Bolshevism may be defended, possibly, as a dire discipline throu=
gh which
a backward nation is to be rapidly industrialized; but as an experiment in
Communism it has failed.
There are two things that a defender of the
Bolsheviks may say against the argument that they have failed because the
present state of Russia is bad. It may be said that it is too soon to judge,
and it may be urged that whatever failure there has been is attributable to=
the
hostility of the outside world.
As to the contention that it is too soon to ju=
dge,
that is of course undeniable in a sense. But in a sense it is always too so=
on
to judge of any historical movement, because its effects and developments g=
o on
for ever. Bolshevism has, no doubt, great changes ahead of it. But the last
three years have afforded material for some judgments, though more definiti=
ve
judgments will be possible later. And, for reasons which I have given in
earlier chapters, I find it impossible to believe that later developments w=
ill
realize more fully the Communist ideal. If trade is opened with the outer
world, there will be an almost irresistible tendency to resumption of priva=
te
enterprise. If trade is not re-opened, the plans of Asiatic conquest will
mature, leading to a revival of Yenghis Khan and Timur. In neither case is =
the purity
of the Communist faith likely to survive.
As for the hostility of the Entente, it is of
course true that Bolshevism might have developed very differently if it had
been treated in a friendly spirit. But in view of its desire to promote wor=
ld-revolution,
no one could expect--and the Bolsheviks certainly did not expect--that
capitalist Governments would be friendly. If Germany had won the war, Germa=
ny
would have shown a hostility more effective than that of the Entente. Howev=
er
we may blame Western Governments for their policy, we must realize that,
according to the deterministic economic theory of the Bolsheviks, no other
policy was to be expected from them. Other men might have been excused for =
not foreseeing
the attitude of Churchill, Clemenceau and Millerand; but Marxians could not=
be
excused, since this attitude was in exact accord with their own formula.
We have seen the symptoms of Bolshevik failure=
; I
come now to the question of its profounder causes.
Everything that is worst in Russia we found
traceable to the collapse of industry. Why has industry collapsed so utterl=
y?
And would it collapse equally if a Communist revolution were to occur in a
Western country?
Russian industry was never highly developed, a=
nd
depended always upon outside aid for much of its plant. The hostility of the
world, as embodied in the blockade, left Russia powerless to replace the ma=
chinery
and locomotives worn out during the war. The need of self-defence compelled=
the
Bolsheviks to send their best workmen to the front, because they were the m=
ost
reliable Communists, and the loss of them rendered their factories even more
inefficient than they were under Kerensky. In this respect, and in the lazi=
ness
and incapacity of the Russian workman, the Bolsheviks have had to face spec=
ial
difficulties which would be less in other countries. On the other hand, they
have had special advantages in the fact that Russia is self-supporting in t=
he
matter of food; no other country could have endured the collapse of industr=
y so
long, and no other Great Power except the United States could have survived
years of blockade.
The hostility of the world was in no way a
surprise to those who made the October revolution; it was in accordance with
their general theory, and its consequences should have been taken into acco=
unt
in making the revolution.
Other hostilities besides those of the outside
world have been incurred by the Bolsheviks with open eyes, notably the
hostility of the peasants and that of a great part of the industrial
population. They have attempted, in accordance with their usual contempt fo=
r conciliatory
methods, to substitute terror for reward as the incentive to work. Some ami=
able
Socialists have imagined that, when the private capitalist had been elimina=
ted,
men would work from a sense of obligation to the community. The Bolsheviks =
will
have none of such sentimentalism. In one of the resolutions of the ninth
Communist Congress they say:
Ev=
ery
social system, whether based on slavery, feudalism, or capitalism, had its ways and means of
labour compulsion and labour
education in the interests of the exploiters.
The
Soviet system is faced with the task of developing its own methods of labour compulsion to a=
ttain
an increase of the intensity and
wholesomeness of labour; this method is to be based on the socialization of public
economy in the interests of the=
whole
nation.
In
addition to the propaganda by which the people are to be influenced and the repressions which =
are to
be applied to all idlers, paras=
ites
and disorganizers who strive to undermine public zeal--the principal method for=
the
increase of production will bec=
ome
the introduction of the system of compulsory labour.
In
capitalist society rivalry assumed the character of competition and led to the exploitati=
on of
man by man. In a society where =
the
means of production are nationalized, labour rivalry is to increase the products of
labour without infringing its
solidarity.
