On the Significance of Gold Now—and After the Complete Victory of Socialism
The best way to celebrate the anniversary of a great revolution is to focus on the tasks that remain unresolved. Such a celebration of the revolution is especially fitting—and indeed necessary—when there are fundamental tasks that have yet to be addressed by the revolution itself; when, in order to tackle these tasks, it becomes imperative to assimilate new insights (from the perspective of what the revolution has accomplished thus far).
What is new, at this moment, for our revolution, is the need to resort to a “reformist,” gradualist, cautiously circumspect approach in addressing the most fundamental questions of economic construction. This “newness” gives rise to a host of questions, perplexities, doubts—and theoretical as well as practical challenges.
Theoretical Question: How can we account for the shift, after a series of the most revolutionary actions, toward exceedingly “reformist” measures within the very same sphere of activity—especially given the overall, victorious trajectory of the revolution as a whole? Is this not tantamount to “surrendering positions,” “admitting defeat,” or something along those lines? Of course, our enemies claim that it is—ranging from semi-feudal reactionaries to Mensheviks and other knights of the Second and a Half International. That is precisely why they are our enemies: they cry out such claims at every turn, and often without any real cause at all. The touching unity among all parties on this issue—from feudal lords to Mensheviks—only serves once again to prove that against the proletarian revolution, all these parties truly constitute “a single reactionary mass”—as Engels had, incidentally, foreseen in his letters to Bebel in 1875 and 1884.97
Yet some degree of “perplexity” also exists among friends.
Let us restore large-scale industry and establish direct commodity exchange between it and small-scale peasant agriculture, while simultaneously fostering the latter’s process of socialization. To restore large-scale industry, we will take from the peasants, through requisitioning, a specified quantity of foodstuffs and raw materials on credit. This was the plan—or rather, the method, the system—by which we proceeded for more than three years, up until the spring of 1921. It was a revolutionary approach to the task, one characterized by the direct and thorough dismantling of the old order in order to replace it with a new socio‑economic formation.
But beginning in the spring of 1921, we replaced this approach, this plan, this method, this system of action—with something entirely different, of a reformist type: instead of dismantling the old socio‑economic order, trade, small-scale farming, petty enterprise, and capitalism, we sought to revitalize trade, petty enterprise, and capitalism, carefully and gradually bringing them under state control—or, better still, gaining the capacity to subject them to state regulation only to the extent that they were revived.
A completely different approach to the task.
Compared with the earlier, revolutionary approach, this is a reformist approach (for a revolution is a transformation that breaks with the old in its most fundamental and radical aspects—not by tinkering with it cautiously, slowly, and gradually, striving to break as little as possible).
One might ask: if, after having tested revolutionary methods and finding them wanting, you have turned to reformist approaches, does this not prove that you regard the revolution itself as a mistake? Does it not prove that you should never have begun with revolution at all, but rather should have started with reforms—and confined yourself to reforms?
Such a conclusion is drawn by the Mensheviks and their like. But this conclusion is either a sophism, a simple form of deception on the part of those who have “passed through fire and water” in politics…

On the Significance of Gold
…or mere childishness on the part of those who have “not passed through the true trials.” For the genuine revolutionary, perhaps the greatest danger—even, perhaps, the only danger—is the tendency to overestimate the revolutionary character of one’s actions, to forget the limits and conditions under which revolutionary methods may be applied appropriately and successfully. It is precisely in this area that many a true revolutionary has broken their neck—when they began to write “revolution” with a capital letter, to elevate “revolution” to something almost divine, to lose their head, to lose the ability to think, weigh, and test with the utmost coolness and clarity: to discern when, under what circumstances, and in what spheres of action it is appropriate—and when, under what circumstances, and in what spheres of action it is time to shift to reformist action. True revolutionaries will perish (not in the sense of external defeat, but in the sense of internal failure of their cause)—and they will surely perish—if they lose their composure and come to believe that the “great, victorious, world‑shaking” revolution must, under all circumstances and in every sphere of action, inevitably and necessarily address every single task through revolutionary means.
Whoever “dares” to think such a thing is doomed, for he has dared to embrace folly in a matter of fundamental importance—and during a fierce war (for revolution is the fiercest of all wars), the penalty for folly is defeat.
From where, then, does it follow that the “great, victorious, world‑shaking” revolution can—and ought to—employ only revolutionary methods? Nowhere does this follow. On the contrary, it is plainly and categorically false. Its falsity is self‑evident, grounded in purely theoretical principles, even without departing from the soil of Marxism. Moreover, the experience of our own revolution confirms this falsity. Theoretically: during a revolution, as at any other time, foolish acts are committed—Engels said so,98—and he spoke the truth. We must strive to commit fewer such acts and to correct those already committed as quickly as possible, bearing in mind, with the utmost sobriety, which tasks require what kind of action—and when.

