Communism: Historical Analysis
Communism: Historical Analysis
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DAVID JORAVSKY
THE TIME HAS COME FOR HISTORIANS OF COMMUNISM to draw a line and sum up,
although, for the historians as well as the Communists, the difficulties may
overwhelm the need. Historiography of the usual sort-"We have learned this but
need to know that, within such and such contests of interpretation"-assumes a
community of scholars debating a recognizable subject. In this case, the subject
defies recognition and the scholars evade community. Most Communist parties,
after decades of splintering and denouncing each other's claims to be Marxist
revolutionaries, have renounced their own claims. It is as if the Reformation were
ending with Protestant churches not only splitting but dissolving, declaring
themselves Catholic after all. On the scholarly side, historians have mimicked the
fission. Russianists and Sinologists, who must deal with the most significant cases
of revolutionary Marxism, have kept apart, each group concentrating on the
experience of Communism within its chosen country, as have the separate clusters
of historians who study Communist movements and regimes scattered through
the other national and regional divisions of the modern world. "World Commu-
nism" as a subject of scholarly inquiry has withered away since the 1950s, along
with the ideologies that raged in hope or fear of a universal revolutionary party.
Indeed, the most sensible studies of "World Communism" contributed to the
withering away of ideological fury, by disintegrating the supposedly universal
party into particular movements and regimes.'
Earlier versions of this essay were presented at the Kennan Institute and at several universities. So
many friends have offered useful criticism and advice that I can thank them only in this general
fashion.
I SinolQgists focused on the particularities of Chinese Communism even before its victory, which
provoked an ideological storm against them. See John K. Fairbank, The United States and China
(Cambridge, Mass., 1948); Benjamin J. Schwartz, Chinese Communism and the Rise of Mao (Cambridge,
1951); Conrad Brandt, Benjamin J. Schwartz, and John K. Fairbank, eds., A Documentary History of
Chinese Communism (Cambridge, 1952); compare Paul M. Evans, John Fairbank and the American
Understanding of Modern China (Oxford, 1988); Paul A. Cohen, Discovering History in China: American
Historical Writing on the Recent Chinese Past (New York, 1984); Kathleen Hartford and Steven
Goldstein, "Introduction," Single Sparks: China's Rural Revolutions (Armonk, N.Y., 1989). Thanks to
Charles Hayford for giving me the last two.
The particularities of Russian Communism were the focus of the best reportage and memoirs from
the start, and of such enduring works as Geroid T. Robinson's Rural Russia under the Old Regime: A
History of the Landlord-Peasant World and a Prologue to the Peasant Revolution of 1917 (New York, 1932),
which forecast the turn to the social history of the revolution. The Cold War brought an obsession
with "the totalitarian model" of "World Communism," which can be seen to recede in such sensible
essays as Robert V. Daniels, The Nature of Communism (New York, 1962); Alfred G. Meyer,
837
Communism, rev. edn. (New York, 1963); in the bold turn to comparative history by Theodore H. Von
Laue, Why Lenin? Why Stalin? A Reappraisal of the Russian Revolution, 1900-1930 (Philadelphia, 1964);
and in Barrington Moore, Jr., Social Origins of Democracy and Dictatorship: Lord and Peasant in the
Making of the Modern World (Boston, 1966). For subsequent work, see Edward Acton, Rethinking the
Russian Revolution (London, 1990); and Stephen F. Cohen, Rethinking the Soviet Experience: Politics and
History since 1917 (New York, 1985).
For notable efforts to set Communism within the history of socialism, see G. D. H. Cole, History of
Socialist Thought, 5 vols. (London, 1953-67); Jacques Droz, ed., Histoire generale du socialisme, 4 vols.
(Paris, 1972-78); Isaac Deutscher, Stalin: A Political Biography (London, 1949); and his trilogy The
Prophet Armed: Trotsky, 1879-1940 (New York, 1954); The Prophet Unarmed: Trotsky, 1921-1929 (New
York, 1959); and The Prophet Outcast: Trotsky, 1929-1940 (New York, 1963). The serials, Problems of
Communism, 1952-92, Studies in Comparative Communism, 1968-, and the Hoover Institution's Yearbook
on International Communist Affairs, 1967- , reveal trends in the field at large. Historical studies of
Communism by scholars working within Communist countries may be ignored here; they evince
the repression of any self-criticism except sharakhan'e, Stalin's term-and Khrushchev's, too-for
spasmodic leaps from one extreme to another.
2 See Theda Skocpol, States and Social Revolutions: A Comparative Analysis of France, Russia, and Chin
(Cambridge, 1979), chap. 1, for a review of the literature. The supposed classic by Crane Brinton, The
Anatomy of Revolution (New York, 1939, 1952), assumes that Western Europe provides a model of
history everywhere. In the preface to a 1965 reprint (p. vii), he has learned from Von Laue the
possibility of "'a new category of modern revolutions,' the 'revolution of backward countries."'
tendencies that are implicit in special works on Communism, broad opinions that
are concealed within narrow studies of particular cases. I will argue that there is
a community of learned opinion, however elusive, that it is at odds with public
opinion on certain crucial issues, and that it is internally inconsistent, if only
because scholarly minds share in the public opinion they claim to rise above. The
usual antinomies of historical thought-the claim to discover a past we are partly
inventing, mixing "was" with "should have been" and "ought to be"-are greatly
aggravated when we think about the tradition of revolutionary democracy, "our"
tradition, which "they" turned to alien uses in twentieth-century Russia and China,
Yugoslavia and Vietnam, to name the most famous shocks to complacent "us."
