THE SOCIALIST TRADITION MOSES TO LENIN PROLOGUE AND PLAN

THE purpose of the present volume is to present the outstanding figures in the development of socialist thought, with some estimate of the significance of their several contributions. It does not, it should be observed, aim at being a history of socialist thought: such a task, in its immensity, would probably engage more than the average lifetime of any moderately conscientious student. Nor indeed (though it may savour of heresy) is a history of socialism on a comprehensive scale a primary requirement for the ordinary man, confronted with the problems of to-day. Further, any temptation to be drawn into the history of the socialist movement has, so far as possible, been resisted. It is admittedly a cognate subject; but again, the effort, doubtless incumbent on all of us, to disentangle the confusion of ideas making up the environment in which we live, would not be materially aided by embarking on the vain attempt (for instance) to understand the cross-currents and interrelations among the socialist parties in France in the second half of the nineteenth century. Here we are primarily concerned with ‘ideas,’ as these ideas have been reflected in the minds of the men who have been most influential in shaping the socialist tradition. As a consequence of this method of approach it is inevitable that many connecting links should be omitted and even some considerable movements ignored. It is suggested, however, with some confidence, that if the ordinary man, who is the bulk of the population, can acquire a knowledge of what Godwin or Proudhon, or Marx or Lenin stood for, he may, without great immediate loss, leave to the academic expert the fascinating pursuit of conjectural sources and hidden influences.

One question barks for an answer on the threshold of our journey; but Prudence and Cowardice (a combination of potent masters) unite in suggesting that the question should meantime be avoided. What, it may at the outset reasonably be asked, are we to understand by socialism? The definitions of socialism that strew the expositions and the criticisms of socialism furnish a depressing prospect. Some are foolish; some are vacuous; some are contradictory; some, which appear commendable up to a point, leave gaping omissions. There is in short no agreement among the experts as to what socialism is supposed to mean, or what it is that constitutes the Wesen of a socialist system of thought. On the other hand, there is not the same disagreement as to who are the ‘great socialists,’ to fall back on the title of Mr. Muckle's little book¹—though, admittedly, there are not a few of Mr. Muckle's team who would be entirely excluded on any strict interpretation of most of the most-favoured definitions. For the purpose of our journey through time we shall accordingly guide ourselves, not so much by the application of a definition of socialism postulated in advance, as by accepting somewhat unquestioningly those whom the general consensus of opinion has agreed to designate as ‘the great socialists.’ When these have gone into the witness-box, and have severally testified to the faith that is in them, it may in a concluding chapter be possible to consider more knowledgeably what is the essence of socialism, and how one brand of socialism differs from another. For the present, therefore, without suggesting that it even remotely foreshadows a definition, we shall accept all who, urged by a passion for justice or equality, or by a sensitiveness to the evils of this present world, seek a better world, not by way of reform, but by way of subversion (using the word in its literal and neutral sense)—or, if it be preferred, by a fundamental change in the nature and structure of society.

It may be convenient if in this Prologue some indication is given of the prominent figures selected to illustrate the development of socialist thought. In the modern western world, our way of thinking derives largely, on the one hand, from the Jews, modified and supplemented later by Christianity, and on the other hand from Greece. These together provide in large measure the pit from which have been dug our thoughts on the relation of man to man, of man to society, of man to God. Inevitably many of the ideas which lie at the root of socialism were foreshadowed (and more than foreshadowed) in the Mosaic Law, in the indignation of the prophets, in the speculations of the Greek philosophers, and in the teaching of the early Church. The first two chapters accordingly seek to determine how far socialism may justifiably appeal to Greek philosophy; how far it may claim that it finds inspiration and support in the Jewish and Christian traditions.

