This is an attempt to assess the prospects for Russia’s future and above all the emerging “Russian idea” (ideology or doctrine) replacing communism. Such an endeavor involves various scenarios, some more likely than others. Unfortunately, quite often the less likely have happened—or some that appeared so outlandish, no one dared mention them (or did so under the wrong assumptions).
Of the last half dozen leaders chosen to govern the Soviet Union and Russia, all but the last came as no great surprise. All were members of the Politburo, the leading governing body: It stood to reason that a member of this body would be the next leader of the country. The choice of Vladimir Putin was far more accidental, but the policies he pursued were not. Observers of the Russian scene have argued that Putin’s rise to power was resistible—influenced perhaps by one of Bertold Brecht’s less impressive plays written during the Nazi era about the resistible rise to power of Arturo Ui, the king of the cauliflower trade. But the evidence for such claims is not exactly overwhelming. True, in principle about anything could have happened following the disastrous and chaotic Yeltsin years. But given all that was known about Russian history and traditions and current Soviet affairs, the emergence of a nationalist autocracy was far more likely than any other development even in the 1990s. (Walter Laqueur, The Long Road to Freedom, New York, 1989). Some economists have written that the oil and gas bonanza can account only for half of the Russian national income in the Putin era. True again, but the oil and gas income was decisive, it accounts to a large extent for the rise in the economy in general, for the various social and political schemes initiated by the Putin government from which the population benefitted, and last not least for Putin’s foreign and military policy in 2014/5. At the present time, the choice of the next leader or leadership will likely prove difficult because there is no Politburo anymore.
It seems obvious to predict that Putin’s successor will conduct the same or similar policies, domestically and abroad. It is unlikely that he will be more moderate. But there are no certainties. Much depends on the situation prevailing at the time within as well as outside Russia. Much may depend on the strength or weakness of the successor, the presence (or absence) of a rival (or rivals). Perhaps there will be a struggle for power among several candidates.
To pursue a discussion along these lines, it is necessary to go over familiar ground, to recapitulate (or try to interpret) the events that have taken place since the fall of the Soviet Union—the rise of Mikhail Gorbachev and the other parents of glasnost and perestroika, the age of Boris Yeltsin and of Putin.
More than twenty years ago, in a study of the extreme Right in Russia (Black Hundred), I tried, as I put it at the time, “to differentiate between the legitimate concerns of Russian patriotism and the pathological fantasies of the extreme Right.” I also said that given Russia’s precarious situation, “the Right holds firm to its belief that time works for us and it is their ambition to restore Russia’s position as a global power.” Moreover, “The Far Right will play a crucial role in the coming years.” I mentioned Pushkin a few times but Putin did not appear in this book. In fact, he did not appear in any book known to me. On the other hand, I dealt with Alexander Dugin in some detail—his was not yet a household name at the time. But there is true sincere patriotism and krasnoi (beer hall) patriotism, rejected and ridiculed as empty and meaningless by leading Russian nineteenth-century thinkers such as Belinsky.
What did I mean by the phrase “the legitimate concerns of Russia”? Precisely this: the attempt to regain at least some of what had been lost. I am not particularly proud of this feat of prophecy. But I find it difficult even now to understand the optimism among many with regard to the prospects of democracy and freedom in Russia. Most likely it was wishful thinking, the satisfaction that the Cold War was finally over and we could devote our time, energy, and resources to the truly important tasks facing us at home. Given Russia’s history, what ground was there for such optimism?
It seemed obvious that Russia would try to regain its status as a world power once the conditions to do so existed. After all, Germany had been defeated in World War I and had to suffer the consequences—yet within fifteen years, it was back as a leading power. Such comebacks have happened repeatedly in history and most likely would happen again.