Historians need to ask themselves how much of that "us"-"them" thinking links
the scholarly community with the conventional wisdom of public opinion. In
preliminary illumination of the problem, I offer Winston Churchill, supreme
master of the blatantly ideological art that middlebrow readers look for in works
of history. (They are sufficiently inquiring to seek reassurance in history and
sufficiently smug to find it.) Churchill invoked "cold Semitic internationalism" to
explain the Bolshevik agents of "Despair and Treachery," who sank the Russian
ship "in sight of port,. .. at the very moment when the task was done." "The task"
was victory over Germany in World War I and the triumph of democracy within
the Russian empire-under a military dictator, perhaps, but one of the proper
devotion, binding lesser men to the national goal that deserved the limitless
sacrifice demanded by the war to end all wars.3 In time, Churchill and his
middlebrow readers learned to repress talk of "Semitic internationalism" when
explaining the Communist organizers of mass revolt against the first total war.
But they went on believing that the revolt was a greater calamity than the war
itself, and some learned specialists reinforce that sentiment.
Leonard Schapiro, to take a highly esteemed example, pictured the Bolsheviks
as organizing a revolt against justice itself, whose universal and eternal standard
he could define: "the need for reconciling all the conflicting interests which will
always exist in practice in every state."4 Schapiro invoked Augustine in support of
that supra-historical rule for historical judgment, without pausing to puzzle over
the obvious difficulties. Could the interests of slave holders and slaves, of church
hierarchs and heretics, be reconciled in the modern historian's mind as they were
in Augustine's? What conciliatory, nonrevolutionary concept of justice might the
historian bring to bear on such revolting institutions as slavery and state churches?
Schapiro did not stop to brood over such issues. He simply decreed the equation
of modern liberalism with eternal justice and lamented the failure of the Russian
liberals in 1917 to "save the country from chaos by calling on the loyal remnants
of the army in time" to establish "a military dictatorship."5 He took it for granted
that the loyal remnants were right to continue the wholesale slaughter of World
War I, that the disloyal masses were wrong to rebel against it. Somehow, he knew
3 See Winston S. Churchill, The World Crisis, 6 vols. (New York, 1923-31), 6: 695-97; and
Churchill, Great Contemporaries (1937; rpt. edn., Chicago, 1973), 128 and et passim.
4 Leonard Schapiro, The Origin of the Communist Autocracy: Political Opposition in the Soviet State, First
Phase, 1917-1922 (London, 1955), x-xi.
5 Schapiro, Origin of the Communist Autocracy, 24.
that the just war to end all wars was the Wilsonian conflict between nation states-
including the Russian empire-not the Leninist conflict within existing states.
Since the 1950s, most historians of Communist revolutions have moved away
from such mixtures of hasty philosophizing and wishful dreaming about military
dictators who might have saved this or that country for a liberal form of
nationalism. They have moved, as E. H. Carr did, toward a worrisome relativism
in the mixtures of causal analysis and moral judgment that are unavoidable in
writing history. Schapiro's appeal to Augustine for an absolute liberal standard
was provoked by Carr's massive study of the first Communist revolution, which
opened with a chilling dismissal of any absolute standard: "No sensible person will
be tempted to measure the Russia of Lenin, Trotsky, and Stalin by any yardstick
borrowed from the Britain of MacDonald, Baldwin, and Churchill or the America
of Wilson, Hoover, and Franklin Roosevelt."6
Carr might have called in witness Winston Churchill-not Churchill as historian
of World War I and Lenin's revolution but Churchill as Stalin's ally in World War
II, who supported Tito's Partisans while Stalin held back, and squelched a
subordinate's worry about a Communist regime in Yugoslavia with a sneer: "Do
you intend to make Yugoslavia your home after the war?"7 The relativism in that
response lacked the respect that anthropologists bring to the study of cultures
other than their own. When Churchill was not denunciatory, he was disdainful
toward backward "them" in contrast to civilized "us." Carr was not free of
condescension, but he did reach for the anthropologist's vision. His sharp
distinction between standards appropriate to Russia and to Britain and America
is immediately followed by avowal of "the dual task imposed on every serious
historian: to combine an imaginative understanding of the outlook and purpose
of his dramatis personae with an over-riding appreciation of the universal
significance of the action."8
He could have called that a triple rather than a "dual task," perhaps even a
groping for infinity: trying to measure the past both with "our" yardstick and wit
"theirs," while also seeking some "universal significance," which presumably
transcends all particular yardsticks and may therefore be found only in heaven.