Ri=
valry
between factories, regions, guilds, workshops, and individual workers should become the
subject of careful organization=
and
of close study on the side of the Trade Unions and the economic organs.
It must be remembered that even the
"industrious and conscientious worker" receives less food than is
required to maintain efficiency.
Over the whole development of Russia and of
Bolshevism since the October revolution there broods a tragic fatality. In
spite of outward success the inner failure has proceeded by inevitable
stages--stages which could, by sufficient acumen, have been foreseen from t=
he
first. By provoking the hostility of the outside world the Bolsheviks were =
forced
to provoke the hostility of the peasants, and finally the hostility or utter
apathy of the urban and industrial population. These various hostilities
brought material disaster, and material disaster brought spiritual collapse.
The ultimate source of the whole train of evils lies in the Bolshevik outlo=
ok
on life: in its dogmatism of hatred and its belief that human nature can be
completely transformed by force. To injure capitalists is not the ultimate =
goal
of Communism, though among men dominated by hatred it is the part that gives
zest to their activities. To face the hostility of the world may show heroi=
sm,
but it is a heroism for which the country, not its rulers, has to pay the
price. In the principles of Bolshevism there is more desire to destroy anci=
ent
evils than to build up new goods; it is for this reason that success in
destruction has been so much greater than in construction. The desire to
destroy is inspired by hatred, which is not a constructive principle. From =
this
essential characteristic of Bolshevik mentality has sprung the willingness =
to subject
Russia to its present martyrdom. It is only out of a quite different mental=
ity
that a happier world can be created.
And from this follows a further conclusion. The
Bolshevik outlook is the outcome of the cruelty of the Tsarist régime and t=
he
ferocity of the years of the Great War, operating upon a ruined and starvin=
g nation
maddened into universal hatred. If a different mentality is needed for the
establishment of a successful Communism, then a quite different conjuncture
must see its inauguration; men must be persuaded to the attempt by hope, not
driven to it by despair. To bring this about should be the aim of every
Communist who desires the happiness of mankind more than the punishment of
capitalists and their governmental satellites.
The
fundamental ideas of Communism are by no means impracticable, and would, if
realized, add immeasurably to the well-being of mankind. The difficulties w=
hich
have to be faced are not in regard to the fundamental ideas, but in regard =
to
the transition from capitalism. It must be assumed that those who profit by=
the
existing system will fight to preserve it, and their fight may be sufficien=
tly
severe to destroy all that is best in Communism during the struggle, as wel=
l as
everything else that has value in modern civilization. The seriousness of t=
his
problem of transition is illustrated by Russia, and cannot be met by the
methods of the Third International. The Soviet Government, at the present
moment, is anxious to obtain manufactured goods from capitalist countries, =
but
the Third International is meanwhile endeavouring to promote revolutions wh=
ich,
if they occurred, would paralyse the industries of the countries concerned,=
and
leave them incapable of supplying Russian needs.
The supreme condition of success in a Communist
revolution is that it should not paralyse industry. If industry is paralyse=
d,
the evils which exist in modern Russia, or others just as great, seem pract=
ically
unavoidable. There will be the problem of town and country, there will be
hunger, there will be fierceness and revolts and military tyranny. All these
things follow in a fatal sequence; and the end of them is almost certain to=
be
something quite different from what genuine Communists desire.
If industry is to survive throughout a Communi=
st
revolution, a number of conditions must be fulfilled which are not, at pres=
ent,
fulfilled anywhere. Consider, for the sake of definiteness, what would happ=
en
if a Communist revolution were to occur in England to-morrow. Immediately A=
merica
would place an embargo on all trade with us. The cotton industry would
collapse, leaving about five million of the most productive portion of the
population idle. The food supply would become inadequate, and would fail
disastrously if, as is to be expected, the Navy were hostile or disorganize=
d by
the sabotage of the officers. The result would be that, unless there were a=
counter-revolution,
about half the population would die within the first twelve months. On such=
a
basis it would evidently be impossible to erect a successful Communist Stat=
e.
