Marxism

The Nature of Totalitarian Power

For Lenin, Marxism was primarily a doctrine of the dictatorship of the proletariat in a peasant country. This dictatorship emerges from his comprehensive and total worldview. He advocated for dictatorship even within philosophy, insisting on the supremacy of dialectical materialism over thought. Lenin’s teaching on the dictatorship of the proletariat posits that he did not advocate for the dictatorship of the empirical proletariat, which in Russia was weak and numerically insignificant, but rather the dictatorship of the idea of the proletariat, executed on behalf of the latter by a party that is, in essence, a criminal and unlawful organization. The historical regularity was once again confirmed in the case of Russia, where “the dictatorship is necessary not to protect the revolution, but rather the revolution is executed to establish the dictatorship” (George Orwell). One need only recall M. Robespierre and the Jacobins, Lenin and the Bolsheviks. The dictatorship of one party inevitably leads to the dictatorship of one individual. The history of Soviet Russia (USSR) serves as the best proof of this. A profound analysis of the technology of totalitarian power is provided in the works of A. Authorhanov (1908-1997).

In exploring the sources and meanings of Russian communism, M. Berdyaev (1874-1948) wrote: “Lenin is an anti-humanist, just as he is an anti-democrat. In this, he is a man of the new epoch, an epoch not only of communist but also of fascist revolutions. Leninism is a new type of leadership, one that elevates a leader of the masses endowed with dictatorial power. He will be followed by Mussolini and Hitler. Stalin will be the consummate type of a leader-dictator.” The will to power will become self-sufficient, fought for as an end in itself, rather than as a means.

Marxist communism is certainly a utopia, but a utopia with a tendency towards realization. The history of Bolshevism is the history of a utopia in power. But what does it mean for a utopia to be in power? Its politics become a crime against the individual and against humanity. Thus, the resolution of the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe from February 25, 2006, which was undermined by most delegates from the Russian Federation, is just and timely, although accepted in a truncated form. What does Russia, as the successor to the USSR, fear today? Only one thing: that it will be called to account by the peoples and nations. The resolution initiated a condemnation not only of the practice of communist rule but also of the ideology of communism that justified the criminal activities of the state.

In the case of Russia, one can witness the correctness and depth of the thought that revolutions are prepared by romantics (Marx), carried out by fanatics (a typical fanatic of the revolution was Ulyanov-Lenin), and that the results are enjoyed by various types of scoundrels and swindlers (Stalin, etc.). Stalinism grows from the soil of Russian democracy, yet its roots extend deep into the Moscow-Tatar blood and the Mongol political tradition. Thus, the dreams of world-improvers have become tools in the hands of power-hungry natures.

“What has changed?” asked the renowned Russian poet M. Voloshin (1877-1932) (Korniyenko—of Ukrainian descent). Russia has always guessed, always sensed: “In the commissars—the spirit of autocracy, In the heights of revolution—in the tsars,” transparently hinting at the tsar-revolutionary Peter I and the revolutionary-tsar Stalin of the 20th century. For Russia, the last century began with the question: “What is to be done?” Yet, this “Russian century,” as is well known, ended with the answer—what should not be done. In the preface to the Ukrainian translation of his novella “Animal Farm” (1949), George Orwell wrote: “Nothing contributed to the distortion of the initial socialist ideas as much as the belief that current Russia is a model of socialism, and thus any action of its rulers should be taken for granted, if not as an example to follow.”

Thus, there exists a profound ambiguity in the nature of Bolshevism, which is vividly reflected in Lenin's political career. What goal did he set for himself: to continue the work of Peter the Great or to destroy its consequences? By relocating the capital of Russia from the eccentric fortress of Peter to the center of the country, Lenin seemed to declare himself a follower of Protopope Avvakum and the Old Believers, as well as the Slavic nationalists. In this role, he stands as one of the prophets of “Holy Russia,” embodying the protest of the Russian soul against Western civilization. However, the theoretical foundation of his doctrine is not found in his homeland but borrowed from the westernized German Jew Karl Marx. Although it is true that no doctrine more akin to the complete negation of the entire Western social order exists than Marxist teaching, this Russian prophet of the 20th century would not have found it in the West. It is the negative, rather than the positive, elements of Marxist ideology that made it congenial to the Russian revolutionary spirit; this explains why in 1917, the still exotic Russian capitalism of the Western model was swept away by an equally exotic Western anti-capitalist doctrine. This explanation is further supported by the metamorphosis that Marxist philosophy underwent in the Russian atmosphere, where, as is not difficult to observe, Marxism has transformed into an emotional and intellectual substitute for Orthodox Christianity, where K. Marx takes on the role of Moses, and Lenin emerges as the Messiah, with their collected works recognized as the Holy Scripture of this new atheistic church—an aggressive and militant church.