Carr was aware of such philosophical problems, as he showed in the essay What Is
History? which has been widely assigned by history professors in the United States
and Britain. Most of them have moved, as Carr did, to the conviction that longing
for a different past is an evasion of serious thought about the real past, the one
that cannot be undone but must be made "usable," although we sometimes say it
is a nightmare from which we are trying to wake up.9 Because I share that messy
conviction, I want to press it to its limits, where ideological preferences are obliged
to come out of concealment within claims of cold-eyed realism.
6 Edward Hallett Carr, The Bolshevik Revolution, 1917-1923, 3 vols. (London, 1950-53), 1: 5. T
kind of dichotomy has been the rule among Sinologists all along, with occasional brooding over the
philosophic problems it raises. For a recent example, see Stuart Schram, ed., Foundations and Limits
of State Power in China (London, 1987).
7Quoted in Fitzroy Maclean, Eastern Approaches (London, 1949), 402.
8 Carr, Bolshevik Revolution, 1: 5.
9 Edward Hallett Carr, What Is History? (New York, 1961), reprinted many times. The metaphor o
history as nightmare derives both from Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, and
from James Joyce, Ulysses.
WHAT CAN ONE FIND IN COMMON between, say, the Italian Communists, who were
already absorbed in multi-party democracy while they revered Stalin, and the
Cambodian Khmer Rouge, who are still guerrillas-or thugs-after ostensibly
renouncing Communism? The most illuminating answer is implicit in this method
of stating the problem, that is, in observing different types of discord between
label and reality. If we expand such observation beyond accusations of deceit, to
include self-deception, some version of the universal discord between the ways
people perceive themselves and the ways they are, we note that most Communist
parties through most of their histories have been merely imaginary vanguards,
claiming a "mass base" that they could not prove to be there. Chronic political
impotence has been the distinguishing feature of such groups, which have called
themselves political parties, though they have in fact been isolated sects of
unavailing believers, thrusting leaflets at indifferent crowds, or calling from
mountains and jungles for armed volunteers who do not appear. That is one type,
the most numerous if one counts by organizations, the least numerous if one
counts by people.'2 In that disproportion lies their challenge. Historians of
Communism must explain another of the ideologies whose failing claims of
10 U.S. Congress, House Committee on Un-American Activities, The Great Pretense: A Sym
Anti-Stalinism and the 20th Congress of the Soviet Communist Party (Washington, D.C., 1956), 172.
textbook, see J. Edgar Hoover, Masters of Deceit: The Story of Communism in America and How to
(New York, 1958).
11 Adam Westoby, The Evolution of Communism (Cambridge, 1989), 4. Compare Geoffrey Stern, The
Rise and Decline of International Communism (Aldershot, 1990), for generalization that is closer to
current scholarly opinion. For an extreme case of essentialist thought, see Jean Ousset, Marxisme et
revolution (Paris, 1992), which traces the revolutionary spirit to original sin and finds it at work in the
Quakers, the Masons, even a pope (John XXIII).
12 See Witold S. Sworakowski, ed., World Communism: A Handbook, 1918-1965 (Stanford, Calif.,
1973); and the Hoover Institution's Yearbook on International Communist Affairs, 1967- , for continuing
counts on both levels.
13 Thanks to the late Harry Marks for calling my attention to this fine expression of the dialectical
mindset:
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Brahma" (1847).
In Churchill's account, Stalin's regime rescued the Russian cause from the
"Semitic internationalism" of Trotsky, but, Jewish or not, "the dull, squalid figures
of the Russian Bolsheviks are not redeemed in interest even by the magnitude of
their crimes. All form and emphasis is lost in a vast process of Asiatic liquefac-
tion."'4 Students of Antonio Gramsci, chief theorist of the Italian Communists,
will recognize the kinship of that "Asiatic liquefaction" with Gramsci's notion of a
"primordial and gelatinous" Russian society beneath an all-powerful state. The
contrast between Western structure and Russian goo was central to Gramsci's
insistence that Italian Communism would respect the Western tradition of limited
government and individual liberties-"a correct relationship between the State
and civil society."'5 Indeed, students of Lenin will recall his urgent impatience for
Russia to leap out of "Asiatic" backwardness, to have done with patterns of history
that differed from the West European.
On the left as on the right, "the West" is not just a place on the map where
democracy and industrial capitalism emerged; it is also an empire of the mind,
imposing belief in an essential form of human society emerging from a progres-
sive pattern of history, including the modern tradition of revolutionary democ-
racy. Russia, on this mental map, laps over into the formlessness of Asiatic society.
China is entirely there; Sun Yat-sen, a Westernizing revolutionary, accepted the
belief of "foreign observers" that "the Chinese are like a sheet of loose sand,"
because they are allegedly loyal only to their families and clans, not to the nation. 16
Progressive change, in this view, could begin only when Europeans and Ameri-
cans breathed upon the formless chaos, creating structure of the Western sort.
The Communist versions of this vision project a great leap ahead of the Western
original. The anticommunist versions perceive such Communist leaps-whether
in Russia or China, Yugoslavia or Vietnam, Cuba or Ethiopia-as monstrous
perversions of the model revolutions in England, America, or France. With
Gorbachev, the Communist perverts began to recognize their protracted mad-
ness, and so at long last they have begun to raise the Russian ship of state, which
their grandfathers sank, and to resume the predestined journey to "the West."