What applies to England applies, in one form or
another, to the remaining countries of Europe. Italian and German Socialists
are, many of them, in a revolutionary frame of mind and could, if they chos=
e, raise
formidable revolts. They are urged by Moscow to do so, but they realize tha=
t,
if they did, England and America would starve them. France, for many reason=
s,
dare not offend England and America beyond a point. Thus, in every country
except America, a successful Communist revolution is impossible for
economico-political reasons. America, being self-contained and strong, woul=
d be
capable, so far as material conditions go, of achieving a successful
revolution; but in America the psychological conditions are as yet adverse.
There is no other civilized country where capitalism is so strong and
revolutionary Socialism so weak as in America. At the present moment,
therefore, though it is by no means impossible that Communist revolutions m=
ay occur
all over the Continent, it is nearly certain that they cannot be successful=
in
any real sense. They will have to begin by a war against America, and possi=
bly
England, by a paralysis of industry, by starvation, militarism and the whole
attendant train of evils with which Russia has made us familiar.
That Communism, whenever and wherever it is
adopted, will have to begin by fighting the bourgeoisie, is highly probable.
The important question is not whether there is to be fighting, but how long=
and
severe it is to be. A short war, in which Communism won a rapid and easy
victory, would do little harm. It is long, bitter and doubtful wars that mu=
st
be avoided if anything of what makes Communism desirable is to survive.
Two practical consequences flow from this conclusion: first, that nothing can succeed until America is either convert= ed to Communism, or at any rate willing to remain neutral; secondly, that it i= s a mistake to attempt to inaugurate Communism in a country where the majority = are hostile, or rather, where the active opponents are as strong as the active supporter= s, because in such a state of opinion a very severe civil war is likely to res= ult. It is necessary to have a great body of opinion favourable to Communism, an= d a rather weak opposition, before a really successful Communist state can be introduced either by revolution or by more or less constitutional methods.<= o:p>
It may be assumed that when Communism is first
introduced, the higher technical and business staff will side with the
capitalists and attempt sabotage unless they have no hopes of a
counter-revolution. For this reason it is very necessary that among
wage-earners there should be as wide a diffusion as possible of technical a=
nd
business education, so that they may be able immediately to take control of=
big
complex industries. In this respect Russia was very badly off, whereas Engl=
and
and America would be much more fortunate.
Self-government in industry is, I believe, the
road by which England can best approach Communism. I do not doubt that the
railways and the mines, after a little practice, could be run more efficien=
tly
by the workers, from the point of view of production, than they are at pres=
ent
by the capitalists. The Bolsheviks oppose self-government in industry every
where, because it has failed in Russia, and their national self-esteem prev=
ents
them from admitting that this is due to the backwardness of Russia. This is=
one
of the respects in which they are misled by the assumption that Russia must=
be
in all ways a model to the rest of the world. I would go so far as to say t=
hat
the winning of self-government in such industries as railways and mining is=
an essential
preliminary to complete Communism. In England, especially, this is the case.
The Unions can command whatever technical skill they may require; they are
politically powerful; the demand for self-government is one for which there=
is
widespread sympathy, and could be much more with adequate propaganda; moreo=
ver
(what is important with the British temperament) self-government can be bro=
ught
about gradually, by stages in each trade, and by extension from one trade to
another. Capitalists value two things, their power and their money; many
individuals among them value only the money. It is wiser to concentrate fir=
st
on the power, as is done by seeking self-government in industry without
confiscation of capitalist incomes. By this means the capitalists are gradu=
ally
turned into obvious drones, their active functions in industry become nil, =
and they
can be ultimately dispossessed without dislocation and without the possibil=
ity
of any successful struggle on their parts.
Another advantage of proceeding by way of
self-government is that it tends to prevent the Communist régime, when it
comes, from having that truly terrible degree of centralization which now
exists in Russia. The Russians have been forced to centralize, partly by the
problems of the war, but more by the shortage of all kinds of skill. This h=
as compelled
the few competent men to attempt each to do the work of ten men, which has =
not
proved satisfactory in spite of heroic efforts. The idea of democracy has
become discredited as the result first of syndicalism, and then of Bolshevi=
sm.
But there are two different things that may be meant by democracy: we may m=
ean
the system of Parliamentary government, or we may mean the participation of=
the
people in affairs. The discredit of the former is largely deserved, and I h=
ave
no desire to uphold Parliament as an ideal institution. But it is a great
misfortune if, from a confusion of ideas, men come to think that, because
Parliaments are imperfect, there is no reason why there should be self-gove=
rnment.