It seemed equally obvious that the general trend of the Russian search for a new doctrine and mission would be toward the authoritarian Right, though I should admit that I did not anticipate it would go quite so far and happen so fast. To clarify this point: Russia at the present time is a dictatorship with much popular support, but I do not believe that the invocation of fascism is very helpful. Nor do I think it likely that it will reach this stage in the near future. Comparisons with the “clerical” Fascist regimes in Europe during the 1930s, with Francisco Franco’s Spain, or with some of the dictatorships in the developing countries after World War II seem closer to the mark.
But Russia has gone far in this direction. How much further will it go?
I found it strange, even ludicrous, that the Left outside Russia has hardly been aware of the ideological and political changes in Russia and continues to think of Russia as left-wing in some ways. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that the distance between populism of the Left and populism of the Right has become difficult to detect. What difference is there between present-day Russian communism and the Vladimir Zhirinovsky party? Since both vote with the government on all the important issues, there is no true political opposition in Russia. Sometimes it appears that even the intelligentsia in Russia has disappeared. The extreme Right in Europe has been much quicker to understand the changes in Russia and adjust its propaganda and policy accordingly.
I am dealing in the present book with the new doctrine gradually emerging in Russia. Most countries, even most great powers, are able to exist without a doctrine and a mission or manifest destiny, but not Russia. Its doctrine or ideology has several components: religion (the doctrine of the Orthodox Church, Russia’s holy mission, the third Rome, and the New Jerusalem), patriotism/nationalism (with occasional leanings toward chauvinism), geopolitics Russian style, Eurasianism, the besieged-fortress feeling, and zapadophobia (fear of the West, coined by the philosopher-ideologue Nikolay Danilevsky as zapadnichestvo, for “Westernism”). Students of early Russian literature know that the belief in Russia’s uniqueness goes back virtually to its beginnings; the writers (often merchants) who had been abroad returned with the conviction that “Rus” was unique, without parallel. This goes, for instance, for Afanasy Nikitin from Tver, who had been to India many years before Vasco da Gama; for Nestor Iskander, who wrote about the fall of Constantinople; and for Maxim Maximus, a monk from Mount Athos who had been invited to Russia and settled there. Further, this conviction was usually paired with another belief—the suspicion of Russophobia, the certainty that all foreigners were against Russia. (Such fears were not specifically Russian; in the very first articles in which an American manifest destiny is mentioned in the 1830s, we also find references to the assertion that virtually all foreigners were hostile toward the United States.) Why this should have been the case is unclear, for the attitude of the outside world toward Russia under Ivan III and Ivan Grozny (the Terrible) was one not of hostility but of profound lack of interest.
The roots of Russian messianism, the belief in a special mission from God, go deep. They existed in other nations, of course, especially in the nineteenth century; but in most cases the belief was a passing phase, whereas in Russia it persisted even beyond the Slavophiles, the most ardent believers in this kind of mission. It should not therefore have come as a surprise that political messianism had a secular rebirth during the Soviet period and that it resurfaced in our time as part of the search for a new Russian idea.
To a certain extent, this search for a new ideology amounts to a return to the status quo ante before the revolution of 1917, albeit with certain important changes, given that 2014–15 is not like 1914. Such a dramatic reversion is bound to resurrect many painful subjects. For instance, that Leon Trotsky was evil goes without saying; he was a Jew and an internationalist, and what he did harmed Russia. Vladimir Lenin, while perhaps slightly better, was also a negative force. The victory of the Reds in the civil war was a disaster; Alexander Kolchak, Pyotr Wrangel, and Anton Denikin should be rehabilitated—a process that has in fact already taken place.
Joseph Stalin, on the other hand, should not be denigrated. It was a difficult period; he took actions that cannot be justified, but he also made Russia greater and stronger and was therefore a positive force. But how to defend Stalin against the attacks of the “liberals,” considering that he was so close to Lenin?
These historical issues are probably best ignored or at least should be accorded less significance. In twenty or fifty years, they will no longer figure prominently.