Of course, I am oversimplifying and needling, to provoke the totalistic vision
that shapes conventional beliefs about Communism. It is still present even when
disguised by such sophisticates as Secretary of State Dean Acheson. He opened a
major speech in 1950 with a declaration that "we," the leaders of the Western
democracies, do not claim knowledge of history's goal, much less the course that
must be followed to reach it. Communists make such a claim, to justify their
wicked tyranny, which we must oppose, as good humble people have always
opposed wicked despots who claim to know God's will. With that pride in our
humility, Acheson demanded that the Communists accept, as we do, the goal
required by God-knows-who-or-what: self-determined nation states developing
industrial prosperity under constitutional representative governments. And he
made plain the readiness of his state to wage war, even total war, on behalf of that
goal.'7 Such self-deceptive clinging to a totalistic vision, while condemning the
totalitarian mind, can be found in academic historians, too. Are we not obsessed
with a historical norm-or the myth of such a norm set by "the West" -whether
in Churchill's plainly imperial version or Acheson's smug humility, or in the
rebellious versions of Gramsci or Sun Yat-sen or Lenin?
Two answers leap to mind, each contradicting the other. This obsession cannot
be shaken off, for it is universally accepted as obvious truth; it animates and
organizes even the minds that would dispute it. And, pointing in the opposite
direction: this obsession is conventional wisdom in low or middlebrow culture;
most scholarly historians have abandoned or subverted it. I confess a divided
mind and hope to show that some such division is unavoidable. It is built into the
contention between historical processes, which persistently mock any ordering
myths, and our minds, which cannot help organizing experience in mythic
patterns, since we are conscious and purposeful creatures, who need to know
where we are headed and for what purpose. A particular expression of this
division is the surly stand-off between low culture and high, between beliefs that
mock reason while swaying multitudes and the subversive patterns that reasoning
minds work out within powerless intellectual ghettos.
17 See David S. McLellan, Dean Acheson: The State Department Years (New York, 1976), 229-30, for
"an abbreviated resume," which softens the original to show that it "carefully refrained from
espousing the goal of a moral crusade." To me, a student in Acheson's audience, the speech sounded
precisely like such an espousal, the American style of projecting our humble self-image as a model for
the world.
18 Guenther Roth, The Social Democrats in Imperial Germany: A Study in Working-Class Isolation and
National Integration (Totowa, N.J., 1963).
19 For an elegant summation, with a good bibliography, see V. R. Berghahn, Modern Germany:
Society, Economy, and Politics in the Twentieth Century, 2d edn. (Cambridge, 1987), 38-81. Compare the
poignant last chapter of Carl E. Schorske, German Social Democracy, 1905-191 7: The Development of the
Great Schism (Cambridge, 1955).
20 Brian Bond, War and Society in Europe, 1870-1970 (New York, 1983), 168, declares "total war ...
just as much a myth as total victory or total peace," but he notes that "the fragile barriers separating
war from peace and soldiers from civilians,.. . already eroded in the First World War, virtually
disappeared between 1939 and 1945." See also page 224, for "total war" as an ideal type projected
by Carl von Clausewitz, which came close to reality in World War II. Note the estimates of 9.8 million
killed in World War I, 50 million in World War II, in Berghahn, Modern Germany, 44, 176.
2I Quoted in Karl Dietrich Bracher, The German Dictatorship: The Origins, Structure, and Effects of
National Socialism, Jean Steinberg, trans. (New York, 1970), 10. Thanks to Peter Hayes for calling this
to my attention.
ceremonies of reverence for the dead of past wars, with ubiquitous monuments
for local celebrations and an awesome sacred space at the nation's capital, where
pilgrims come to initiate their children and rededicate themselves. Add to those
nineteenth-century inventions the accelerating progress of military technology
and finally an alliance system that bundles together all particular international
hostilities in a single conflict between two blocs.22
With that final twist, all the elements for the age of total war were in place, as
perceptive observers realized even before 1914. There is no moral equivalent of
war, a worried William James pointed out after the shocking news that American
troops were liberating the Philippines by killing Filipinos; without war, there is no
inspiring enterprise that turns a sheet of loose sand into a community of lofty
endeavor.23
DOES THIS GENERIC DIAGRAM OF THE WESTERN MODEL erase the distinction between
democratic and totalitarian regimes? No. It calls attention to underlying similar-
ities that conventional wisdom ignores or explains away, blaming totalitarianism
for the age of total war, even though the sequence of cause and effect points the
other way. A century of democratic and industrial advance brought on the first
cataclysm of total war, which generated totalitarian parties and regimes. In the
second, wilder cataclysm, one great totalitarian regime was an indispensable ally
of the democracies. Indeed, the Soviet Communists insisted all along that their
one-party state was also a democracy, qualitatively different from Nazism or
Fascism, and conventional wisdom wobbled on that claim until the Cold War set
in.24 Then, in the late 1940s and the 1950s, students of Communism rallied to the
belief that the two different types of one-party state were equally totalitarian,
utterly different from democracy. But the Cold War alliance of scholarship and
conventional wisdom was brief.
