“If to have turned into truisms what had previously been paradoxes is the mark of genius, Marx was richly endowed with it. His achievements in this sphere are necessarily ignored in proportion as their effects have become part of the permanent background of civilized thought”
Berlin’s account of Marx’s life forgoes the temptations of hagiographic sentimentality in exchange for the more revealing and honest operations of a humanistic empathy, whilst his treatment of Marx’s ideas remains circumspect without indulging in ideological posturing. What more could one hope for from a biographer of Marx, let alone one who was avowedly not wedded to a Marxism of any stripe?
Berlin deftly interweaves the context of Marx’s existence with the essence of his work, the development of his ideas, and the new world which emerged in his tempestuous wake. As with most biographies, this naturally lends the text to a chronological structure, embarking from the curious circumstances surrounding Marx’s father and soon traversing the young firebrand’s incipient and mercurial attempts at coming to terms with how his thought would, should, and could wrestle with the world in which he found himself. Berlin outlines this world—the post-Napoleonic, fallow lands of Prussia, politically stunted and philosophically romantic—in such a way that Marx comes on the scene as its almost destined adversary: an intractable opponent of the political-theological sclerosis of the state and an ambivalent (yet increasingly negative) commentator on the influence of Hegel and his epigones.
Berlin attempts the perennially doomed effort of fashioning a rough summary of Hegel’s thought, and whilst it is hardly authoritative (for instance, he avers that Hegel had a “low opinion of the French enlightenment”, whereas nothing could be further from the truth!) it does neatly situate him and his influence in the context of post-Napoleonic Prussia as the initiator of “cultural studies” as such, as opposed to merely what we might dub “continental philosophy” (or even “critical theory”). Hegel’s emphasis on the hitherto disregarded and ancillary stuff of culture as the index of Spirit’s progress towards its own freedom forced scholars to reconsider the value of the particular in relation to the universality of history, which even stripped of its Hegelian jargon still ultimately describes the basic presupposition of all cultural studies: that all the material of social relations, no matter how seemingly perfunctory, have something to say about the culture through which it is expressed, and perhaps even humanity more generally.
As is well known, Marx was a voracious reader and admirer of Hegel in his early years. What I did not know, however, is that his experience with Hegel was not only formative but revelatory; after almost a month of punishingly intensive Hegel study, Marx emerged on the other side ready to ditch his trajectory in law and dedicate himself absolutely to philosophy. Even the unrepentant Althusserian must, then, with great reluctance no doubt, owe Hegel at least a modicum of gratitude. Really, however, it was not Hegel, but his iconoclastic, radically secularising follower Feuerbach who would prove to be the most indelible influence on the young Marx. Indeed, Berlin’s framing of their relationship reads to me not unlike that of Hume to Kant vis-a-vis the former rousing the latter from his “dogmatic slumber”.
In his effort to give life to the diverse intellectual jungle in which Marx’s thinking fructified, Berlin provides a neat exposition of both the so-called utopian (i.e. pre-marxian) socialists and the trailblazing economists of the 18th and 19th centuries, who developed much of the conceptual content with which Marx’s mature theories would deal. In fact, if Berlin has any explicit historiographical agenda, if he has any particular contribution he seeks to make towards (at this time) fledgling field of marxology, it’s that Marx’s true genius was, to put it in vulgar terms, not analytic but synthetic.
This is to say that, whilst he certainly produced plenty of enduring concepts, Marx was first and foremost an exceptionally gifted and determined architect of political and economic theories; his thinking was undoubtedly revolutionary in the most literal sense of the word, but this is due less to the novelty of his perspicacity and more down to the way in which he tied together often disparate and confused raw material (Sismondi’s class war, Saint-Simon’s economic determinism, etc.) into an edifice of unprecedented rigour and singular design.
Intellectual wonders aside, Berlin paints a painfully bleak picture of just how extreme Marx’s poverty had become in his English exile. Frankly, some of the anecdotes he relates from this period are truly so demoralising and tragic that I won’t sour your mood by repeating them here. Let’s just say that I now have infinitely more respect for Engels, without whom Marx and his family would have, to put it bluntly, withered and died.
It is little consolation to read that his embittered exile coincided with the rise of Germany’s socialist movement, spearheaded by Ferdinand Lassalle and precipitated by the recrudescence of class consciousness in the wake of 1848. Whilst Marx was about as heavily involved in what would become the German Worker’s Association as one can be from the other side of the english channel, one can only wonder how much the preponderant presence of Lassalle grated him, given that he exhibited the two tendencies of “disorderly life and histrionic display” which were anathema to Marx over above all other character traits.
Perhaps even more offensively, Lassalle was an incorrigible statist whose politics better approximated the Hegel of the Philosophy of Right than the Marx of the 18th Brumaire, going so far as to negotiate with Bismarck in order to achieve his ultimately reformist (and arguably reactionary) goals.
It comes as no surprise then to learn that, as the 1870 Franco-Prussian war shook the nation into a jingoistic hysteria, the Lassallians were all too eager to vote for war credits in the Reichstag, leaving the Marxists, Liebknecht and Bebel to suffer the calumny owed to those who do not waver from their principles. Is this not all the more proof that history repeats itself not as farce following tragedy, but tragedy following farce? Is there anything more tragic than the fact that, in the face of WWI, the younger Liebknecht would, cutting through the throng nationalist enthusiasm, follow the elder in abstaining from war credits, only for this to mark the first step towards their suppression and ultimate annihilation?
The bitter gift of hindsight offers us no smaller tragedy in the establishment of the Working Men’s International, which even in its heyday under the auspices of Marx, would give birth to the very same Labour Party which long ago fell into line with the established apparatus of reaction.
To close, I will just take a moment to reflect on the evolving attitude of Marx towards Russia, from the irredeemable bastion of reaction in the east to the most advanced and promising crucible for revolutionary consciousness. Indeed, as Berlin tells us, Capital sold remarkably well in Russia; indeed, it sold better in this “backwards” nation without any developed capitalist forces or proletariat than in any other country.
For all his reputation as a man of unswerving conviction, Marx did not take long to revisit his attitudes towards Russia, concluding towards the end of his life that, to quote Berlin, “if a revolution in Russia should be the signal of a common rising of the entire European proletariat, it was conceivable, and even likely—that communism in Russia could be based directly upon the semi-feudal communal ownership of land by the village as it existed at the time; but this could not occur if capitalism continued among her nearest neighbours, since this would inevitably force Russia in sheer economic self-defence along the path already traversed by the more advanced countries of the West”.
Imagine how differently the Russian Revolution might have played out had the Bolsheviks and Mensheviks had access to this information! The latter would have been robbed almost entirely of its raison d’etre, and the ideological and political ascendency of the Bolsheviks (who largely followed the late Marx on this regardless) would have been more securely assured. Perhaps it would have merely lubricated the gears of history already in motion, but regardless, it’s interesting to speculate isn’t it?