dialectics is the very essence of self-movement; it is the dynamic process by which things emerge, develop, and transform themselves. Cognition, in turn, is the conscious appropriation of this dialectical movement—our understanding of how reality unfolds through its inherent contradictions and interconnections. Imperialism, as a stage of capitalist development, represents the highest form of exploitation and oppression under capitalism, yet it is also the historical limit beyond which capitalism can no longer sustain itself. The bourgeoisie, as the ruling class of capitalist society, seeks to preserve its power and profits at all costs, even when those costs entail the destruction of entire societies. The proletariat, on the other hand, is the revolutionary force destined to overthrow this system and establish a new social order based on the collective ownership of the means of production.

The Soviets are the organs of proletarian democracy, the concrete expression of the dictatorship of the proletariat—a form of political power that arises from the fundamental contradiction between the working class and the capitalist class. Through the Soviets, the working masses gain direct control over the state apparatus, enabling them to dismantle the old bourgeois state and construct a new state that serves the interests of the working people. This revolutionary transformation is not merely a matter of seizing power; it is a profound reorganization of society, rooted in the material conditions of existence and driven by the inexorable logic of class struggle.

The base—the economic foundation of society—determines the superstructure, but the superstructure, in turn, exerts a powerful influence upon the base. In the transition from capitalism to socialism, the relationship between base and superstructure becomes increasingly complex. While the economic base must be transformed to reflect socialist relations of production, the superstructure—comprising legal, political, and cultural institutions—must also be reshaped to serve the interests of the working class. This requires not only the abolition of private property in the means of production but also the establishment of new forms of social organization that embody the principles of equality, solidarity, and collective self‑management.

The petty bourgeoisie, though often caught between the poles of capital and labor, remains a class with ambiguous and contradictory interests. On the one hand, it seeks to preserve its small-scale enterprises and traditional ways of life; on the other hand, it is increasingly drawn into the orbit of capitalist accumulation, becoming dependent on the market for survival. The NEP, or New Economic Policy, represented a temporary retreat from the radical measures of war communism, allowing for the revival of commodity production and the gradual reintroduction of market mechanisms. Yet even during this period, the proletariat remained vigilant, recognizing that the NEP was not a permanent solution but rather a tactical maneuver designed to buy time for the deeper transformations required by the socialist revolution.

The Soviet state, as the instrument of the dictatorship of the proletariat, was tasked with carrying out these transformations. It was responsible for organizing the economy along socialist lines, redistributing wealth and resources, and ensuring that the benefits of social progress were shared equitably among all members of society. However, the road to socialism was fraught with challenges: the backwardness of the Russian economy, the devastation wrought by imperialist war, and the deep-seated resistance of the old ruling classes all posed formidable obstacles. The Bolsheviks understood that the success of the revolution depended not only on their ability to mobilize the working class but also on their capacity to build alliances with other oppressed groups—peasants, workers in the countryside, and marginalized communities—and to forge a broad-based coalition capable of sustaining the revolutionary project.

The Council of Labour and Defence, or Sovnarkom, emerged as the central executive body of the Soviet state, charged with coordinating the efforts of the various ministries and agencies tasked with implementing the policies of the Communist Party. Under the leadership of Lenin and his comrades, Sovnarkom played a crucial role in managing the transition from war communism to the New Economic Policy, navigating the delicate balance between revolutionary fervor and pragmatic necessity. The Central Committee of the RCP(b), meanwhile, served as the guiding body of the party, providing strategic direction and ideological clarity to the revolutionary movement.