Since the 1960s, historians of Communist movements and regimes have moved
away from "the totalitarian model," as they like to say, for two good reasons. It is
too obviously a self-serving contrast between virtuous "us" and sinful "them," and,
as a moral claim rather than a scholarly category, it obscures instead of clarifies the
nitty-gritty search for sequences of historical cause and effect. As dissident
Communists began using "totalitarian" to accuse their own system, calling for
radical reforms to achieve a truly democratic form of socialism-another process
22 For an incisive sketch, see William L. Langer, European Alliances and Alignments, 1871-1890, 2d
edn. (New York, 1950), 3-6; and Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, 2 vols. (New York, 1968), vol.
1, chap. 3. Compare Gerhard Ritter, The Sword and the Sceptre, 4 vols. (London, 1972), vol. 2, chaps.
1-5. Thanks to Michael Geyer for calling my attention to the excellent essays in John R. Gillis, ed.,
The Militarization of the Western World (New Brunswick, N.J., 1989). For further leads to the large
scholarly literature, see Bond, War and Society in Europe.
23 See Gerald E. Myers, William James: His Life and Thought (New Haven, Conn., 1986), 436-45.
24 The obvious evidence of wobbling is in the great swings of public opinion, as expressed by
reporters. Their enduring works took for granted the democratic elements within the first
Communist revolution. See, most notably, Louis Fischer, The Soviets in World Affairs: A History of the
Relations between the Soviet Union and the Rest of the World, 2 vols. (New York, 1930); and W. H.
Chamberlin, The Russian Revolution, 1917-1921, 2 vols. (New York, 1935). For analogous reporters
on Chinese Communism, see Edgar Snow, Agnes Smedley, and Harold Isaacs, vividly portrayed in
John K. Fairbank, Chinabound: A Fifty-Year Memoir (New York, 1982).
combinations of naming and blaming, especially in a case like this, where Cold
War talk of totalitarianism mobilized believers for an armed crusade against
revolutionary movements in general. But the ideal of objectivity is poorly served
by the self-righteous pretense of using no words that combine description and
judgment. Tyranny, oppression, exploitation, which revolutionary democracy
tries to overthrow-all these concepts are of the thorny type, which may be called
ideological. Indeed, ideology is itself that kind of term: unavoidably pejorative, in
its accusation of reason distorted by fanaticism or special interests, yet unavoid-
able, even in the analysis of our own thinking. Vicious circularity threatens the
scholarly mind in its struggle with ideology, as we can see in works of the late
1940s and 1950s that tried to locate the totalitarian poison in certain traditions of
Western thought and to purge it. A few products of that red-eyed philosophizing
may facilitate abstract theorizing about ideas.28 They obstruct the search for ideas
at work in historical processes, for they reify or hypostatize some Idea. They
imagine It as an almighty force that shaped incredibly powerful leaders who
shaped incredibly passive societies to fit the Idea.29
Many historians dislike such excursions into the sociology of knowledge, which
threatens infinite regress by claiming to know the biases that warp any claims to
know. For the sake of such scholars, I can return to the magisterial manner of the
conventional historian, who sees all, knows all, and selects what is needed for a
coherent story, without any bias. If totalitarianism is a name for an idea that
creates a social system, it is a figment of the inflamed ideological imaginations of
those who arm themselves for combat.30 If it is a name for the actual process of
mass mobilization for total war, then it was a nineteenth-century development,
intrinsically connected with the rise of democracy and industrial progress. If it is
a name for a particular way of achieving such mobilization-the single-party state
and mass terror, as distinguished from mobilization with competing parties and
the rule of law-then it is a twentieth-century consequence of total war and of
democratic revolutions in backward or underdeveloped countries. Popular usage
has firmly established this last meaning, and scholars should subject it to historical
analysis, as they classify systems of mobilization, their levels of effectiveness and
durability.
Let me offer a simplified classification. Fascism and Nazism explicitly extolled
wars of national conquest and contemptuously rejected such democratic ideals as
free thought, constitutional representation, the equality of nations and races and
sexes, the dream of freedom as the absence of state power. Their frenzy for
28 See Albert Camus, L'homme revolte (Paris, 1951), translated as The Rebel (New York, 1953); J. L.
Talmon, The Origins of Totalitarian Democracy (London, 1952); Hannah Arendt, The Burden of Our Time
(London, 1951), which was retitled The Origins of Totalitarianism (New York, 1958).
29 A belated masterpiece of the genre is Leszek Kolakowski, Main Currents of Marxism, 3 vols.
(Oxford, 1978), an exceptionally rich account of the ideas clustering within and about the Marxist
legacy, which intermittently declares that one cluster created the political and social systems of Russia,
China, and so on.
