Leon Trotsky: Preface to La Revolution Defigurée

May 1, 1929

[Writings of Leon Trotsky. Vol 1, 1929, New York 1975, p. 117-127]

This work retraces the stages of the six-year struggle that the leadership faction in the USSR has been carrying out against the Left Opposition (Bolshevik-Leninist) in general, and against the author in particular.

A large part of this work is devoted to refuting the gross accusations and slanders directed against me personally. What entitles me to impose upon the patience of the reader with these documents? The fact that my life is rather closely linked to the events of the revolution could not in itself justify the publication of this book. If the Stalin faction’s fight against me were only a personal struggle for power, the recounting of this fight would contain nothing instructive: parliamentary history abounds with struggles between groups and individuals seeking power for its own sake. My reason is completely different: it is that the fight between individuals and groups in the USSR is inseparably bound up with the different stages of the October Revolution.

Historical determinism never manifests itself with such force as in a revolutionary period. Such a period, in effect, lays bare class relations and drives conflicts and contradictions to their greatest degree of sharpness. And in such periods, the battle of ideas becomes the most direct expression of opposing classes or opposing factions of one and the same class. In the Russian Revolution, the struggle against “Trotskyism” has assumed precisely this character. The bond that joins what are at times essentially scholastic arguments to the material interests of certain social classes or social layers is, in this case, so striking that the day will come in which this historical experience will occupy a special chapter in the academic handbooks on historical materialism.

Because of Lenin’s illness and death, the October Revolution falls into two periods that become increasingly distinct the longer we are removed from them. The first period was the epoch of the conquest of power, of the establishment and consolidation of the dictatorship of the proletariat, of its military defense, of steps essential to finding its economic road. At that time the whole party was aware that it was the prop of the dictatorship of the proletariat. It was from this awareness that it drew its inner confidence.

The second period is characterized by the presence of elements of a growing dual power within the country. The proletariat, which had conquered power with the October Revolution, was pushed aside, forced into the background, as a result of a series of objective and subjective factors of both an internal and external nature. Beside it, behind it, and at times even in front of it, other elements, other social layers, factions from other classes, began to push themselves up. These elements secured a good part, if not of the power itself, at least of the influence over the power. These other layers — the state functionaries, the professional union and cooperative functionaries, people from the liberal professions, and middlemen — increasingly formed an interlinking system. At the same time, by their conditions of existence, their habits and way of thinking, these layers stood apart from the proletariat, or moved away more and more. Ultimately, the party functionaries should be counted among them as well, inasmuch as they form a definitely constituted caste, which assures its own permanence more through the state apparatus than by internal party means.

Because of its origin and traditions, and the sources of its strength, Soviet power continues to rest on the proletariat, even though less and less directly. But through the medium of the social layers enumerated above, it is falling increasingly under the influence of bourgeois interests. This pressure makes itself felt all the more since a large part of not just the state apparatus, but the party apparatus as well, is becoming, if not the conscious agent, then at least the effective agent of bourgeois conceptions and expectations. However weak our national bourgeoisie may be, it is conscious, and rightly so, of being a part of the world bourgeoisie, and it serves as the transmission belt of world imperialism. But even the subordinate base of the bourgeoisie is far from being negligible. To the extent that agriculture develops on an individual market basis, inevitably brings forth a sizable rural petty bourgeoisie. The rich peasant or the peasant seeking only to enrich himself who hurls himself against the barriers of Soviet legality is the natural agent of Bonapartist tendencies. This fact, illustrated by the whole evolution of modern history, is verified once again in the experience of the Soviet republic. Such are the social origins of the elements of dual power that characterize the second chapter of the October Revolution, the period following the death of Lenin.

It goes without saying that even the first period, from 1917 to 1923, is not homogeneous from beginning to end. There, too, we had not only forward movement, but setbacks as well. There, too, the revolution made important concessions: on the one hand to the peasantry, on the other to the world bourgeoisie. Brest-Litovsk was the first setback for the victorious revolution, after which the revolution resumed its forward march. The policy of commercial and industrial concessions, however modest its practical results have been up to the present time, constituted a serious tactical retreat on the level of principle. However, the greatest overall retreat was the New Economic Policy — NEP. By reestablishing a market economy, NEP re-created conditions that threatened to revive the petty bourgeoisie and to convert certain groups and elements within it into middle bourgeoisie. In short, NEP contained the possibilities of dual power. But these did not yet exist except as an economic potential. They commanded a real strength only during the second chapter of the history of October, which generally is considered to have begun with Lenin’s illness and death and the beginning of the campaign against “Trotskyism.”

