PART II

BOLSHEVIK THEORY

I

THE MATERIALISTIC 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 accepted 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 meant by the theory. It

means that all the mass-phenomena of history are determined 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 physical, 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 for 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 equally

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 formula. 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 point of view, be explained in materialistic terms.

There is, therefore, no logical connection either way between

philosophic materialism and what is called the "materialistic

conception of history."

It is of some moment to realize such facts as this, because otherwise

political theories are both supported and opposed for quite

irrelevant reasons, and arguments of theoretical philosophy are

employed to determine questions which depend upon concrete facts of

human nature. This 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 philosophical 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

consequence of their metaphysics grow absolute and sweeping, unable to

admit that a general theory of history is likely, at best, to be only

true on the whole and in the main. The dogmatic character of Marxian

Communism finds support in the supposed 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

revolutionary proletariat. Take, again, the emancipation of women.

Plato, Mary Wolstonecraft, 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 for women were seen to be

irresistible. More than that, traditional sexual morality collapsed,

because its whole basis was the economic dependence of women upon

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 speaking, as they do, of

"bourgeois ideology," meaning that kind of morality which has been

imposed upon the world by the possessors of capital. Contentment 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 formerly. The more religious among the poor also believed it,

partly from the influence 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 persistence 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

gradually decayed. In such changes we see the collapse of "bourgeois

ideology."

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

errors 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 course a nation,

once formed, has economic interests which largely determine its

politics; 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 Italian, although its whole prosperity as a port

depended upon its belonging to Austria. No economic motive can account

for the opposition between Ulster and the rest of Ireland. In Eastern

Europe, the Balkanization produced by self-determination has been

obviously disastrous from an economic point of view, and was demanded

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 largely 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 commercial 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 did out of rivalry, but the rivalry

was instinctive, and its economic form was accidental. The capitalists

were in the grip of nationalist instinct as much 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," from the point of view of

herd-instinct, is his class, and that he will combine with those whose

economic class-interest is the same as his. This is only very

partially true in fact. Religion has been the most decisive factor in

determining a man'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 unbelieving Socialist. In America the

divisions in local elections are mainly on religious lines. This is no

doubt convenient for the capitalists, and tends to make them 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 their creed to the improvement of their livelihood.

However deplorable such a state 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--the

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 from 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 motives by the methods of

psycho-analysis. In politics, as in private life, men invent myths to

rationalize their conduct. If a man thinks that the only reasonable

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 Germans, he tells himself that their competition is

ruining his trade. If, on the other 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 economists,

self-enrichment seemed the natural aim of a man's political actions.

But modern 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 treatment of the life of

instinct. Of this rigidity the materialistic conception of history 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.

II

DECIDING FORCES IN POLITICS

The larger 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 may be modified by alien

intelligence guided by alien passions. So far, such modification has

been wholly unscientific, but it may in time become as precise as

engineering.

The classification of the passions which is most 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 these are

threatened, there is no limit to the activity and violence that men

will display.

Planted upon these primitive desires are a number of secondary

desires. Love of property, of which the fundamental political

importance is obvious, may be derived historically and psychologically

from the hoarding 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 regard 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 movers of almost all

that happens in politics. Their operation is intensified and

regularized 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 animals, 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 to

their material conditions. The other three--vanity, rivalry, and love

of power--are concerned with social relations. I think this is the

source of what is erroneous in the Marxian interpretation of history,

which tacitly assumes that acquisitiveness is the source of all

political actions. It is clear that many men willingly forego wealth

for the sake of power and glory, and that nations habitually sacrifice

riches to rivalry with other nations. The desire for some 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 offshoot 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 only be satisfied by conquest, the four

secondary passions must have very soon come 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 wealth in a capitalistic society.

Intelligence modifies profoundly the operation of material conditions.

When America was first discovered, men only desired gold 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 effect 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 electric light, but now people will, if

necessary, kill each other in order to acquire 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 power of

the community for the business of killing its rivals. Until 1914,

acquisitiveness 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 physiological 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 power 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 which 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 is

no reason to suppose that the power to modify men's emotional nature

would cause 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 more

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.

III

BOLSHEVIK CRITICISM OF DEMOCRACY

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 what 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 let us first see what the Bolshevik

argument is.

In the first place, it assumes that those to whom it is addressed are

absolutely certain that Communism is desirable, so certain that they

are willing, if necessary, to force it upon an unwilling population at

the point of the bayonet. It then proceeds to argue that, while

capitalism 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 existed. Communists point out how the

people are deceived, and how their chosen leaders have again and

again betrayed them. From this they argue that the destruction 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 violence. It is therefore, in their view, the duty of the

Communist party in a capitalist 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

fails to be as realistic as it pretends.