30 In its greatest inflation, "totalitarian" describes any social system that implicitly denies a liberal
notion of individual freedom, in which every action is supposed to be "either a duty or a sin." So
Marxism is lumped with Calvinism; even pre-literate societies can be put in the lump. See, for
example, Maurice Duval, Un totalitarisme sans etat: Essai d'anthropologie a partir d'un village burkin
(Paris, 1986).
external wars of conquest was the major cause of their comparatively short life
span; they drove their nation states to self-destruction. The Communist species of
one-party state with mass terror emerged out of civil war, insisting that violent
recasting of society is the way to achieve genuine liberty, equality, and fraternity
while catching up with the world leaders of industrial development. This
Communist species appeared in "backward" or "underdeveloped" countries, and
it lasted far longer than the Nazi and fascist types, not least because it espoused
democratic values and tended to avoid rather than seek international war and
because its furious struggle for economic development achieved notable victories
before suffering stagnation and collapse.
Civil war became a chronic disease of Communist states, flaring up or dying
down according to many circumstances, among them the clash of zealotry and
rationality within the ruling party, which could not conceal the long-term discord
between its ideological justifications and the actualities of its rule. Ultimately, the
self-confidence of the Communists collapsed, with consequences that are now
unfolding. To understand such an astonishing combination of contradictory
features, scholars are obliged to focus on the transformation of democratic
ideologies by the social contexts that we call "underdeveloped" or simply "back-
ward." The concept of totalitarianism is of little help in such inquiry, until one
digs into the self-contradictions, the bad conscience, and the ultimate self-defeat
of democratic revolutionaries who build one-party states while denying that they
are totalitarian.
THAT IS WHY I BEGAN WITH "THE WEST" as the mythic concept that shaped the
thought of "Third World" revolutionaries such as Sun Yat-sen and V. I. Lenin.
They yearned to overtake and surpass the West in a journey through efficiently
organized violence to democratic peace and prosperity. I picked two countries in
which twentieth-century revolutions turned Communist but suggest that all the
revolutions in our century have been fundamentally different from the classic
originals-in their class base, in their organizing ideologies and parties, in their
economic and political consequences. Whether in Russia or China or Iran or
Mexico, revolutions broke out almost simultaneously at the start of the century
now ending, and each has flagrantly diverged from the supposed Western norm.
So, too, with the many revolutions that erupted later in the century: none has
engendered prosperous capitalist democracy, let alone international peace.
Conventional wisdom responds to those unsettling realities with some reflex of
reassurance, usually the leap to good guy-bad guy melodrama, such as Churchill's
picture of Treachery playing on Despair to put Communists in power. Driven by
fanaticism and lust for power, bands of evil men take advantage of temporary
difficulties in the development of Third World countries and subvert the
emergence of the First World model. Such tales are still favored by the Western
public and now by the Russian public, too. Middlebrow readers are not aware that
this taste is being satisfied by a dwindling cohort of elderly men, increasingly at
odds with their professional colleagues.3' Since the 1960s, Western historians of
modern Russia have moved away from accusation of their subject, returning to
the sympathetic inquiry that Sinologists never abandoned.32 The classroom
crusader, mobilizing domestic virtue by denouncing fiends abroad, has become an
embarrassing anachronism. Both sides of this development, the continuing public
taste for the history of Communism as moralistic melodrama and the scholarly
aversion to serving that taste, are opposite responses to a huge question that
embarrasses everyone: Why are constitutional democracy and capitalist prosper-
ity persistently frustrated out there in the East and South?
The myth of the West as norm is implicit in the question, and most First World
historians of Third World countries have long since turned away from celebration
of that myth. Pandering to the hunger for imperial self-congratulation becomes a
humiliating trade as the age of imperial democracy and total war recedes.
Chastened scholars want to grasp the experience of exotic nations from within,
not to measure it against a mythic image of our Western selves, the model for
humanity. They search within the experience of those others out there for social
developments of sufficient magnitude and duration to explain such vast and
complex processes as the Russian and the Chinese revolutions. Of course I
applaud the turn from melodramatic accusation to serious historical inquiry. I
have contributed bulky monographs of my own to the growing heap. But we
should not be content with formless heaps of monographic insights. We should
not allow historical particularity to become an end in itself, however commend-
able our distaste for invidious contrast between our "developed" selves and the
"underdeveloped" multitudes to the east and south.
Permit me then to concede a major point to middlebrow culture. The blatantly
ideological question-Why have "they" been so unsuccessful in following "our"
example?-deserves a considered response. With needles and barbs to remind
Western philistines of the boastful pretensions and the fearful anxieties concealed
within their self-congratulatory question, scholars should extract the genuine
question that is also concealed in it. Why do democratic ideologies take on
drastically different meanings in "backward" contexts?
Marx's theory is part of the answer. His mixture of utopian vision and grim
realism challenged the intelligentsia of poor despotic countries to seek a "mass
base" for a great leap, not merely out of poverty and despotism but also out of the
hypocritical pretensions to genuine democracy and equitable prosperity that
Marx exposed in advanced countries.33 Most of the parties created to achieve such
31 The most notable recent addition to the genre is Richard Pipes, The Russian Revolution (New
York, 1990), which has provoked strong criticism from an impressive array of leading young
scholars. See especially Peter Kenez, "The Prosecution of Soviet History: A Critique of Richard Pipes'
The Russian Revolution," Russian Review, 50 (1991): 345-51; William Rosenberg, The Nation, 252
(1991): 202-04; Catherine Merridale, Historical Journal, 35 (1992): 959-68; Ronald Grigor Suny,
review, AHR, 96 (December 1991): 1581-83; Diane Koenker, Journal of Modern History, 65 (1993):
432-35; John Bushnell, The Historian, forthcoming.
