Date: 1911
Source: ru:PSS/v20

The address delivered by 66 Moscow industrialists—according to one Moscow newspaper, they collectively represented capital amounting to half a billion rubles—prompted a series of extraordinarily valuable and highly revealing articles in various print outlets. Beyond the fact that these articles shed an exceptionally vivid light on the political situation at this very moment, they also offer fascinating insights into many fundamental, principled questions concerning Russia’s entire trajectory throughout the twentieth century.

Take, for example, Mr. Menšikov, who, in Novoe Vremya, set forth the perspective of the right-wing parties and the government:

“How is it that men like the Ryabushinskys, Morozovs, and others fail to grasp that, should a revolution break out, they will all be hanged—and at best, they’ll end up destitute?” According to Mr. Menšikov (Novoe Vremya, No. 12549), he “quotes” this forceful remark from “a letter written by a student at a highly revolutionary institution.” And then, adding his own commentary, he remarks: “Despite the ominous warning issued back in 1905, the upper classes of Russia—including the merchant class—are utterly ill-equipped to comprehend the looming catastrophe.” “Yes, gentlemen Ryabushinskys, Morozovs, and their ilk! Despite your flirtations with revolution and all the liberal credentials you so eagerly seek to earn, it will be you—first and foremost—who will fall victim to the impending upheaval. You will be the first to hang—not for any particular crimes, but simply because what you regard as virtue—namely, your possession of that half-billion rubles you so proudly boast about—will prove to be your undoing.” “The liberal bourgeoisie, including the middle nobility, the civil service, and the merchant class, are recklessly hurtling toward the brink of a revolutionary abyss, carrying with them their titles, their ranks, and their wealth.”

“If the liberal instigators of rebellion finally do wait until they are dragged to the gallows—let them remember how gently the old state authority treated them, how carefully it listened to their concerns, how it courted them, and how little it ever laid claim to their empty heads. Let them, in that dark hour, compare the benevolence of the radical regime with the old, patriarchal order.”

This was penned not by an official mouthpiece of the government—but by an unofficial one—on February 17, the very same day when the official organ, Rossiya, went to great lengths, with the help of Golos Moskvy, to argue that the “outburst” of the 66 could not possibly be regarded as an expression of the views of Moscow’s merchant class. “The Noblemen’s Congress,” Rossiya wrote, “is an organization—whereas the 66 merchants, who themselves describe themselves as acting in a private capacity, are, in fact, an organized body.”

It’s awkward to have two official organs! One contradicts the other. One insists that the “outburst” of the 66 cannot even be considered an expression of the views of the Moscow merchant class—much less of the Russian bourgeoisie as a whole. The other, however, argues that the “outburst” carries far broader significance, representing not only the views of Moscow’s merchants but of the entire Russian liberal bourgeoisie. Mr. Menšikov, speaking on behalf of the “old state authority,” takes it upon himself to warn this liberal bourgeoisie: “Aren’t we the ones who care about you?”

There is probably no country in Europe where, over the course of the nineteenth century, the call to “not incite” did not echo hundreds of times—issued by the old state authority, by the nobility, and by reactionary publicists, directed at the liberal bourgeoisie. Yet time after time, these appeals proved futile, even though the “liberal bourgeoisie” not only had no desire to “incite”—on the contrary, they fought against “instigators” with the same energy and sincerity with which the 66 merchants condemned strikes. Both condemnation and appeal are powerless when it comes to the totality of social conditions that drive a given class to feel the unbearable weight of its situation and to speak out about it. Mr. Menšikov rightly expresses the interests and viewpoint of the government and the nobility, frightening the liberal bourgeoisie with the specter of revolution and reproaching it for its recklessness. The 66 merchants, meanwhile, accurately represent the interests and viewpoint of the liberal bourgeoisie, criticizing the government while condemning the “striking workers.” But these mutual accusations are nothing more than a symptom—a clear indication of profound “flaws in the mechanism”—of the fact that, despite the old state authority’s earnest desire to satisfy the bourgeoisie, to take a step toward it, to carve out a highly influential niche for it within the Duma, and despite the bourgeoisie’s own fervent and sincere longing to settle in, to coexist peacefully, to make peace, to adapt—still, no real “adaptation” has taken place! That is the crux of the matter; that is the underlying reality—while the mutual recriminations are but mere patterns woven into the fabric.