The third chapter may also in a sense be regarded as concerned with background—with the inspirations leading to socialism, rather than with socialism itself. A curious and fascinating side-line in the literature of socialism is concerned with the portrayal of imaginary and ideal societies, where, without any of the pangs of birth (so familiar to Marx), the perfect world is represented, in the guise of fiction, as a going and highly successful concern. The greatest of all Utopias is, of course, the original Utopia itself, unless indeed Plato's Republic is regarded as a Utopia—which, strictly speaking, it is not. The third chapter is accordingly devoted to the Utopia of Thomas More (1478–1535); and since Utopias play so large a part in later socialist literature (down to Looking Backward and News from Nowhere), some attention is devoted to two of the other early Utopias, as represented by Campanella (1568–1639) and Fénelon (1651–1715).

In the fourth chapter we approach the questionings out of which modern socialism has sprung. Here we are concerned with the prelude to the French Revolution, where, of course, the greatest name is that of Rousseau (1712–1778). Rousseau was primarily a political writer, but he was tortured by a passion for equality, by a hatred of property (or of certain kinds of property) and by a vision of class warfare which made him one of the greatest influences in the origins of socialism. In this chapter there is also included some reference to two much smaller pre-revolutionary figures who were, however, great in their time, Mably (1709–1785) and Morelly (?-?). These also thirsted for equality, as did Babeuf (1764–1797), the martyr of the Secte des Egaux, who likewise is admitted to this chapter. Though he is hardly at home with these companions, there is also included here a slight account of Fichte (1762–1814), who represents the enlightenment of the late eighteenth century, and who became influential in the authoritarian tradition of Germany.

In the following chapter (5) we meet one of the enigmatic figures of English literature. William Godwin (1756–1836) appears here as the first, and perhaps the greatest and most consistent of the anarchists, and, as such, he opens a line of thought which has ever since been in part intermingled with, and in part opposed to, socialism. Godwin was an anarchist because he was so pre-eminently a man of reason and inhuman logic. An anarchist society is conceivable only if all concerned are the embodiment of reason and restraint. Not merely therefore should an anarchist be a man of reason; he should also combine with his own reason a wholly unreasonable belief that all others are equally reasonable. It is Godwin's distinction that, more successfully than any other, he came within sight of accomplishing this nice balancing feat.

The next stage brings us to the group of writers among whom (in the foolish metaphor) we must look for the father (or the fathers) of socialism. They represent what Marx later called in derision the ‘Utopian Socialists’; they have also, again with a touch of contempt, been classed as ‘associationists.’ They were Utopian because, in the main, this initial phase of socialism represented a naive belief (as it appeared to Marx) that a better world could be engineered by men of good will doing something, by action from above, in the form of an Act of Parliament, the promulgation of a Royal Decree, or the philanthropy of a well-disposed capitalist. They were associationists because (again, in the main) they looked for the realisation of socialism through the formation of groups or associations of people, living on socialist lines within this present tainted world, yet in the course of time gradually leavening the lump.

The representatives of this phase of socialism provide an odd assortment of interesting types, distinguished by a high degree of eccentricity, if not of something more, though in some cases with very doubtful claims to be regarded as socialists at all. Saint-Simon (1760–1825), a turbulent, tumultuous, restless, forward-looking mind, was in himself rather a prophet of big business, of the totalitarian State and of the virtue of leadership; but his followers, the Saint-Simonian school, gave his doctrine a slight modification which had far-reaching effects in making Saint-Simonism a profound socialist influence. Charles Fourier (1772–1837) is likewise a father of socialism in whom the old Adam of individualism dies hard; for he loved property, and he loved inequality and he loved most of the things that a socialist ought not to love. But he let his terrible imagination loose in criticising this poor civilisation of ours, and in his own unbalanced way he preached the gospel of co-operation as a way of escape. Saint-Simon and Fourier have high claims to be regarded as the most interesting and piquant figures in the history of socialism: it is a matter of regret that those who are unquestionably immeasurably more important should also be immeasurably duller.