32 Hartford and Goldstein, Single Sparks, describe such an abandonment in the 1950s, but very few
of the authors they cite were Sinologists.
33 See Shlomo Avineri, Karl Marx on Colonialism and Modernization (New York, 1968); and Stuart
Schram and H. Carrere d'Encausse, Marxism and Asia: An Introduction with Readings, new edn.
(London, 1969).
The further east one goes in Europe, the weaker, the more cowardly, and the meaner in
political relations becomes the bourgeoisie and the greater are the cultural and political
tasks that fall to the lot of the proletariat. On its strong shoulders, the Russian working
class must and will carry the work of winning political liberty. This is a necessary step, but
only the first, toward accomplishing the great historical mission of the proletariat-the
creation of a social structure in which there will be no place for the exploitation of man
by man.34
That was the common outlook of future Mensheviks as well as Bolsheviks, and of
Socialist Revolutionaries, too, if "working class" includes peasants as well as urban
workers. Utopian vision enabled them to perceive an emergent reality that liberal
democrats tried to ignore: the "Third World" was generating a new social basis of
democratic revolution, radically different from the "third estate" of times gone by.
On the field of combat with decaying despotism, an absence is noted-"bourgeoi-
sie"-and a presence-"working class." Add another momentous presence-the
radical fringe of the "intelligentsia," whose vanguard role was emphasized by the
Socialist Revolutionaries-and we are well started toward understanding the trans-
formations that "Third World" contexts wrought in revolutionary democracy.
Meticulous scholars have picked apart the notion that "the bourgeoisie" won the
battle for democracy in the West, but the fact remains that men of property were
major leaders and major beneficiaries of the seventeenth and eighteenth-century
battles to replace absolute monarchy with constitutional representative govern-
ment. And a swift rise of industrial capitalism ensued. The pattern has not been
repeated in Russia or China or indeed in any other democratic revolution of the
twentieth century. In the Russian and Chinese revolutions, men of property were
conspicuously feeble as leaders, and they were sacrificial victims rather than
beneficiaries in the aftermath. As the old state systems collapsed, workers and
peasants revealed great hostility to their social superiors and to the system of
property that sustained them; the radical fringe of the intelligentsia mobilized
that hostility, and a minority of the fringe was sufficiently inflamed with anger and
hope to identify the democracy of the lower classes with the dictatorship of their
single party.
Russia was the first-born of the "backward" or "underdeveloped" countries,
that is, countries in which the sense of social inadequacy and the urge to correct
it are focused on invidious comparison with "the West." The sense of backward-
ness originated in borrowings of advanced technology in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries, as an emergent nation state beat its way out of subordina-
tion to neighboring powers. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the sense
of backwardness became an obsession that shaped the thinking of statesmen as
well as the emergent intelligentsia. Conservative statesmen could not find a way to
correct the condition without fatally undermining the social and political institu-
tions they wanted to conserve. That has been a common failure of conservative
statesmen in backward countries over the past two centuries. Of course, there
have been exceptions-aside from Japan, how many can we list? Their exception-
ality underscores the common rule.35
The sense of backwardness and the painful realities that feed it have been the
source of the intelligentsia, a class that is different from the intellectuals or
professionals of advanced countries. Bearers of a culture that derives from
advanced foreigners, members of the intelligentsia are keenly aware of isolation
within their native lands and of a consequent obligation to achieve wholesale
change. They resist the specialization that replaced the philosophes and the
ideologues of the Enlightenment with pure professionals and pure intellectuals,
whose purity is defined by abstention from politics while selling the use of
blinkered minds. The intelligentsia of backward countries succumb to such
specialization, but they do so with great resistance, clinging to the vision of
themselves as a fellowship of critically thinking individuals devoted to something
more than careers, to the transformation of their backward countries. Given the
political timidity of the bourgeoisie, political leaders in such countries often come
from the intelligentsia, including the so-called military intelligentsia, that is,
officers with an analogous sense of a political mission. All this within "the tendency
to an equilibrium of poverty" and "accommodation to the hopelessness of the
prospect," as John Kenneth Galbraith summed up his observations on India.36 He
neglected to add a chronic incitement to seizure of power at the top, occasional
precipitation of mass revolutions from below, and heady moments when the two
merge to produce a Communist revolution.
