From: Betrand Russell,
In Praise of Idleness and Other Essays, 1935
It is said by many in the present day that Communism and Fascism are the only practical alternatives in politics, and that whoever does not support the one in effect supports the other. I find myself in opposition to both, and I can no more accept either alternative than, if I had lived in the sixteenth century, I could have been either a
Protestant or a Catholic. I will set forth, as briefly
as I can, my objections, first to Communism, then
to Fascism, and then to what both have in common.
When I speak of a “Communist,” I mean a
person who accepts the doctrines of the Third
International. In a sense, the early Christians were
Communists, and so were many mediaeval sects;
but this sense is now obsolete. I will set forth my
reasons for not being a Communist seriatim.
1. I cannot assent to Marx’s philosophy, still less
to that of Lenin’s Materialism and Empirio-Criticism. I
am not a materialist, though I am even further
removed from idealism. I do not believe that there
is any dialectical necessity in historical change;
this belief was taken over by Marx from Hegel,
without its only logical basis, namely, the primacy
of the Idea. Marx believed that the next stage in
human development must be in some sense a progress; I see no reason for this belief.
2. I cannot accept Marx’s theory of value, nor
yet, in his form, the theory of surplus value. The
theory that the exchange value of a commodity
is proportional to the labour involved in its production, which Marx took over from Ricardo, is
shown to be false by Ricardo’s theory of rent, and
has long been abandoned by all non-Marxian
economists. The theory of surplus value rests upon
Malthus’s theory of population, which Marx elsewhere rejects. Marx’s economics do not form a
logically coherent whole, but are built up by the
alternate acceptance and rejection of older doctrines,
as may suit his convenience in making out a case
against the capitalists.
3. It is dangerous to regard any one man as
infallible; the consequence is necessarily an over-
simplification. The tradition of the verbal inspiration of the Bible has made men too ready to look
for a Sacred Book. But this worship of authority is
contrary to the scientific spirit.
4. Communism is not democratic. What it calls
the “dictatorship of the proletariat” is in fact the
dictatorship of a small minority, who become an
oligarchic governing class. All history shows that
government is always conducted in the interests
of the governing class, except in so far as it is influenced by fear of losing its power. This is the
teaching, not only of history, but of Marx. The
governing class in a Communist State has even
more power than the capitalist class in a “democratic” State. So long as it retains the loyalty of the
armed forces, it can use its power to obtain for itself
advantages quite as harmful as those of capitalists.
To suppose that it will always act for the general
good is mere foolish idealism, and is contrary to
Marxian political psychology.
5. Communism restricts liberty, particularly intellectual liberty, more than any other system except
Fascism. The complete unification of both economic
and political power produces a terrifying engine of
oppression, in which there are no loopholes for
exceptions. Under such a system progress would
soon become impossible, since it is the nature of
bureaucrats to object to all change except increase
in their own power. All serious innovation is only
rendered possible by some accident enabling unpopular persons to survive. Kepler lived by astrology,
Darwin by inherited wealth, Marx by Engels’s
“exploitation” of the proletariat of Manchester.
Such opportunities of surviving in spite of unpopularity would be impossible under Communism.
6. There is in Marx, and in current Communist
thought, an undue glorification of manual as against
brain workers. The result has been to antagonize
many brain workers who might otherwise have
seen the necessity of Socialism, and without whose
help the organization of a Socialist State is scarcely
possible. The division of classes is put by Marxians,
in practice even more than in theory, too low in the
social scale.
7. The preaching of the class-war is likely to
cause it to break out at a moment when the opposing
forces are more or less evenly balanced, or even when
the preponderance is on the side of the capitalists.
If the capitalist forces preponderate, the result is
an era of reaction. If the forces on both sides are
roughly equal, the result, given modern methods of
warfare, is likely to be the destruction of civilization,
involving the disappearance of both capitalism and
Communism. I think that, where democracy exists,
Socialists should rely upon persuasion, and should
only use force to repel an illegal use of force by their
opponents. By this method it will be possible for
Socialists to acquire so great a preponderance that
the final war may be brief, and not sufficiently
serious to destroy civilization.