In Golos Moskvy, Mr. Gromoboy issues a necessary warning to the “government” (No. 38, February 17; article “A Necessary Warning”). “No manifestation of ‘firm’ authority,” he writes, “no act of sheer will can bring peace to the fatherland unless it goes hand in hand with reforms that have been delayed far too long.” (Mr. Gromoboy’s prose is not always perfectly polished, but the essence of his message remains perfectly clear.) “And unrest, as the inevitable consequence of a protracted crisis, cannot be declared a case of ‘force majeure’ when it comes to failing to honor bills of exchange.” (An awkward comparison, indeed, from this publicist of the Octobrist merchants: for one thing, the bills are not even signed; and for another, even if they were signed, where would one find the commercial court to which you might turn, or the bailiff—or anyone else capable of enforcing collection? Think it over, Mr. Gromoboy, and you’ll see that not only the Octobrists, but even the Kadets, are, in politics, a party of ‘bronze’ bills of exchange.) “In that case, the unrest will only grow… After the student protests come many other episodes—many already experienced. If you steer the ship back, you’ll see the path you’ve already traveled.” “If the authorities bet on the weak, they may well find themselves betting on the strong as well. The authorities will have nothing to show for their efforts. Their calculations for pacification may dissipate like smoke, under whatever electoral conditions arise.” (Mr. Gromoboy is referring to the elections for the Fourth Duma.) “If opposition caravans begin to pass through those very cliffs where only the fog of power once drifted—if the authorities, having pushed away moderate elements, are left to stand alone—then the elections will become a bitter defeat for them, and the entire order will be shaken, for it is no longer a legal order.”

Menšikov accuses the bourgeoisie of “inciting” revolution—while the bourgeoisie accuses Menšikov and his allies of “leading to increased unrest.” “An old story, yet forever new.”

In the Kadet publication Rech’, Renegade Izgoev attempts, on the same topic, to draw certain sociological conclusions—unaware of just how recklessly the Kadets, and especially renegades like him, ought to approach such endeavors. In his article “Comparison” (February 14), he contrasts the Congress of United Nobles with the address delivered by the 66 Moscow merchants. “United nobility,” he writes, “has sunk to the level of Purishkevich; the Moscow industrialists, meanwhile, have begun to speak the language of statecraft.” In the past, Izgoev continues, “the nobility rendered significant cultural services to the people,” but “only a minority engaged in cultural work, while the majority subjected it to persecution.” “Yet such is, in general, the historical law: only a minority within any given class acts in a progressive manner.”

Very, very good: “such is, in general, the historical law.” Thus does the Kadet Rech’ speak through the voice of Mr. Izgoev. Yet upon closer inspection, we are struck to discover that “general historical laws” do not extend their reach beyond the realm of feudal nobility and the liberal bourgeoisie. Indeed, let us recall Vekhi, in which the same Mr. Izgoev wrote—and in which the leading Kadets engaged in polemics, focusing on specific details while largely sidestepping the core, the essential, the truly decisive question. The essential point of Vekhi—shared by all Kadets and repeatedly articulated by Messrs. Miliukov and Co.—is that, aside from the reactionary nobility and the liberal bourgeoisie, the remaining classes of Russia, during the first decade of the present century, were characterized by the actions of a minority—those who had succumbed to “fervor,” who had been swept up by “intelligentsia” leaders, unable to rise to a truly “state-oriented” perspective. “We must finally summon the courage to admit,” Izgoev wrote in Vekhi, “that in our State Dumas, the vast majority of deputies—with the exception of three or four dozen Kadets and Octobrists—have shown no knowledge sufficient to undertake the governance and reorganization of Russia.” As everyone knows, this refers to peasant deputies, to labor deputies, and to worker deputies.

Thus, “in general, the historical law” holds that “only a minority within any given class acts in a progressive manner.” When a minority of the bourgeoisie acts, that minority is progressive—and justified by the “general historical law.” “Moral authority extends to the entire class, provided that the minority is granted the opportunity to work,” Izgoev teaches us. But when a minority of peasants or workers acts, that is by no means in accordance with “historical law”; that is by no means a “progressive minority within the given class.” Such a minority lacks the “moral authority” to speak on behalf of the “whole” class—far from it; rather, this minority, misled by “intelligentsia” tendencies, is anti-state, anti-historical, rooted in petty concerns, and so on—as clearly outlined in Vekhi.