In the first place, it makes much of the treachery 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 Communism would leave the capitalists no money with

which to attempt corruption. This has been achieved in Russia, and

could be achieved elsewhere. But selling oneself 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

establishment of a bureaucratic aristocracy, concentrating authority

in its own hands, and creating a régime just as oppressive and cruel

as that of capitalism. Marxians 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 method 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 politicians 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

education of the people, so that they may learn to detect a humbug. In

England men have reached the point of suspecting a good speaker, but

if a man speaks badly they 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 cannot 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 elections for the programme of the Bolsheviks.

This view is based upon Russian experience, where the army and navy

had suffered defeat and had been brutally ill used by incompetent

Tsarist authorities. The argument has no application 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 Russia. Before the

Russian Revolution, governments had not studied Bolshevik theory. And

defeat in war created a revolutionary mood throughout Central and

Eastern Europe. But now the holders of power are on their guard. There

seems no reason 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 immense 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

something 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 caricaturing the Bolshevik

doctrine of revolution. It is urged by advocates of this doctrine,

quite truly, that all political events are brought about by

minorities, since the majority are indifferent to politics. But there

is a difference between a minority in which the indifferent acquiesce,

and a minority so hated as to startle the indifferent into belated

action. To make the Bolshevik doctrine reasonable, it is necessary to

suppose that they believe the majority 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 Communism.

I think we come here to an essential part of Bolshevik philosophy. In

the moment of revolution, Communists are to have some 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 ends. But

this, again, is a method which can only be practised successfully so

long as it is not avowed. It is to some extent habitual in politics.

The Unionists in 1900 won a majority on the Boer War, and used it to

endow brewers and Church 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 democracy. But its

success depends upon repudiating it until the moment comes to practise

it. Those who, like the Bolsheviks, have the honesty to proclaim in

advance their intention of using power for other ends than those for

which it was given them, 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 country, 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 possible

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 little support

from moderate people. Whereas, in a minority revolt of Communists

against a capitalist Government, all moderate opinion would be on the

side of capitalism.

The contention that capitalist propaganda is what prevents the

adoption of Communism by wage-earners is only very partially true.

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 unable 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 arouse the same

passionate interest in the average citizen as is roused by nationality

and used to be roused by religion. It is not unlikely that things may

change in this respect: we may be approaching a period of economic

civil wars comparable 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,

there 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 state 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 the

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 minorities 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 less, at

present, is respect for the law and the constitution. Bolsheviks

tacitly assume that every other party will preserve this respect while

they themselves, unhindered, prepare the revolution. But if their

philosophy of violence becomes 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 primitive 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 for 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 forget how

many of the good things that we unquestionably expect would disappear

out of life if murder, rape, and robbery with violence became common.

And we forget 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 inculcation 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 men 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

other, revolutionary violence in a democracy is infinitely dangerous.

IV

REVOLUTION AND DICTATORSHIP

The Bolsheviks have a very definite programme for achieving

Communism--a programme which has been set forth by Lenin repeatedly,

and quite recently in the reply of the Third International to the

questionnaire submitted by the Independent Labour Party.

Capitalists, we are assured, will stick at nothing 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

conciliation and political deception may be preferable to actual

physical warfare; but as soon as the proletariat make a really vital

attack upon the capitalists, they 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 false

friends to the wage-earners; intentionally or unintentionally, they

are covert allies of the bourgeoisie.

There must, then, according to Bolshevik theory, 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 have caused a mood of revolutionary

discontent with the existing Government. They then put themselves at

the head of the discontent, carry through a successful revolution, and

in so doing acquire the arms, the railways, the State treasure, and

all the other resources upon which the power of modern Governments is

built. They then confine political power to Communists, however small

a minority they 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 be

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 Bolsheviks 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 answer 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 this

defence will carry us very far. However, I have argued this question

before in my book 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 better, 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 becomes necessary to count the cost;

for a great part of the cost is all but certain.

Since the revolution of October, 1917, the Soviet Government has been

at war with almost all the world, and has had at the same time to face

civil war at home. This is not to be regarded as accidental, or 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. Next, the Tsarist régime was the

worst in Europe, and therefore rallied less support 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 same is

true, though in a less degree, of continental countries. Therefore,

unless 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 which 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 every 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 banned as

being "_bourgeois_"; but it remains a fact that intelligence

languishes 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 Labour Party they say:

It is probable that upon the throwing off of the chains of the

capitalist Governments, the revolutionary proletariat of

Europe will meet the resistance of Anglo-Saxon capital in the

persons of British and American capitalists who will attempt

to blockade it. It is then possible that the revolutionary

proletariat of Europe will rise in union with the peoples of

the East and commence a revolutionary struggle, the scene of

which will be the entire world, to deal a final blow to

British and American capitalism (_The Times_, July 30, 1920).