Religion, or rather the Orthodox Church, is of great importance to any ideological reorientation. Well before 1917, the prestige of the church was low. The intelligentsia may have maintained an interest in religion, but not in the church. Individual churchmen were admired and even loved, but the stupidity, the venality, and the low moral standards of much of the clergy generated a considerable measure of contempt. Under Communist rule, the church suffered. Churches were closed, churchgoers were harassed, and priests were imprisoned, exiled, and even killed.
The church did survive but had to pay a heavy price; it was almost totally penetrated by the secret police and virtually absorbed and integrated into the GPU/NKVD/KGB. All senior appointments in the church hierarchy had to be approved by these organs, sometimes even by the Politburo. Many churchmen, even those at the highest echelons, became informers.
Seen in retrospect, these “compromises” enabled the church to survive, whereas those who had persecuted it did not. But was the survival of the organized church the supreme aim? They certainly did not act like the martyrs of earlier periods in church history.
The church had sinned. But after the fall of communism, it confessed its sins and strove to regard the chapter as closed. Churches were reopened, its activities renewed, and the new rulers regarded the church as an essential, even central, part of the new order. With this, new questions arose. How close should the relationship be between church and state? What gospel was preached by the newborn church? It was often claimed that its spiritual values were universal, but in fact it was a state church. Before the revolution, it had been probably closer to the state than that in any other country. A religious person had to be a patriot, and how a patriot should behave was decided by the government. But this closeness has not been a blessing, and there had been warnings against it even inside the church. For this reason, the Moscow patriarchate has recently shown a little caution: Even while trying to evade conflicts with the state, it has demonstrated that it does not implicitly support every policy mandated by the government.
There were other troubling questions. A great majority of Russians regarded the church as a positive and vital factor in the life of the country. But an equally large majority (almost 80 percent) did not practice religion or even attend church, except on one or two of the most important holidays. Nor did they observe the commandments of religion, the orders, and the prohibitions.
The rituals of the Orthodox Church were clear, but what was it supposed to preach? Was it Christian love, charity, and compassion? Was it the love of God or the hatred of Satan—meaning Jews, Catholics, Masons, liberals, the pope, and all the enemies of Russia?
These questions had to be confronted in the wake of the Orthodox revival, along with other elements of the new Russian ideology, such as neo-Eurasianism, antiglobalism, and geopolitika—not to mention the new science of conspirology. Of course, an individual could be a staunch Russian patriot even if he or she did not believe that almost the whole universe was engaged in conspiring against Russia. But in practice, there was almost always a close relationship among these various sets of beliefs.
Some reservations are called for at this stage. First, Eurasianism and geopolitika Russian style are obviously of recent date. There were such beliefs in the nineteenth century, but not much more than in other countries, nor were they more deeply held. Under Stalin, these fears received a fresh impetus. As for conspirology, I had assumed that the Russian belief in pervasive conspiracies was of recent date, but I had to revise my views when I encountered the following written by Vladimir Solovyov, the great Russian philosopher, in 1892 (Sobranie Sochineni, vol. 5):
Let us imagine a person healthy in body and strong, talented and not unkind—for such is quite justly the general view of the Russian people. We know that this person or people are now in a very sorry state. If we want to help him, we have first to understand what is wrong with him. Thus we learn that he is not really mad, his mind is merely afflicted to a considerable extent by false ideas approaching folie de grandeur and a hostility toward everyone and everything. Indifferent to his real advantage, indifferent to damage likely to be caused, he imagines dangers that do not exist and builds upon this the most absurd propositions. It seems to him that all his neighbors offend him, that they insufficiently bow to his grandness, and in every way want to harm him. He accuses everyone in his family of damaging and deserting him, of crossing over to the enemy camp. He imagines that his neighbors want to undermine his house and even to launch an armed attack. Therefore he will spend enormous sums on the purchase of guns, revolvers, and iron locks. If he has any time left, he will turn against his family.
We shall not, of course, give him money, even if we are eager to help him, but will try to persuade him that his ideas are wrong and unjustified. If he still will not be convinced and if he perseveres in his mania, neither money nor drugs will help.