The grounds for advocating self-government are very familiar: first, that no
benevolent despot can be trusted to know or pursue the interests of his
subjects; second, that the practice of self-government is the only effectiv=
e method
of political education; third, that it tends to place the preponderance of
force on the side of the constitution, and thus to promote order and stable
government. Other reasons could be found, but I think these are the chief. =
In
Russia self-government has disappeared, except within the Communist Party. =
If
it is not to disappear elsewhere during a Communist revolution, it is very =
desirable
that there should exist already important industries competently administer=
ed
by the workers themselves.
The Bolshevik philosophy is promoted very larg=
ely
by despair of more gradual methods. But this despair is a mark of impatienc=
e,
and is not really warranted by the facts. It is by no means impossible, in =
the near
future, to secure self-government in British railways and mines by constitu=
tional
means. This is not the sort of measure which would bring into operation an
American blockade or a civil war or any of the other catastrophic dangers t=
hat
are to be feared from a full-fledged Communist revolution in the present
international situation. Self-government in industry is feasible, and would=
be
a great step towards Communism. It would both afford many of the advantages=
of Communism
and also make the transition far easier without a technical break-down of
production.
There is another defect in the methods advocat=
ed
by the Third International. The sort of revolution which is recommended is
never practically feasible except in a time of national misfortune; in fact=
, defeat
in war seems to be an indispensable condition. Consequently, by this method,
Communism will only be inaugurated where the conditions of life are difficu=
lt,
where demoralization and disorganization make success almost impossible, and
where men are in a mood of fierce despair very inimical to industrial
construction. If Communism is to have a fair chance, it must be inaugurated=
in
a prosperous country. But a prosperous country will not be readily moved by=
the
arguments of hatred and universal upheaval which are employed by the Third =
International.
It is necessary, in appealing to a prosperous country, to lay stress on hope
rather than despair, and to show how the transition can be effected without=
a
calamitous loss of prosperity. All this requires less violence and
subversiveness, more patience and constructive propaganda, less appeal to t=
he
armed might of a determined minority.
The attitude of uncompromising heroism is
attractive, and appeals especially to the dramatic instinct. But the purpos=
e of
the serious revolutionary is not personal heroism, nor martyrdom, but the
creation of a happier world. Those who have the happiness of the world at h=
eart
will shrink from attitudes and the facile hysteria of "no parley with =
the
enemy." They will not embark upon enterprises, however arduous and aus=
tere,
which are likely to involve the martyrdom of their country and the discredi=
ting
of their ideals. It is by slower and less showy methods that the new world =
must
be built: by industrial efforts after self-government, by proletarian train=
ing
in technique and business administration, by careful study of the internati=
onal
situation, by a prolonged and devoted propaganda of ideas rather than tacti=
cs, especially
among the wage-earners of the United States. It is not true that no gradual
approaches to Communism are possible: self-government in industry is an
important instance to the contrary. It is not true that any isolated Europe=
an
country, or even the whole of the Continent in unison, can, after the
exhaustion produced by the war, introduce a successful form of Communism at=
the
present moment, owing to the hostility and economic supremacy of America. To
find fault with those who urge these considerations, or to accuse them of
faint-heartedness, is mere sentimental self-indulgence, sacrificing the goo=
d we
can do to the satisfaction of our own emotions.
Even under present conditions in Russia, it is
possible still to feel the inspiration of the essential spirit of Communism,
the spirit of creative hope, seeking to sweep away the incumbrances of
injustice and tyranny and rapacity which obstruct the growth of the human
spirit, to replace individual competition by collective action, the relatio=
n of
master and slave by free co-operation. This hope has helped the best of the
Communists to bear the harsh years through which Russia has been passing, a=
nd
has become an inspiration to the world. The hope is not chimerical, but it =
can
only be realized through a more patient labour, a more objective study of
facts, and above all a longer propaganda, to make the necessity of the
transition obvious to the great majority of wage-earners. Russian Communism=
may
fail and go under, but Communism itself will not die. And if hope rather th=
an hatred
inspires its advocates, it can be brought about without the universal catac=
lysm
preached by Moscow. The war and its sequel have proved the destructiveness =
of
capitalism; let us see to it that the next epoch does not prove the still
greater destructiveness of Communism, but rather its power to heal the woun=
ds
which the old evil system has inflicted upon the human spirit.