The third of this group is Robert Owen (1771–1858), who, after being a successful man of business, devoted his fortune to the furtherance of experiments in the establishment of communistic settlements and to much communistic and miscellaneous propaganda. His life, after he ceased to make money as the model employer, may appear to the superficial eye as a series of frustrations; yet his influence is everywhere in the labour movement of the nineteenth century. Lastly there is Louis Blanc (1813–1882), who, though unquestionably an associationist in virtue of his plan of co-operative associations, yet in many ways belongs to a somewhat later era because of his frank acceptance of the existing State as the appropriate machine for bringing the new world into existence. To each of these representatives of the Utopian or associationist stage a chapter is devoted (Chapters 6–9).

Chapter 10 brings us to Proudhon (1809–1865), a writer who refuses to be classified and who, superficially viewed, appears as a mass of contradictions. He was indeed a lone fighter who railed against everyone and anyone whose views he did not at the moment share. As he rather prided himself on arguing on both sides of every question, a consistent body of doctrine can hardly be expected from Proudhon, who, in the admirable phrase of Emile Faguet, ‘ne comprenait pas tout à la fois, mais qui, successivement, comprenait admirablement chaque chose.’¹ But if Proudhon must be ‘placed’ for the purposes of this plan, he is best regarded as a continuator of the anarchist tradition, a kind of link between Godwin and Bakunin later, carrying on the same Holy War against all authority and against all authoritarian forms of socialism.

The next stage should bring us to the centre of things and to ‘scientific socialism.’ On the way to Marx, however, it is well for us in this country to recall a remarkable group of early English socialists—forgotten and rediscovered—who anticipated the Marxian way of thinking, and at times indeed Marxian phraseology, especially with regard to exploitation. So far as mere chronology goes, these writers (Hall: 1740–1820; Thompson: 1785–1833; Hodgskin: 1783–1869; Bray:?-?; Gray: 1799-?1850) are, at least in their fruitful period, more nearly contemporary with Saint-Simon and Fourier, but spiritually they are on the threshold of Marx. It has accordingly been thought advisable to ignore dates in this matter, and give some account of certain of the members of this remarkable English pre-Marxian group in Chapter 11, immediately before the discussion of Marx; and along with them has been included a brief reference to agrarian socialism in this country, as seen in Spence (1750–1814) and Ogilvie (1736–1819), who had at least this in common with Marxians everywhere, that they popularised the idea of ‘theft.’

Having considered these English forerunners, we are free to turn to the main exposition of scientific socialism. The essence of scientific socialism, as distinguished from Utopian socialism, is that it bases socialism on a philosophical view of history, usually, but not very happily, described as the ‘Materialist Conception of History.’ The urge forward in history comes, it is held, not from men's ideals, but from the conditions under which they earn their living. Men's ideals indeed are a result and not a cause; they represent a by-product of their material conditions. Moreover, the Materialist Conception of History finds its expression in an everlasting class-struggle, where exploiters defraud the exploited, and in which one struggle is resolved, merely to give place to another. In the future, however, with the expropriation of the expropriators, there will be inaugurated a condition of affairs, called the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat,’ leading ultimately to a classless society. Thus, in its classic form as presented by Marx (1818–1883), scientific socialism comprises at least a philosophy of history, embodying the class-struggle; a theory of exploitation, based on presumed economic reasoning, and a vision of the dictatorship of the proletariat. In the enunciation of scientific socialism, Marx was united in indissoluble partnership with Engels (1820–1895), and they are considered together here. Although the Marx-Engels combination is almost sufficiently representative of scientific socialism, there are two others who ranked more highly two generations ago than they do to-day, and who even now ought not to be ignored. These are, firstly, Rodbertus (1805–1875), who thought like a philosopher and who lived aloof like a philosopher; and secondly, Lassalle (1825–1864), who, not without demagogic qualities, largely created the German working-class movement, and who exercised a greater immediate influence than Marx. Marx and Engels, with addenda on Lassalle and Rodbertus, are discussed in Chapter 12.