It goes without saying that in themselves the concessions to the bourgeois classes are not yet a violation of the dictatorship of the proletariat. In general, there are no historical examples of a chemically pure form of class rule. The bourgeoisie rules by leaning on other classes, subjugating them, corrupting them, or intimidating them. Social reforms in favor of the workers in themselves do not in any way constitute a violation of the absolute sovereignty of the bourgeoisie of a country. Of course, each individual capitalist may have the feeling that he is no longer complete master in his own house — that is in his factory — compelled as he is to recognize the legal limits of his economic dictatorship. But these limitations have no other purpose than to support and maintain the power of the class as a whole. The interests of the individual capitalist constantly come into conflict with the interests of the capitalist state, not just on questions of social legislation, but on questions of taxes, public debt, war and peace, etc. The interests of the class as a whole have the upper hand. They alone decide what reforms can be made and to what extent they can be carried out without shaking the foundations of its rule.

The question is posed in similar fashion for the dictatorship of the proletariat. A chemically pure dictatorship could exist only in an imaginary world. The proletariat in power is obliged to reckon with the other classes in proportion to their strength domestically or in the international arena, and it must make concessions to the other classes in order to maintain its rule. The whole question is in knowing what are the limits to these concessions and what is the degree of consciousness with which they are made.

There were two aspects to the New Economic Policy. First of all, it flowed from the necessity for the proletariat itself to use the methods developed by capitalism to run industry and, in general, the entire economy. Second, it was a concession to the bourgeoisie, and in particular the petty bourgeoisie, in that it allowed them to function economically within their characteristic methods of buying and selling. In Russia, because of its predominantly rural population, this second aspect of NEP was of decisive importance. Given the halt in the revolutionary development of other countries, NEP, which represented a deep and lasting setback, was unavoidable. We put it into effect under Lenin’s leadership with complete unanimity. This retreat was called a retreat before the whole world. The party, and through it the whole working class, understood very well what this meant in a general sense. The petty bourgeoisie got the chance to accumulate wealth — within certain limits. But power, and consequently the right to determine these limits of this accumulation, remained as before in the hands of the proletariat.

We mentioned above that there is an analogy between the social reforms in the interests of the proletariat that the ruling bourgeoisie finds itself obliged to make and the concessions the proletariat in power makes to the bourgeois classes. However, if we wish to avoid making mistakes, we must put this analogy into a well-defined historical framework. Bourgeois power has existed for centuries; it has an international character; it rests upon a vast accumulation of wealth; it has a powerful system of institutions, connections, and ideas at its disposal. Centuries of domination have created a kind of instinct for domination, which in difficult circumstances has often served as an unerring guide for the bourgeoisie. For the proletariat, centuries of bourgeois domination have been centuries of oppression. It has neither historical traditions of rule, nor, even less, an instinct for power. It came to power in one of the poorest and most backward countries in Europe. Under present historical circumstances, at the present stage, this means that the dictatorship of the proletariat is infinitely less secure than bourgeois power. A correct political line, a realistic appreciation of its actions, and particularly of the unavoidable concessions that must be made to the bourgeoisie, are life-and-death questions for Soviet power.

The chapter of the revolution following Lenin’s death is characterized by the development of socialist forces as well as capitalist forces within the Soviet economy. The outcome depends on their dynamic interaction. The balance is controlled less by statistics than by the daily evolution of economic life. The present deep crisis, which has taken the paradoxical form of a scarcity of agricultural products in an agrarian country, is sure, objective proof that the basic economic balance has been upset. Since the spring of 1923, at the Twelfth Party Congress, the author of this book has warned of the potential consequences of a false economic policy: the lagging of industry leads to a “scissors effect,” that is, a disproportion between the prices of industrial and agricultural products, a phenomenon that in tum brings the development of agriculture to a halt. That these consequences have been realized does not in itself mean that the fall of the Soviet regime is unavoidable or, even worse, imminent. What it means is that a change in economic policy is necessary — and that it is most imperative.

In a country where the- basic means of production are state property, the policy of the government leadership plays a direct and for a certain period a decisive role in the economy. Therefore the question boils down to whether that leadership is capable of understanding the necessity for a change in policy, and whether it is in a position to carry out such a change in practice. We return, thus, to the question of determining to what degree state power still rests in the hands of the proletariat and its party, that is, to what degree state power continues to be the power of the October Revolution. One cannot answer this question a priori. Politics is not governed by mechanical laws. The power of the different classes and parties reveals itself in struggle. And the decisive struggle is yet to come.

Dual power, that is, the parallel existence of power or quasi power wielded by two antagonistic classes — as, for example, during the Kerensky period — cannot perpetuate itself over a long period of time. Such a crisis situation must be resolved in one way or the other. The assertion of the anarchists and would- be anarchists that the USSR is a bourgeois state here and now cannot be better refuted than by the attitude taken toward this question by the bourgeoisie itself, both domestic and foreign. To go further than recognizing the existence of elements of dual power would be theoretically incorrect and politically dangerous. It would even be suicidal. The problem of dual power consists for the moment in knowing to what extent the bourgeois classes have rooted themselves in the Soviet state apparatus, and to what extent bourgeois ideas and tendencies have rooted themselves in the apparatus of the proletarian party. For on this question of degree depends the party’s freedom to maneuver and the ability of the working class to take the necessary defensive and offensive measures.