The Ukrainian spiritual tradition and mentality have also never embraced Marxism, especially in its subjectively doctrinal form. It suffices to mention that the renowned Ukrainian scholar Dmytro Chyzhevskyi (1894-1977) in his famous “Essays on the History of Philosophy in Ukraine” mentioned only Mykola Ziber and dedicated merely 15 lines to him in the section on “Marxism.”

It is worth recalling how the Ukrainian thinker Ivan Franko (1856-1916) assessed communist theory in general and the materialist understanding of history in particular. On this matter, he wrote that complete communal ownership of land is impossible and would even be detrimental. His reflections on the state as an instrument of exploitation, which Marxist theorists would like to transform into a people's state, are also intriguing. Marxists, like social democrats as a party, wrote Franko, “sought to seize state power not in order to abolish it and grant all citizens the fullest and widest freedom.” On the contrary, according to the social democrats, the state (the future, popular one) “was to become an all-powerful mistress over the lives of all citizens. The state takes care of the man from the cradle to the grave. It raises him to be the type of citizen it needs, ensures him an income and sustenance commensurate with his labor and merits. It knows the needs of all its citizens and regulates how much of what must be produced.” Thus, “faith in the unlimited power of the state in the future order is the main characteristic of social democracy.” In its view, Franko continues, every person in the future order, from birth to death, will be a state employee and pensioner: the state will provide him with appropriate preparation, then will determine his work and plan (which Lenin calls “state control over the measure of labor and the measure of consumption”), offer incentives and rewards, and in old age or in the event of illness—offer gentle bread. There is nothing to say, concludes Franko; these views are somewhat alluring to the poor.

Life in Engel’s state (that is to say, a communist state) would ideally be correct and harmonious, akin to a well-regulated clock. Yet, there exist certain pitfalls that evoke serious doubts. Having stated this, Franko articulates the following points that refute both Marx's communist theory and the social-democratic doctrine in general:

“First and foremost, the omnipotent force of the state would impose a dreadful burden on the life of each individual man. The will and opinion of every man would have to vanish, wither away, for if the state deemed it harmful or unnecessary, it would simply disappear. Education, aimed not at nurturing free individuals but at producing useful members of the state, would devolve into a lifeless spiritual drill, a bureaucratic exercise. People would grow and live in such dependence, under such scrutiny by the state, that even in the most absolute police states of today, this is hardly conceivable. The people’s state would become a vast prison for its citizens.

And who would be its guards? Who would hold the reins of such a state? Social democrats do not clearly articulate this, but in any case, those individuals would wield an immense power over the lives and fates of millions of their fellow citizens, a power that even the greatest despots never possessed. The old misfortune of inequality, having been driven out through one door, would return through another: there would be no exploitation of workers by capitalists, but rather the absolute dominion of rulers—be they noble or elected—over millions of the citizenry.

And this is what I. Franko warned against most vehemently; this is what has transpired in the Soviet state and continues in the post-Soviet space under the guise of ’managed democracy’: the absolute power of the leaders. This manifests itself in the construction of a ’vertical of power,’ a perpetual constitutional reform, and the ’doubled GDP’ under Vladimir Putin. “And with such unfettered power, even if only for a brief time, how easily could these leaders seize it forever!”

Back in 1917, some naively believed that the Bolsheviks, having taken power by force, would only wield it until the Constituent Assembly. “And how effortlessly, under such a regime, could the roots of all progress and development be cut from the populace, and by bringing the masses to a certain degree of general saturation, stop all forward motion for generations, suppressing all such societal forces that push forward, cause disturbances, awaken discontent with the status quo, and seek something new.”

“No, the social-democratic ’people’s state,’” the thinker concludes, “even if it were possible to construct it, would not create a paradise on earth; rather, at best, it would become a significant hindrance to genuine progress.” Such reflections from the prominent Ukrainian thinker I. Franko regarding Marxism, the materialist interpretation of history, the social-democratic doctrine, and the problems of social progress were presented at the dawn of the 20th century, in 1903—the year of the Second, as it was once called, historic congress of the RSDRP(b). This moment marked the permanent divergence of Ukrainian conservative thought from that of Russian so-called progressive thought.

Thus, Ukrainians, neither as an ethnicity nor mentally (as individualists), nor linguistically, accepted communism with its “new language” (in the Orwellian sense of the term). Even here, in theory alone, was laid a time bomb, whose detonation in the 20th century resulted in a catastrophe of planetary scale—Ukraine lost almost a quarter (!) of its population.

It remains a fact that the fate of the Soviet empire, with all its collectivizations and industrializations, depended not on Ukrainians—who were certainly not Soviet people, as strange as that may seem. To better understand this geopolitical incongruity, one can cite the words of the Kharkiv human rights activist V. Ovsiyenko: “Ukrainians as an ethnicity, with their profound religiosity, individualism, private ownership, and attachment to their piece of land, were unsuited for the construction of communism—and this was acknowledged by high-ranking Soviet officials. Ukraine was to be wiped off the face of the earth, and the remnants of the Ukrainian people were to serve as the material for a ’new historical community’—the Soviet people, whose foundation would be the Russian populace, language, and culture. To enter communism as a Ukrainian in principle was impossible.”