I am summarizing the common opinion of scholars who have been studying the
Russian and Chinese revolutions.37 They do not support the conventional notion
that the fall of the Russian tsar and the Chinese emperor brought those countries
within reach of liberal democracy, only to have it snatched away by Communist
fanatics. Scholars picture antique despotisms struggling ineffectually against
mounting tensions from within and imperial pressures from without, culminating
in armed invasion, political collapse, and civil war. The lower classes are shown
entering the political arena with hatreds and hopes that realistic leaders felt
obliged to repress, for the hatreds were destructive of any feasible order and the
hopes were utopian. Thus would-be democrats were forced to choose between
different notions of realism linked with different forms of tyranny. In the civil
wars of Russia and China, the Communists won, not only by force of party
discipline and terror but also by mobilizing lower-class hatreds and hopes. The
utopian ideology of the Communists made them the supreme realists of such civil
wars precipitated by international war, which occurred also in Yugoslavia and in
35 See Moore, Social Origins of Democracy; and Skocpol, States and Social Revolutions.
36 John Kenneth Galbraith, The Nature of Mass Poverty (Cambridge, Mass., 1979), 46 and following.
37 See again the historiographical works of Edward Acton, Paul Cohen, Kathleen Hartford and
Steven Goldstein, as cited in note 1. For the scholarly consensus that reaches beyond specialists, see
the favorite assignments for courses in modern history: Bianco, Origins of the Chinese Revolution; Von
Laue, Why Lenin? Why Stalin?; and Von Laue, Why Lenin? Why Stalin? Why Gorbachev? 3d edn. (New
York, 1992). There are no analogues in the Russian field to such large sympathetic works as Jona-
than D. Spence, The Gate of Heavenly Peace: The Chinese and Their Revolution, 1895-1980 (New York,
198 1); and John K. Fairbank, The Great Chinese Revolution, 1800-1985 (New York, 1986).
Vietnam. (Of course, there were crucial differences among these four cases, but
there was also this underlying pattern of similarity.)
The outcome was terrible not only for believers in liberal democracy but also for
the Communist victors. They won with promises they could not keep: direct
democracy of the lower classes; all land to the tiller and the fruits thereof; the
same for factories and industrial workers; escape from international wars to
enduring peace, based on the solidarity of working people across national
boundaries. It is too easy to turn the democratic paradox into angry accusation of
the Communists, indignant insistence that they should not have mobilized
lower-class hatreds and hopes. Indignation of that sort is too easy because it avoids
the other, the liberal side of the bitter paradox. In Russia and in China, believers
in liberal democracy were obliged to support repression of the lower-class
majority, while the mobilizers of the lower-class majority were obliged to support
a dictatorship over it. Both sides tended to deny the terrible choice even as they
drifted into it.
38 See, most notably, Spence, Gate of Heavenly Peace; and Fairbank, Great Chinese Revolution
absence of similar masterpieces among histories of the Russian Revolution reveals the greater
ideological difficulty Western historians have when dealing with Communism in a European country.
absurd tragedy epitomized in Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot, which presents
the dialectic of master and slave as a circus act. (At the master's command, the
slave leaps about babbling wildly while three men beat him back into his
customary silent submission.) I return to the basic division that I am confessing
within my own mind. Beckett's vision is part of an irresistible tradition in Western
high culture, reaching back to Voltaire's Candide. Showing how we are trapped
within self-deceptive hopes of progress, such works trap us further, laughing at
ourselves. Twentieth-century historians know that we cannot figure out where we
are going by discovering where we have come from, yet we cannot abandon the
effort. We are obliged to create a usable past; so we must expose the self-deceptive
ideologies that are intrinsic to such creation.
That ambiguous "we" is the crux of my dispute with the conventional wisdom
on Communism, whether in popular culture or in academic scholarship. Russians
and Chinese need to create a usable past out of their own revolutionary history;
neither Western scholars nor Western politicians can do that for them. Unctuous
talk of "us" helping "them" continues the arrogant assumption that "we" in the
West know better than "they" out there in the East and South. Better to challenge
that conventional assumption, in the first place by confronting the incongruity
between the Western model of revolutionary democracy and the twentieth-
century experience of democratic revolutions in the East and South. On this level,
studying the world-wide discordance between ideological expectation and histor-
ical experience, Western scholars may overcome the smugness that is endemic in
conventional views of the "Third World." When speaking of the Russian and
Chinese revolutions, Western scholars can earn the right to say "'we" only by
confronting the persistent failures of Western ideologies to fit the realities of those
other countries. If scholars join in the popular celebration of "the West" as the
model of progress, their voices should be a counterpoint of mockery and warning,
of chastening and challenge. The ideological bankruptcy of Communism should
be part of a world-wide liquidation of false promises and phony claims in the
tormenting quest for genuine liberty, equality, and fraternity.
In 1648, it would have seemed absurd to project separation of church and state
and the right of free thought as major results of the Reformation. Just now, it
seems absurd to hope that the Communist revolutions of the past century may
result in a new kind of democracy, based on federations of nationalities rather
than unitary nation states, and a new kind of prosperity, sustained by equitable
entitlements rather than invidious differences of ownership and income. Indeed,
speculation of this sort is likely to provoke the observation that those intertwined
socialist dreams-international fraternity and equitable entitlements-seem less
utopian in the advanced countries than in the countries now emerging from
Communist rule, which are still intensely aware of "backwardness," revolted by
any talk of socialism as a mask for tyranny, period. Accusation of the past is the
dominant mood, blocking discussion of how to make it usable. Outside observers
may hope for a new birth of creativity, recalling the ideological exhaustion of
Western Europe in the mid-seventeenth century and the subsequent recuperation
that sought in "reason" the antidote to "enthusiasm." But analogies in the minds
of outside observers hardly matter.