The VTsIK, or All‑Russian Central Executive Committee, was the legislative body of the Soviet state, representing the interests of the working class and the peasantry. Its primary function was to ratify the decisions of Sovnarkom and to ensure that the policies of the Soviet government were implemented in accordance with the principles of proletarian democracy. The Council of Labour and Defence, on the other hand, was responsible for overseeing the military and economic aspects of the revolution, coordinating efforts to defend the nascent socialist state against external threats while simultaneously laying the foundations for a planned economy.

The RSFSR, as the first socialist state in history, faced immense challenges in building a new society. The legacy of centuries of feudal and capitalist exploitation left the country economically devastated and socially fragmented. Yet despite these daunting odds, the Bolsheviks were determined to create a society free from the chains of class oppression and national exploitation. The task before them was not merely to abolish private property in the means of production but to transform the entire social order, establishing a system in which the fruits of labor would be distributed according to need rather than according to profit.

The concept of surplus value, central to Marx’s critique of capitalism, underscored the exploitative nature of the capitalist mode of production. Surplus value arises when workers produce more than they consume, with the excess being appropriated by capitalists as profit. This fundamental contradiction lies at the heart of class struggle: the conflict between the working class, which produces the wealth of society, and the bourgeoisie, which seeks to monopolize that wealth for its own benefit. The proletariat, therefore, must seize control of the means of production—not just to end exploitation but to create a society in which labor is no longer a commodity but a source of human fulfillment and collective well‑being.

In the years following the October Revolution, the Bolsheviks faced numerous crises, both internal and external. The civil war that erupted after the revolution pitted the Red Army against counterrevolutionary forces supported by foreign interventionists. The war drained the country’s resources, leaving millions of people hungry and destitute. Yet even in the midst of these hardships, the Bolsheviks remained steadfast in their commitment to the principles of socialism. They recognized that the path to socialism was long and arduous, requiring not only the elimination of class exploitation but also the construction of a new economic and social order that could withstand the pressures of global imperialism.

The experience of the Bolsheviks in the early years of the Soviet state demonstrated the importance of combining revolutionary fervor with practical wisdom. While the Bolsheviks were undeniably committed to the cause of socialism, they also understood that the success of the revolution depended on their ability to adapt to changing circumstances and to make strategic compromises when necessary. The Brest‑Litovsk Treaty, for example, was a controversial decision that many viewed as a betrayal of revolutionary principles. Yet in retrospect, it became clear that the treaty had been a necessary step in preserving the gains of the revolution and buying time for the deeper transformations required by the socialist project.

The lessons of the Bolshevik Revolution remain relevant today. The struggle for socialism is not a linear process; it is marked by setbacks, contradictions, and moments of profound uncertainty. Yet it is precisely in these moments of crisis that the revolutionary spirit is most needed—when the old order seems entrenched and the future uncertain. The Bolsheviks showed that even in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges, it is possible to forge a new path forward, guided by the principles of justice, equality, and solidarity.

As we look to the future, we must remember that the road to socialism is not a destination but a journey—a journey that requires constant vigilance, relentless struggle, and an unwavering commitment to the ideals of the working class. The experiences of the past remind us that the victory of socialism is not guaranteed; it depends on our ability to learn from history, to adapt to new realities, and to build a movement that is both broad and deep, capable of uniting the working masses across national and ideological boundaries.