The war here prophesied, if it ever takes place, 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

throughout 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 believe 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 adoption 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

minority. The fact that there is Communism--to a certain extent--does

not mean that there is liberty. If the Communism were more complete,

it would not necessarily mean 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 patent lesson of the

present condition of Russia. The Bolshevik theory is that a small

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 inevitable that men placed as the

Bolsheviks are placed in Russia, and as they maintain that the

Communists must place themselves wherever the social revolution

succeeds, 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 wealth? 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

must 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 rulers of a great empire such

as Soviet Russia, when they have become accustomed to power, retain

the proletarian psychology, and feel that their class-interest 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

Government 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 capitalists 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 class. But I see

no reason whatever to expect equality or freedom to result from such a

system, except reasons derived from a false psychology and a mistaken

analysis 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.

V

MECHANISM AND THE INDIVIDUAL

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 question 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

can see hope in other methods. The Bolshevik arguments against all

other methods are powerful. I confess that, when the spectacle of

present-day Russia 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 truth, 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 refutation; 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 reached 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

therefore imperative for those who do not believe in Bolshevism to put

some other hope in its place.

I think there are two things that must be admitted: 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 evil. 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 power.

The graver evils of the capitalist system all arise from its uneven

distribution of power. The possessors of capital wield 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, appalling 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 individual to the machine that is the

fundamental evil of the modern world.

To cure this evil is not easy, because efficiency 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

military or industrial. In war and in commercial competition, it is

necessary to control individual impulses, to treat men as so many

"bayonets" or "sabres" or "hands," not as a society of separate people

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 state of affairs exist,

the psychological conditions are not likely to exist unless power is

very widely diffused throughout the community. Where power is

concentrated 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 empire more than the slow and less obvious

improvements that would result from better education combined with

more leisure. The joys of victory are especially great 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

believe that any community in which power is much concentrated will

long refrain from 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 this 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 now. And in every country in such a condition we may expect to

find the government 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 tempted 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 without 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 requires 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 whose share is

diminishing. This is only possible if those who are acquiring power

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 whole of what is needed

politically. The right grouping of men for different purposes is also

essential. Self-government in industry, for example, is an

indispensable condition of a good society. Those acts of an individual

or a group which have no very great importance for outsiders ought to

be freely decided by that individual 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, which 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 political

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 from hatred and violence

and oppression, general 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 war; 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 example 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 next 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 adopted by

Communists in Western nations, the result will be a prolonged chaos,

leading neither to Communism nor to any other civilized system, but to

a relapse into 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 failure 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 which 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 regard to food. In a

country which formerly produced a vast exportable surplus of cereals

and other agricultural produce, and in which the non-agricultural

population 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 failed 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 not the main

reason for the shortage. The main reason is the hostility of the

peasants, which, in turn, is due to the collapse of industry and to

the policy of forced 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 motive 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 workers are

perpetually attempting to abandon their employment for agriculture.

This 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 collapse 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 failures of the

Soviet Government. It is, to begin with, the main cause of the

unpopularity 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 enough food for the needs of the

towns. The town population could then have subsisted 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 been

in many cases, for men of scientific or artistic capacity to abandon

the pursuits in which they were skilled for unskilled manual labour.

The Communist Republic 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 that

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 leading 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 and the weakening of

energy that accompanies it. No tone can blame them for this, 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 pointed 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 compelled to reduce

the Soviet system to an empty form. More and more the pretence of

representing 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 hours,

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 peril has necessitated the

creation of a vast army recruited by conscription, except as regards a

Communist nucleus, from among a population utterly weary of war, who

put the Bolsheviks in power because they alone promised peace.

Militarism 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 like 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 Western ideas of progress; it is composed in the main

of honest and hard-working men, 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 enlightenment. It may be that Russia needs sternness and

discipline more than anything else; it may be that a revival of Peter

the Great's methods is essential to progress. 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 through

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 judge, that is of course

undeniable in a sense. But in a sense it is always too soon to judge

of any historical movement, because its effects and developments go 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 definitive judgments will be possible later. And, for reasons

which I have given in earlier chapters, I find it impossible to

believe that later developments will realize more fully the Communist

ideal. If trade is opened with the outer world, there will be an

almost irresistible tendency to resumption of private 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

world-revolution, no one could expect--and the Bolsheviks certainly

did not expect--that capitalist Governments would be friendly. If

Germany had won the war, Germany would have shown a hostility more

effective than that of the Entente. However 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 utterly? And would it

collapse equally if a Communist revolution were to occur in a Western

country?