8. There is so much of hate in Marx and in
Communism that Communists can hardly be
expected, when victorious, to establish a regime
affording no outlet for malevolence. The arguments
in favour of oppression are therefore likely to seem
to the victors stronger than they are, especially if
the victory has resulted from a fierce and doubtful
war. After such a war the victorious party are not
likely to be in the mood for sane reconstruction.
Marxists are too apt to forget that war has its own
psychology, which is the result of fear, and is independent of the original cause of contention.
The view that the only practically possible choice
is between Communism and Fascism seems to me
definitely untrue in America, England, and France,
and probably also in Italy and Germany. England
had a period of Fascism under Cromwell, France
under Napoleon, but in neither case was this a bar
to subsequent democracy. Politically immature
nations are not the best guides as to the political
future.
My objections to Fascism are simpler than my
objections to Communism, and in a sense more
fundamental. The purpose of the Communists is
one with which, on the whole, I am in agreement;
my disagreement is as to means rather than ends.
But in the case of the Fascists I dislike the end as
much as the means.
Fascism is a complex movement; its German and
Italian forms differ widely, and in other countries,
if it spreads, it may assume still other shapes. It has,
however, certain essentials, without which it would
cease to be Fascism. It is anti-democratic, it is
nationalistic, it is capitalistic, and it appeals to those
sections of the middle class which suffer through
modern developments and expect to suffer still
more if Socialism or Communism becomes established. Communism, also, is anti-democratic, but
only for a time, at least so far as its theoretical statements can be accepted as giving its real policy;
moreover, it aims at serving the interests of wage-earners, who are a majority in advanced countries,
and are intended by Communists to become the
whole population. Fascism is anti-democratic in a
more fundamental sense. It does not accept the
greatest happiness of the greatest number as the
right principle in statesmanship, but selects certain
individuals, nations, and classes as “the best,” and
as alone worthy of consideration. The remainder
are to be compelled by force to serve the interests
of the elect.
While Fascism is engaged in the struggle to acquire
power, it has to make an appeal to a considerable
section of the population. Both in Germany and in
Italy, it arose out of Socialism, by rejecting whatever was anti-nationalistic in the orthodox programme. It took over from Socialism the idea of
economic planning and of an increase in the power
of the State, but the planning, instead of being
for the benefit of the whole world, was to be in
the interests of the upper and middle class in one
country. And these interests it seeks to secure, not
so much by increased efficiency, as by increased
oppression, both of wage-earners and of unpopular
sections of the middle-class itself. In relation to the
classes which lie outside the scope of its benevolence,
it may, at best, achieve the kind of success to be
found in a well-run prison; more than this it does
not even wish to do.
The root objection to Fascism is its selection of a
portion of mankind as alone important. The holders
of power have, no doubt, made such a selection, in
practice, ever since government was first instituted ;
but Christianity, in theory, has always recognized
each human soul as an end in itself, and not a mere
means to the glory of others. Modern democracy
has derived strength from the moral ideals of
Christianity, and has done much to divert Governments from exclusive preoccupation with the interests
of the rich and powerful. Fascism is, in this respect,
a return to what was worst in ancient paganism.
If Fascism could succeed, it would not do anything to cure the evils of capitalism; on the contrary,
it would make them worse. The manual work would
come to be performed by forced labour at subsistence level; the men engaged in it would have no
political rights, no freedom as to where they lived
or worked, and probably not even a permanent
family life; they would, in fact, be slaves. All this
may already be seen beginning in the German
method of dealing with unemployment; it is, indeed,
an inevitable result of capitalism freed from the
control of democracy, and the similar conditions of
forced labour in Russia suggest that it is an inevitable
result of any dictatorship. In the past, absolutism
has always been accompanied by some form of
slavery or serfdom.
All this would result if Fascism were to succeed,
but it is hardly possible that it should permanently
succeed, because it cannot solve the problem of
economic nationalism. The most powerful force on
the side of the Nazis has been heavy industry,
especially steel and chemicals. Heavy industry,
organized nationally, is the greatest influence
making for war in the present day. If every civilized
country had a Government subservient to the
interests of heavy industry — as is, to a considerable
extent, already the case — war, before long, would
be unavoidable. Each fresh victory of Fascism brings
war nearer; and war, when it comes, is likely to
sweep away Fascism along with most of what will
have been in existence at its outbreak.