For the Kadets in general, and for the Vekhists in particular, it is risky to venture into broad generalizations—because every attempt they make to generalize inevitably exposes the deep inner kinship between Kadet and Menšikovian reasoning.

Rossiya and Zemshchina{76} argue: the 66 merchants are a minority, by no means representative of their class, lacking both the knowledge and the capacity “to govern and reorganize Russia”—and in fact, they are not even merchants at all, but rather “intelligentsia” gone astray, and so forth.

Izgoev and Miliukov argue: the labor deputies and worker deputies in our State Dumas—for example, let us say—represent a minority, by no means representative of their respective classes (that is, nine-tenths of the population), misled by “intelligentsia” tendencies, lacking both the knowledge and the capacity “to govern and reorganize Russia,” and so forth.

Where, then, does this deep inner kinship arise between the reasoning of Rossiya and Zemshchina on one hand, and Rech’ and Russkie Vedomosti on the other? It arises from the fact that, despite the differences in the classes they represent, both groups of publications serve classes that are no longer capable of any truly substantial, independent, creative, decisive, progressive historical action. It arises from the fact that not only the former group, but also the latter, not only reactionaries, but also liberals, represent a class that fears the historical self-activity of other, broader strata, groups, and masses of the population—other classes, larger in number.

As a renegade from the Marxists, Mr. Izgoev might well perceive here a glaring contradiction: on the one hand, to acknowledge the capitalist development of Russia—and thus the inherent tendency of that development toward the most complete and purest domination of the bourgeoisie, both economically and politically—while on the other hand, to declare the liberal bourgeoisie incapable of independent, creative, historical action!

This “contradiction” is a contradiction of living reality, not a contradiction born of flawed reasoning. The inevitability of bourgeois rule in no way implies that the liberal bourgeoisie is capable of those forms of historical self-activity that might free it from the “bondage” of Purishkevichian rule. First, history does not proceed along such a simple, smooth path that every historically ripe transformation automatically signifies sufficient maturity and strength for that transformation to be carried out by the very class for whom it is primarily beneficial. Second, besides the liberal bourgeoisie, there exists another form of bourgeoisie—for example, the peasantry as a whole is, in essence, a democratic bourgeoisie. Third, the history of Europe shows us that there have been bourgeois transformations in their social content, carried out by elements that were not themselves part of the bourgeoisie. Fourth, the history of Russia over the past half-century shows us the same thing…

When the ideologues and leaders of liberalism begin to reason as the Vekhists, Karaulovs, Maklakovs, and Miliukovs do, it means that a series of historical conditions has stirred within the entire liberal bourgeoisie such a “tendency to look backward,” such a fear of moving forward—that this movement will pass by it, through it, despite its fears. And such a quarrel—as the mutual accusations exchanged between Menšikov and Gromoboy, and between Gromoboy and Menšikov[14] regarding “increased unrest”—is merely a symptom that this historical movement forward is beginning to be felt by all…

“Modern society,” Izgoev writes in the same article, “is built, at its very core, upon the principle of individual property; it is a class-based society, and it cannot be otherwise. The place vacated by a declining class is always sought to be filled by another class.”

How wise he is, thinks Mr. Miliukov, reading such pronouncements in his Rech’. How pleasant it is, after all, to have a Kadet who was a Social Democrat at age 25, and who, by age 35, had “grown wiser” and repented of his earlier errors.

It is a risky endeavor for you, Mr. Izgoev, to venture into generalizations. Modern society is, indeed, a class-based society—very well. But can there be a non-class party within a class-based society? Most likely, you suspect the answer is no. So why, then, do you commit such an awkward blunder as delivering speeches about “class-based society” in the very organ of a party that prides itself—and whose very raison d’être, according to those who recognize modern society as class-based not merely in words, not merely for the sake of satirical banter—but who reveal their hypocrisy or their shortsightedness—by declaring themselves a non-class party?

When you turn your face toward the united nobility and the liberal Moscow merchant class, you cry out that modern society is a class-based society. But when unpleasant (oh, how terribly unpleasant!) events compel you to turn, even for a brief moment, toward the peasantry or the workers, you begin to denounce the narrow, lifeless, ossified, immoral, materialistic, godless, unscientific “doctrine” of class struggle. Oh, Mr. Izgoev, perhaps you’d be better off leaving sociological generalizations to others. Oh, Grityu, don’t go to the evening gathering!