The second chapter of the October Revolution is not characterized simply by the development of the economic status of the petty bourgeoisie in the towns and in the countryside, but by an infinitely sharper and more dangerous process of theoretical and political disarmament of the proletariat, hand in hand with a growth in the self-confidence of the bourgeois layers. In keeping with the stage that these processes are passing through, the political interest of the growing petty-bourgeois classes has been and still is to mask their advance, as far as possible, by camouflaging their progress under Soviet protective coloring and by presenting their victories as integral parts of socialist construction. Certain advances by the bourgeoisie on the basis of NEP, however important, were unavoidable and, moreover, were necessary for the progress of socialism as well. But these same economic gains by the bourgeoisie can acquire a totally different importance and constitute a very different sort of danger depending on whether the working class and, above all, its party have a more or less correct conception of the processes and dislocations that are taking place in the country, and are more or less solidly at the helm. Politics is concentrated economics. At the present stage, the economic question in the Soviet republic more than ever is reduced to a question of politics.

The defect in the post-Lenin political policies is not so much having made new, important concessions to various bourgeois social layers at home, in Asia, and in the West. Certain of these concessions were necessary or unavoidable, if only by reason of previous mistakes. The new concessions made to the kulaks in April 1925 — the right to lease land and employ labor — were of this type. Some of these concessions were in themselves wrong, harmful, or even disastrous — like the capitulation to the agents of the bourgeoisie in the British labor movement and, worse yet, the capitulation to the Chinese bourgeoisie. But the principal crime of the post-Lenin (and anti-Leninist) political policies was to present grave concessions as victories for the proletariat, and setbacks as advances; to interpret the growth of internal difficulties as a triumphant advance toward a socialist society on a national scale.

This work, treacherous to the core, of disarming the party theoretically and stifling the vigilance of the proletariat was carried out over the course of six years under the guise of the struggle against “Trotskyism.” The cornerstones of Marxism, the basic methodology of the October Revolution, the principal lessons of the Leninist strategy, were submitted to a rude and violent revision in which the crying need of the renascent petty- bourgeois functionary for order and tranquility found its expression. The idea of permanent revolution, that is, of the real and unbreakable link between the fate of the Soviet republic and the march of the proletarian revolution on a world scale, more than anything irritated all the new, conservative social layers who held a deep conviction that the revolution that had raised them to a leading position had accomplished its mission.

My critics in the camp of democracy and social democracy explain to me with great authority that Russia is not “ripe” for socialism, and that Stalin is completely correct in leading Russia back to the capitalist road by a zigzag course. It is true that what the social democrats call with real satisfaction the “restoration of capitalism,” Stalin himself calls “building socialism on a national scale.” But since they have the same process in view, the difference in terminology should not blind us to the basic identity of the two. Even admitting that Stalin is carrying out his task with full knowledge of what he is doing, which could not for a moment possibly be the case, he would, nevertheless, be obliged to call capitalism socialism, in order to lessen friction. The less he understands basic historical problems, the more he can proceed in this manner with confidence. His blindness in this respect spares him from having to lie.

The question, however, is not at all one of knowing whether Russia is capable of building socialism on its own. This question does not exist for Marxism in general. Everything that has been said on this subject by the Stalinist school on the theoretical plane is on the order of alchemy and astrology. As a doctrine, Stalinism would, at the most, make a good exhibit for a museum of natural history dedicated to theory. The essential question is whether capitalism is capable of leading Europe out of its historic impasse, whether India can free itself from slavery and misery without leaving the framework of peaceful capitalist development, whether China can attain the level of culture of Europe and America without revolution and without wars, whether the United States can reach the limits of its productive forces without shaking Europe and without laying the basis for a catastrophe for all humanity in the form of a terrible war. This is how the ultimate fate of the October Revolution is posed. If we admit that capitalism continues to be a progressive historical force, that it is capable by its own means and methods of resolving the basic problems that are on the historical agenda, that it can raise humanity to still higher levels, then there can be no question of transforming the Soviet republic into a socialist country. Then it would follow that the socialist structure of the October Revolution would be inevitably doomed to destruction, leaving behind nothing but the heritage of its democratic agrarian reforms. Would this retreat from the proletarian revolution to the bourgeois revolution be carried out by the Stalin faction, or by a faction of this faction, or even by a general political changing of the guard — or more than one — if necessary? These are all secondary questions. I have already written many times that the political form of this regression would in all probability be Bonapartism and not democracy. Now it is essential to know whether capitalism as a world system is still progressive. It is precisely on this point that our social democratic adversaries demonstrate a pitiable, archaic, and impotent utopianism — not a progressive, but a reactionary utopianism.