The post-Marxian development of socialism has been entirely conditioned by Marx. There has been nothing that cannot be interpreted, either as a reaction against Marx, a ‘revision’ of Marx, or a return to what is presumed to be the essential core, the pure gold, of Marx. These stages and schools may be briefly indicated. We have already noted the anarchism of Godwin and Proudhon. A large part of Marx's life, especially in connection with the First International, was devoted to the feud with the anarchists, and indeed the First International shipwrecked because of the incompatibility of the authoritarian tendencies of Marxism and the anarchism of Bakunin. Chapter 13 is devoted to some of the representatives of the anarchist tradition, Bakunin (1814–1876), Kropotkin (1842–1921) and Bertrand Russell.

Inside the professedly socialist party, the chief reaction against Marx is found in the Revisionist movement, of which the chief representative was Bernstein (1850–1932). Some such Revisionist movement was natural and probably inevitable. Marxism had comprised a considerable mass of prophecy, which somehow was not being too obviously fulfilled. The worker was not becoming more miserable; the middle class was not being squeezed out; to the unaided eye, which did not see by faith, the promised revolution was perhaps even rapidly advancing backwards. Even if Marx were right in his prophecies—it was whispered—was it not possible that he might have been mistaken in the time that would be required for their fulfilment? And if so...? What should be done meanwhile? The end-result of Revisionism was thus to eliminate the revolutionary aspect of Marxism and turn it into a gospel of Reform: evolutionary socialism took the place of revolutionary socialism. Substantially the same point of view, without however being due to a reaction against Marx, was represented by the Fabians in this country. Chapter 14 deals with the Fabians and their continental counterpart, the Revisionists.

The next significant movement is that of Syndicalism, and this provides the subject of Chapter 15. Syndicalism was pre-eminently a French and Italian manifestation. It is perhaps best viewed as a protest against Revisionism and the moderating influence of the Second International. Socialism, having become reformist, had also become respectable and middle-class; the fighting spirit had gone out of it; it was being infected by corroding, bourgeois influences. Inevitably also, being reformist, it had truckled to the State. Syndicalism is thus a call to return to the essence of Marx, which is to be found in the class struggle; it represents a determination to make socialism once again exclusively a working-class movement, looking for and finding the working classes in the trade unions. With this is combined a strong infusion of influences deriving from anarchist sources, making Syndicalism hostile not merely to the existing State but to any State. In short, Syndicalism seeks to revive the purity of Marxism, but in Marxism it sees primarily, if not exclusively, the class struggle, which it embodies in the vision of the General Strike.

Guild Socialism, which occupies Chapter 16, is best viewed as the Anglo-Saxon equivalent of Syndicalism. While in no way falling behind the Syndicalists in violence of language, the Guild Socialists were somewhat less extreme, to this extent at least, that in their reconstruction of things a place was still left for some sort of a rump of a State to represent consumers. On the side of production, the world, was, however, to be refashioned on the basis of trade unions remodelled as Guilds.

Finally, in Chapter 17 we come to Lenin (1870–1924). Leninism has this in common with Syndicalism, that it professes to be a return to the purity of Marx; but again it is difficult to resist the impression that the Marx to whom we are invited to return is a somewhat one-sided Marx. Lenin, in fact, is almost exclusively interested in revolution. The aspect of Marx and Engels on which he concentrates is accordingly that which is concerned with the technique of revolution, and above all with the significance of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. For Lenin, Marxism means the theory of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, and of the process whereby, after the establishment of this dictatorship, the State will begin to wither away.

In a concluding section (Chapter 18) some consideration is given to certain general questions relating to the nature of socialism and the position of socialism to-day and to-morrow.

Such is the programme, and such are the representatives, or schools, chosen to reveal the development of socialist thought. Mindful of the high injunction of St. Thomas Aquinas in these matters, it may be as well to ask whether there are any glaring defects or omissions in what is here offered to the public. Realising that round any great name are clustered whole galaxies of other writers both before and after, bearing in mind that seldom have two socialists, even of the same school, entirely agreed, it is clear that in any finite volume, whole cohorts of authors must be treated as though they had not been.