Fascism is not an ordered set of beliefs, like
laisser-faire or Socialism or Communism; it is
essentially an emotional protest, partly of those
members of the middle-class (such as small shop-
keepers) who suffer from modern economic developments, partly of anarchic industrial magnates whose
love of power has grown into megalomania. It is
irrational, in the sense that it cannot achieve what
its supporters desire; there is no philosophy of
Fascism, but only a psycho-analysis. If it could
succeed, the result would be widespread misery;
but its inability to find a solution for the problem
of war makes it impossible that it should succeed
for more than a brief moment.
I do not think that England and America are
likely to adopt Fascism, because the tradition of
representative government is too strong in both
countries to permit such a development. The ordinary
citizen has a feeling that public affairs concern him,
and would not wish to lose the right of expressing
his political opinions. General Elections and Presidential Elections are sporting events, like the Derby,
and life would seem duller without them. Of France
it is impossible to feel quite so confident. But I shall
be surprised if France adopts Fascism, except
perhaps temporarily during a war.
There are some objections — and these, to my
mind, the most conclusive — which apply to Communism and Fascism equally. Both are attempts
by a minority to mould a population forcibly in
accordance with a preconceived pattern. They
regard a population as a man regards the materials
out of which he intends to construct a machine:
the materials undergo much alteration, but in
accordance with his purposes, not with any law of
development inherent in them. Where living beings
are concerned, and most of all in the case of human
beings, spontaneous growth tends to produce certain
results, and others can only be produced by means
of a certain stress and strain. Embryologists may
produce beasts with two heads, or with a nose
where a toe should be; but such monstrosities do
not find life very pleasant. Similarly Fascists and
Communists, having in their minds a picture of
society as a whole, distort individuals so as to make
them fit into a pattern; those who cannot be adequately distorted are killed or placed in concentration
camps. I do not think an outlook of this sort, which
totally ignores the spontaneous impulses of the
individual, is ethically justifiable, or can, in the
long run, be politically successful. It is possible to
cut shrubs into the shape of peacocks, and by a
similar violence a similar distortion can be inflicted
upon human beings. But the shrub remains passive,
while the man, whatever the dictator may desire,
remains active, if not in one sphere then in another.
The shrub cannot pass on the lesson in the use of the
shears which the gardener has been teaching, but
the distorted human being can always find humbler
human beings upon whom he can wield smaller
shears. The inevitable effects of artificial moulding
upon the individual are to produce either cruelty
or listlessness, perhaps both in alternation. And
from a population with these characteristics no good
thing is to be expected.
The moral effect upon the Dictator is another
matter to which both Communists and Fascists give
insufficient consideration. If he is, to begin with, a
man with little human sympathy, he will, from the
first, be unduly ruthless, and will shrink from no
cruelty in pursuit of his impersonal ends. If, initially,
he suffers sympathetically from the misery which
theory obliges him to inflict, he will either have to
give way to a successor made of sterner stuff, or
will have to stifle his humanitarian feelings, in
which case he is likely to become even more sadistic
than the man who has undergone no such struggle.
In either case, government will be in the hands
of ruthless men, in whom love of power will be
camouflaged as desire for a certain type of society.
By the inevitable logic of despotism, whatever of
good may have existed in the original purposes of
the dictatorship will gradually fade out of sight,
and the preservation of the Dictator’s power will
emerge more and more as the naked purpose of the
State machine.
Preoccupation with machines has produced what
may be called the manipulator’s fallacy, which
consists in treating individuals and societies as if
they were inanimate, and manipulators as if they
were divine beings. Human beings change under
treatment, and the operators themselves change
as a result of the effect which the operations have
upon them. Social dynamics is therefore a very
difficult science, about which less is known than is
necessary to warrant a dictatorship. In the typical
manipulator, all feeling for natural growth in his
patient is atrophied; the result is not, as he hopes,
passive adaptation to a place in the preconceived
pattern, but morbid and distorted growth, leading
to a pattern which is grotesque and macabre. The
ultimate psychological argument for democracy
and for patience is that an element of free growth,
of go-as-you-please and untrained natural living,
is essential if men are not to become misshapen
monsters. In any case, believing, as I do, that
Communist and Fascist dictatorships are alike
undesirable, I deplore the tendency to view them
as the only alternatives, and to treat democracy as
obsolete. If men think them the only alternatives,
they will become so; if men think otherwise, they
will not.