Today, there are those who believe that mathematics should serve as a model for all existing or possible sciences, including philosophy. Perhaps this is why the materialist interpretation of history, as noted by L. Shestov, is constructed using nearly mathematical means—calculating, weighing, and re-calculating—which many perceive as a great intellectual achievement. Of course, some see this as both poor and tedious, and—pardon me—even somewhat foolish, yet the method is consistent. From this perspective, the materialist interpretation of history represents the most refined, that is to say, methodologically rigorous philosophy of history, which has resulted in its particular utilitarian attitude towards truth. This utilitarian stance involves utilizing truth as a means for social upheaval. No one has yet proven that truth must be rational, vivid, and so forth. However, it is commonly accepted that truth does not allow for contradictions and possesses an inherent consistency. Marxism (communism) stands as the most coherent doctrine. It desires nothing more, and no other philosophy can catch up to it. Indeed, this philosophy, and this is the crux of the matter, has prepared answers to all questions, akin to the Delphic oracle.

Now, in a single line stand such notable works as "On the Social Contract" (1762) and "The Communist Manifesto" (1848), for at a certain stage, they became powerful instruments of authority in the hands of strong individuals who managed to subjugate the masses and exploit their faith in the slogans of "freedom," "equality," and "social justice," among others. However, such abstract ideals have held sway only for the last two or three centuries—the centuries of party politics. Ultimately, a moment arrives when these doctrines are no longer contested; rather, they become tiresome to all. This occurred long ago with Rousseau and recently with Marx. Yet, and this is most crucial, the ultimate rejection is not of one theory or another, but of the very faith in theory as a whole, thereby abandoning the romantic optimism of the 18th century, which sought to alter an unsuitable reality (the world of facts) through concepts. Thus, the era of social optimism, rooted in figures like Plato and Aristotle, comes to an end. While the former endeavored, so to speak, to embody "ideals" in life, the latter, taking into account his predecessor's experience, became the mentor of a great politician. In this way, only indirectly, through Alexander the Great, he sought to realize, or more precisely, to instill in the young politician his preferences and dreams. Today, theories have become a worn-out academic topic, while in real life, the discourse revolves solely around power.

The grand systems of liberalism and socialism were constructed between 1750 and 1850. Marx's theories are now nearly 150 years old, and they stand as the latest in this series. At their core, with their materialist understanding of history, these theories represent the extreme manifestation of rationalism, thus marking its concluding stage. Just as Rousseau's faith in human rights perished in 1848, so too did Marx's theory dim with the outbreak of the First World War, particularly following the triumphant rise of Russian Bolshevism. Those who compare the fanaticism of the French Revolutionaries with the position of the communists in 1918—who were compelled to uphold a non-existent conviction, both for themselves and their supporters, not for the sake of an idea but for power, on which their lives and well-being depended—will be able to foresee the collapse of any program that obstructs the struggle for power. The faith in theory was characteristic of the forebears, while for their descendants, it merely serves as evidence of provinciality. Therefore, all these doctrines are true for their proponents and false for their opponents, but the matter lies elsewhere: whether one is a proponent or an opponent is determined not by the logic of argumentation or reason but by life itself.

Communism, as both a theory and practice, resembles a chemical reaction, where the result reflects the entire process. If the evolution of K. Marx's thoughts—from the youthful musings of "Who educates the educator?"—traverses through the young Hegelian experience of alienation and advances towards the categories of practice and the idea of communism, for Lenin, Marxism (communism) becomes a guide to action, specifically: "How to practically overturn the world?" Despite the millions of victims of communist terror in the USSR, China, and Cambodia, there exists another crime, perhaps the greatest, which defies statistical reckoning: the education of a new man. Communist regimes have been toppled, yet the new man (in our case, the "Sovok") endures. Several generations have been severed from God, from private property, perceiving ownership not as the result of their labor but as theft—all that they have pilfered from factories or the factories themselves, from farms or the farms they have stolen. Unfortunately, the new man is a reality that increasingly and aggressively asserts itself: it is present in the cunning schemes of Kuchma’s "privatization," in the corrupt verdicts of economic courts, and in raider attacks on private property; the new man manifests through the monstrous perversions of our stairwells, breathing and speaking through shattered windows and half-demolished walls of numerous collective farms, echoing "Lenin's Testament."

Thus, instead of knowledge of the world, communism (Marxism) grants humanity the right to change the world, where everything is determined not by the illumination of thought, not by the light of reason, but by the exaltation of will. Instead of freedom of choice, there exists an active life stance, as freedom of choice divides and weakens energy. Communism is a fusion of the idea of equality with the dictatorship of a flawed worldview. Today, humanity possesses a colossal experience of entering into communism—Russian, Chinese, Cuban, and so forth—but it utterly lacks the experience of how to emerge from it.