On the Significance of Gold
The state’s virtually new connection between industry and agriculture—having failed to master this task through a “storm‑attack” approach—must now accomplish it through a series of slow, gradual, and cautious “siege” operations.
The proletarian state can indeed seize control of trade, direct its course, and place it within defined bounds. Consider a small, very small example: in the Donbas region, a modest, still quite modest—but nonetheless unmistakable—economic revival has begun, partly due to increased labor productivity at large state-owned mines, and partly through the leasing of small peasant-owned mines. In this way, the proletarian state obtains a small (in the eyes of advanced nations, a minuscule amount; yet, given our dire poverty, it is still quite noticeable) surplus of coal at a cost price, say, 100%, which it then sells to individual state institutions at 120% and to private individuals at 140%. (I should note in passing that these figures are entirely arbitrary—first, because I do not know the precise numbers; second, because even if I did know them, I would not publish them now.) This is akin to beginning, however modestly, to take hold of the flow between industry and agriculture, to master wholesale trade, to tackle the task of anchoring ourselves to the existing, small-scale, backward industries—or to the larger ones, though weakened and ruined—and to reinvigorate trade on this economic foundation, enabling the average, run‑of‑the‑mill peasant (who is, after all, a mass leader, a representative of the masses, the bearer of elemental forces) to feel the stirrings of economic recovery, thereby using this momentum as a springboard for more systematic, more tenacious, broader, and more successful efforts to restore large-scale industry.
Let us not allow ourselves to be swayed by “socialism of sentiment,” or by that old‑Russian, half‑baronial, half‑peasant, patriarchal mindset—which tends to unconsciously disdain trade. We may—and indeed must—make use of every conceivable form of economic transition, provided that such use serves the purpose of strengthening the bond between the peasantry and the proletariat, of immediately revitalizing the national economy in a country that has been ravaged and exhausted, of lifting up industry, and of facilitating further, broader, and deeper measures—such as electrification.
The relationship between reform and revolution is defined with precision and accuracy only by Marxism—and Marx himself could perceive this relationship from but a single vantage point: namely, in the context preceding the first truly solid, truly lasting victory of the proletariat, even if only in a single country. In such circumstances, the cornerstone of a correct understanding was this: reforms are but a byproduct of the revolutionary class struggle waged by the proletariat. For the entire capitalist world, this relationship constitutes the bedrock of the proletariat’s revolutionary tactics—a basic principle that has been distorted and obscured by the mercenary leaders of the Second International, as well as by the half‑pedantic, half‑affected knights of the Second and a Half International. Yet once the proletariat achieves victory in even a single country, something new emerges in the relationship between reform and revolution. The underlying principle remains unchanged; however, in form, a transformation takes place—one that Marx himself could not have foreseen, but which can only be fully grasped within the framework of Marxist philosophy and politics. Why were we able to apply the Brest–Litovsk armistice correctly? Because we had advanced so far that we had ample room to retreat. In a dizzying rush—within just a few weeks, from October 25, 1917, to the Treaty of Brest–Litovsk—we had built a Soviet state, emerged from the imperialist war via revolutionary means, and completed the bourgeois‑democratic revolution, so that even after the tremendous setback represented by the Treaty of Brest–Litovsk, we still retained more than enough positions to seize the “breather” and march victoriously forward against Kolchak, Denikin, Yudenich, Piłsudski, and Wrangel.
Before the proletariat’s victory, reforms are but a byproduct of the revolutionary class struggle. After victory, though they remain, on an international scale, the same “byproduct,” they become, for the country in which

On the Significance of Gold victory has been achieved, moreover, a necessary and legitimate respite—especially in those cases where, after having pushed their forces to the absolute limit, they find themselves lacking the strength required to carry out a particular revolutionary transition, or another. Victory provides such a “margin of strength” that we can endure—even in the face of a forced retreat—both in material terms and in moral terms. To endure in a material sense means to maintain a sufficient superiority of forces so that the enemy cannot utterly crush us. To endure in a moral sense means to resist demoralization and disorganization, to preserve a clear-eyed assessment of the situation, to sustain vigor and steadfastness of spirit—so that even if we must retreat far, we do so only to the extent necessary, retreating in such a way that we can halt the retreat in time and once again launch an offensive.
We retreated toward state capitalism—but we retreated only to the extent necessary. Now we are retreating toward state‑regulated trade—but we will retreat only to the extent necessary. There are already signs that the end of this retreat is in sight; not too far off, we may even come to the point of halting this retreat altogether. The more consciously, the more harmoniously, and the less burdened by prejudice we undertake this necessary retreat, the sooner we can bring it to a halt—and the stronger, faster, and broader our subsequent victorious advance will be.
November 5, 1921 “Pravda,” No. 251, November 6–7, 1921

Signed: N. Lenin

Printed according to the text of the newspaper “Pravda.”