It may, however, be permissible to indicate three non-existent ‘infra-marginal’ chapters, the inclusion of which might have been in some ways advantageous in completing the picture. Firstly, there is much so-called ‘mediaeval socialism,’ which is humanly interesting if not economically very instructive. The early writers, Sudre and Thonissen,¹ who held ‘le socialisme’ and ‘le communisme’ in undisguised horror, thought it incumbent on them to give a somewhat lengthy account of the Anabaptists and of the debaucheries of Münster, as a horrible warning of the awful consequences that follow from any trafficking with the accursed thing. But indeed the history of the Anabaptists and the fantastic life of John of Leyden, while admirably providing ample material for a crowded historical film, are of doubtful significance in the history of socialism. No doubt, the mediaeval outlook on economic questions is of absorbing interest; and that not merely from the point of view of a history of socialism. Otherwise, however, most of ‘mediaeval socialism,’ on its more dramatic and picturesque side, is rather a psychological and pathological study in the aberrations that follow certain types of religious mania.

The second infra-marginal chapter might have been devoted to the task of disentangling and defining the many strands of nineteenth-century French socialism. France has been particularly prolific of writers whose names stand for a system of socialism somewhat different from those offered by rival and competing socialists, each with just a little of something the others haven't got. Leroux, Buchez, Pecqueur—and for that matter, Cabet—may be cited from the beginnings of socialism, merely to indicate the nature of the labyrinth. If this challenge has been declined, it is because the questions involved, though doubtless of considerable interest to the French student, are hardly of pressing importance to us in this country. We are not sensibly inconvenienced by an ignorance of Blanqui, even though a ‘Blanquist’ is a recurrent term of abuse in the writings of Lenin.

The third unwritten chapter comes nearer home. In the great literature of the Victorian era there are a number of writers who reveal something which, if not socialism, is a kind of socialist simmering. A later age has, by a kind of natural reaction, tended to find in the Victorian a figure inviting satire; yet it is well to be fair, even to the Victorians. They had their ideals. Now there is nothing greatly wrong with idealism, so long as high ideals are not advanced in extenuation of low practice. What has brought ‘idealism,’ in this sense, into disrepute, so that no one under the age of sixty so much as uses the word without blushing, is the gap not infrequently observed between profession and attainment, which somehow seems to import into idealism an element of what crude people call hypocrisy. The best Victorians aimed high; they took themselves seriously. They were extremely anxious to do that which is right; they were intent on putting an end to evil.¹ Perhaps, as their grandchildren tend to suggest, they may have been somewhat discriminating in the selection of the evils to which they were sensitive: no generation understands its immediate predecessors. For our purpose it is significant that the Victorian idealism produced a kind of literary socialism, or at least a revolt against the ugliness of industrialism, the selfishness of individualism, the general depravity of ‘Manchesterthum’—to borrow a libellous word from the Continent. Hence the socialism (or is it sometimes fascism?) of Carlyle, Ruskin, Kingsley and others. But indeed, though a chapter on the quasi-socialist utterances of some of the great literary Victorians ought to be of interest, it is doubtful whether it would be in place here. Apart from Morris (though Morris is not quite in this company) this ‘literary socialism’ exercised little or no influence on the general development of socialism, except in so far as it disposed public opinion to a readier acceptance of more virile forms of socialism—or, in the case of Carlyle, may have helped to sow the seeds of fascism.

On their claims, therefore, the three infra-marginal chapters are better left as infra-marginal. But there is a more compelling reason. It may be that poets sing because they must, and pipe but as the linnets sing; but other books are written in the hope that some one will read them, or selected portions of them. Apart from novels, where there is apparently no upper limit, it is to-day distressingly true that no quality so inexorably condemns a book to be classified among the unreadable and the unread as does excessive length. Probably, without John of Leyden and Pecqueur and Ruskin, this volume has already approached that undefined amplitude beyond which even an author's most tactful daughter-in-law will obdurately refuse to have dealings with it