Stalin’s politics are “centrist” — that is, Stalinism is a tendency that balances between social democracy and communism. The principal “theoretical” efforts of the Stalin school, which appeared only after Lenin’s death, have tended to separate the fate of the Soviet republic from world revolutionary development in general. This is the equivalent of wanting to separate the October Revolution itself from the world revolution. The “theoretical” problem of the epigones has taken the form of counterposing “Trotskyism” to Leninism.

In order to divorce themselves from the international character of Marxism while remaining faithful to it in words until further orders, it was necessary for them first of all to direct their fire on those who were the supporters of the ideas of the October Revolution and proletarian internationalism. At that time, Lenin was the foremost among these. But Lenin died at the turning point of the two stages of the revolution. Thus he was not able to defend his life’s work. The epigones cut up his books into quotations and with this weapon set out to attack the living Lenin at the same time that they raised him from the tomb not only in Red Square but in the consciousness of the party as well. As if he had foreseen the fate that would befall his ideas after a short time, Lenin begins his book State and Revolution with the following words, devoted to the lot of the great revolutionaries:

“After their death, attempts are made to tum them into harmless icons, canonize them, and surround their names with a certain halo for the ‘consolation’ of the oppressed classes and with the object of duping them, while at the same time emasculating and vulgarizing the real essence of their revolutionary theories and blunting their revolutionary edge.”

It is only necessary to add that N.K. Krupskaya once had the audacity to fling these prophetic words in the face of the Stalin faction.

The second task of the epigones was to represent the defense and development of Lenin’s ideas as a doctrine hostile to Lenin. The myth of “Trotskyism” rendered this historical service. Is it necessary to repeat that I do not claim, and have never claimed, to have created my own doctrine? My theoretical training is in the school of Marx. As far as revolutionary methods are concerned, I passed through the school of Lenin. Or if one wishes, “Trotskyism” for me is a name affixed to the ideas of Marx and Lenin by the epigones, who wish to break with these ideas at all costs but do not yet dare do so openly.

This book will reveal part of the ideological process by which the present leadership of the Soviet republic has changed its theoretical clothing to conform to the change in its social nature.

I will show how the same people have rendered diametrically opposed opinions of the same events, the same ideas, the same political activists, while Lenin was alive and then after his death. In this book I am obliged to present a large number of citations, which, I may add in passing, is contrary to my usual method of writing. However, in a struggle against political people who suddenly and craftily deny their most recent past at the same time that they swear fidelity to it, it is not possible to do without citations, for these serve as clear and irrefutable evidence in the case at hand. If the impatient reader objects to being obliged to make part of his journey by short marches, he would do well to consider that if he had collected the citations, separating out the most informative ones and establishing the requisite political connection between them, that would have demanded infinitely more work than attentively reading these characteristic excerpts from the struggle between two camps-at the same time so near and so steadfastly opposed.

The first part of this book is a letter to the Bureau of Party History that I wrote on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the October Revolution. With protests, the institute returned my manuscript, which would have acted as a disruptive element in the business of concocting the unheard-of falsifications of history that this institution devotes itself to in its struggle against “Trotskyism.”

The second part of the book consists of four speeches that I delivered before the highest bodies of the party between June and October 1927, that is, in the period of the most intense ideological conflict between the Opposition and the Stalin faction. If I have chosen the stenograms of these four speeches from among many documents of the last few years, it is because they give in condensed form a sufficiently complete exposition of the conflicting ideas and because in my opinion their chronological continuity allows the reader to approximate the dramatic dynamism of the struggle itself. I should add, moreover, that the frequent analogies with the French Revolution are intended to aid the historical orientation of the French reader.

I have made considerable cuts in the texts of the speeches to remove repetitions, which in spite of everything are more or less unavoidable. I have made all the necessary clarifications in the form of introductory notes to the speeches themselves, which are published for the first time in this edition. In the USSR they are still illegal writings.

Finally, I am including a small pamphlet that I wrote in Alma-Ata in 1928, in response to the objections raised by a well- disposed adversary. I believe that this document, which has been widely circulated in manuscript form, provides the necessary conclusion to the book as a whole by introducing the reader to the very last stage of the struggle just before my banishment from the USSR.

This book covers the very recent past, and at that with the sole aim of relating it to the present. More than one process that is brought up here has not yet been completed, more than one question is not yet resolved. But each coming day will bring additional verification of the ideas in conflict. This book is dedicated to contemporary history, that is, to politics. It looks upon the past solely as a direct introduction to the future.