“…The place vacated by a declining class is always sought to be filled by another class…”

Not always, Mr. Izgoev. Sometimes both classes—the declining class and the “striving” class—are already quite rotten—perhaps one more so than the other, but still, both are thoroughly decayed. Sometimes, sensing this very rot, the class that “strives” forward hesitates to take a single step ahead—and when it does take a step, it invariably rushes to take two steps back. There is such a liberal bourgeoisie (for example, as was the case in Germany, and especially in Prussia) that fears “taking the place” of the declining class, and instead directs all its efforts toward “dividing the place”—or, more precisely, toward securing at least a small niche in the servants’ quarters—but never to occupy the place of the “fallen,” never to push the fallen to the brink of “fall.” Such is the case, Mr. Izgoev.

In those historical epochs when this occurs, liberals can inflict (and often do inflict) tremendous harm on the entire course of social development—if they manage to pose as democrats, for the difference between liberals and democrats lies precisely in the fact that the former fear “taking the place,” while the latter do not. Both groups carry out the historically ripe bourgeois transformation—but while some hesitate to implement it, holding back with their fears, others—often burdened by a host of illusions about the consequences of bourgeois transformation—invest all their strength and all their soul in bringing it to fruition.

To illustrate these general sociological reflections, let me offer an example of a liberal who does not strive to “take the place” of the declining class—but who, out of fear, avoids doing so—and who therefore, whether consciously or unconsciously, deceives the populace in the worst possible way by calling himself a “democrat.” This liberal is A. E. Berezovsky I, a landowner and member of the Third Duma, a Kadet who, during the agrarian debates (in 1908), delivered the following speech in the Duma—an address that was praised by Party Leader Mr. Miliukov, who called it “exquisite.” We believe it is worth recalling this speech, especially in light of the upcoming elections.

“…In my deepest conviction,” Mr. Berezovsky said on October 27, 1908, in the State Duma, defending the land bill, “this bill is far more beneficial both for landowners—and I say this, gentlemen, knowing agriculture, having devoted my entire life to it and owning land myself… We must not seize upon the bare fact of compulsory expropriation, become outraged by it, or claim that it is violence; rather, we must look at what this proposal actually entails—what, for example, the 42 members of the First State Duma had proposed in their own draft. Their plan consisted solely of recognizing the need, above all, to subject to expropriation those lands that were not being cultivated by their owners themselves, that were tilled with peasant implements, and that were ultimately leased out. Then, the People’s Freedom Party supported the establishment of local commissions that, after working for a certain period—perhaps even for several years—would determine which lands were eligible for expropriation, which were not, and how much land the peasants needed to meet their needs. These commissions would be structured so that half of their members were peasants and half were non-peasants—and it seems to me that, in this concrete, localized setting, it would become clear, as it should, both the amount of land suitable for expropriation, the amount of land required for the peasants, and, finally, the peasants themselves would come to understand to what extent their just demands could be met—and to what extent their frequent desires for large tracts of land were often misguided and unfounded. This material would then be returned to the Duma, which would refine it; next, the material would move to the State Council, and finally, it would reach the highest level of sanction. This, in essence, is the process that the government somehow feared, dissolved the Duma, and brought us to the current state of affairs. The result of this methodical work would undoubtedly be the satisfaction of the true needs of the population, accompanied by the calming and preservation of cultural farms—which the People’s Freedom Party had never wished to destroy without the utmost necessity” (Stenographic Reports, p. 398).

If Mr. Izgoev, belonging to the same party as Mr. Berezovsky, writes in his article “Comparison”: “Russia is a democratic country and cannot tolerate oligarchy—neither new nor old”—then the meaning of such speeches becomes abundantly clear to us now. Russia is far from being a democratic country, and it will never, under any circumstances, become a democratic country—so long as broad segments of the population continue to regard a party like the Kadets as democratic. This is a bitter truth, a truth that is a thousand times more vital for the people than the sweet lie told by representatives of a half-hearted, characterless, unprincipled liberal oligarchy—the gentlemen Kadets. It is all the more necessary to remind people of this bitter truth, especially as such “quarrels” as those between the Menšikovs and the 66, and between Menšikov and Gromoboy, increasingly come to the forefront of the agenda.

Zvezda, No. 11, February 26, 1911. Signed: V. Ilyin

Printed from the text of the newspaper Zvezda