Russian industry was never highly developed, and 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

machinery 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 most reliable Communists, and the

loss of them rendered their factories even more inefficient than they

were under Kerensky. In this respect, and in the laziness and

incapacity of the Russian workman, the Bolsheviks have had to face

special 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 the matter of food; no other country could have

endured the collapse of industry 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 account 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 for

conciliatory methods, to substitute terror for reward as the incentive

to work. Some amiable Socialists have imagined that, when the private

capitalist had been eliminated, 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:

Every 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 attain 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, parasites and disorganizers who strive to undermine

public zeal--the principal method for the increase of

production will become the introduction of the system of

compulsory labour.

In capitalist society rivalry assumed the character of

competition and led to the exploitation 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.

Rivalry 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.

The system of premiums which is to be introduced should become

one of the most powerful means of exciting rivalry. The system

of rationing of food supply is to get into line with it; so

long as Soviet Russia suffers from insufficiency of

provisions, it is only just that the industrious and

conscientious worker receives more than the careless worker.

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 the 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 outlook 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 heroism, 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 ancient 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 mentality 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 the ferocity of

the years of the Great War, operating upon a ruined and starving

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.

VII

CONDITIONS FOR THE SUCCESS OF COMMUNISM

The fundamental ideas of Communism are by no means impracticable, and

would, if realized, add immeasurably to the well-being of mankind. The

difficulties which 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 sufficiently severe to

destroy all that is best in Communism during the struggle, as well as

everything else that has value in modern civilization. The seriousness

of this 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 which, 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 paralysed, the evils

which exist in modern Russia, or others just as great, seem

practically 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 Communist revolution, a number

of conditions must be fulfilled which are not, at present, fulfilled

anywhere. Consider, for the sake of definiteness, what would happen if

a Communist revolution were to occur in England to-morrow. Immediately

America 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 disorganized 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 State.

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 chose,

raise formidable revolts. They are urged by Moscow to do so, but they

realize that, if they did, England and America would starve them.

France, for many reasons, 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, would 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 may

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 possibly 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 must 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 converted to Communism, or

at any rate willing to remain neutral; secondly, that it is 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 supporters, because in such a state of opinion a very severe

civil war is likely to result. It is necessary to have a great body of

opinion favourable to Communism, and a rather weak opposition, before

a really successful Communist state can be introduced either by

revolution or by more or less constitutional methods.

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 and 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

England 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 efficiently by the

workers, from the point of view of production, than they are at

present by the capitalists. The Bolsheviks oppose self-government in

industry every where, because it has failed in Russia, and their

national self-esteem prevents 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 that 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; moreover (what is

important with the British temperament) self-government can be brought

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 first on the power, as is done by seeking

self-government in industry without confiscation of capitalist

incomes. By this means the capitalists are gradually turned into

obvious drones, their active functions in industry become nil, and

they can be ultimately dispossessed without dislocation and without

the possibility 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 has

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 Bolshevism. But there are two different

things that may be meant by democracy: we may mean 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 have 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-government. 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 effective

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 administered by the workers themselves.

The Bolshevik philosophy is promoted very largely by despair of more

gradual methods. But this despair is a mark of impatience, 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 constitutional 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 that 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 advocated 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 difficult, 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 the armed might of a

determined minority.

The attitude of uncompromising heroism is attractive, and appeals

especially to the dramatic instinct. But the purpose 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 heart

will shrink from attitudes and the facile hysteria of "no parley with

the enemy." They will not embark upon enterprises, however arduous and

austere, which are likely to involve the martyrdom of their country

and the discrediting 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 training in technique and business

administration, by careful study of the international situation, by a

prolonged and devoted propaganda of ideas rather than tactics,

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 European 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 good 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 relation 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, and 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 than

hatred inspires its advocates, it can be brought about without the

universal cataclysm 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 wounds which the old evil

system has inflicted upon the human spirit.

_Printed in Great Britain by_

UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON

ERRATA

P. 20, l. 11. For "teaching" read "reaching"

P. 23, between l. 18 and l. 19. Insert "violence in the transition

must be faced. Unfortunately,"

P. 43, l. 12. For "dying" read "very ill"

P. 44, last sentence. Substitute "But he recovered, and I hope it will

recover also." (replacing: "I hope I was mistaken in both respects.")

P. 60, l. 6 from below. For "waving triumphant hands and" read

"expressing their delight by"

P. 61, l. 21. For "professional" read "professorial"

P. 85, l. 2. For "This" read "Thus"

P. 91, l. 8. For "losses" read "hopes"

P. 104, l. 9. For "leave" read "leaves"

P. 105, last line. Substitute "which has been already discussed in