One hundred and twenty years later, I cannot think of a better description of the current state of affairs.
To repeat: These afflictions are not specific to Russia. Perhaps the majority of all these beliefs are foreign imports. Some appeared first among the extreme Right of the Russian emigration, while most originated in publications of the post–World War II European “New Right”; the French nouvelle droite; and the neo-Fascists, ranging from Alain de Benoist to the Belgian Jean-François Thiriart, the Italian Julio Evola, and other occultists, combining anti-Americanism with anti-Sovietism, admiration for Stalin, Mao, Ceauşescu, and the Fatah.
These influences are clear in the writing of Alexander Dugin, one of the chief philosophers of the new age, but can also be detected in the work of Igor Panarin and others. After a while, it became clear that these obscure, foreign ideas had to be strengthened by homegrown products, and it was at this stage that Nikolay Danilevsky and a few other Russian thinkers with a strong dislike of the West were brought in. Ivan Ilyin (1883–1954), the reactionary émigré ideologist, has been another important influence frequently invoked in recent years by Putin and those close to him.
Nikolay Danilevsky (1822–1885) has been rediscovered. An interesting figure, in his younger years he belonged to the Petrashevsky Circle, a radical literary discussion group studying French socialism, and was promptly arrested. He studied biology, disagreed with Darwin, but also hated Europe, about which he had strong feelings but did not know very much. His book Russia and Europe (1869) became the bible of the “hate Europe” school. He sincerely believed that (as his biographer put it) the Russians were the children of light and the Europeans the children of darkness. Europeans were violent and bellicose, whereas the Russians were peace loving. The Europeans wanted war, and war was an evil. In many respects, Danilevsky was an ideal precursor of the anti-Western school in contemporary Russia.
Neo-Eurasianism, an important tenet of the new Russian doctrine, rests on the assumption that the origins of the Russian state are found in Asia rather than in Europe; that the encounter with Mongols, Tatars, and Asian tribes largely shaped Russia; and that, rejected by the West, Russia should look for its future in Asia. A marriage, it could be said, of Anna Karenina and Genghis Khan. The neo-Eurasian school is not identical with the Eurasian thinking of the late nineteenth century and the historical-philosophical school of the 1920s, which was more cautious and intelligent. The neo-Eurasians received an uplift from the writings of Lev Gumilev on ethnogenesis and passionarity, which became fashionable after the breakdown of the Soviet Union. They also gained more popularity with the rise of China and the East Asian / Pacific region in general. The basic tenets of the Russian Far Right have the advantage that their meaning is seldom very clear; they can mean one thing but also another. Passionarity may mean the readiness of a nation or a group of people to make sacrifices for their beliefs.
Given Europe’s declining importance, a reasonable case may be made for Russia’s heightened interest in East Asian markets and its greater attention to Asia in general. But in view of its origins, past history, cultural influences, and demographics, there is little to support the idea that Russia is essentially an Asian power. The great majority of Russians do not live in Asia, and many of those who live in Siberia wish to leave. Furthermore, Asians are not showing much enthusiasm at the prospect of Russian migration. Thus, neo-Eurasianism may be characterized as an ideology of beliefs and taste, not facts. Unkind critics may regard it as misplaced wishful thinking or even as nonsense on stilts. The fact that Russia had its difficulties with Europe does not make it Asian. However, attempts to expose neo-Eurasianism as a fantasy have been fruitless, precisely because such beliefs do not lend themselves to rational argument.
A paradoxical development took place that was noted by Western and Asian diplomats and scholars alike. While on the ideological level there was a great deal of talk about the importance of Eurasianism and Russia as an emerging Asian power, and much was promised in the way of economic and general development in Russia beyond the Urals, very little happened on the ground. This was the result partly of the usual lethargy but mainly of events in Ukraine and Crimea (and the accompanying anti-Western campaign) that deflected Russian interest from Asia even more.
Few terms have been more frequently used and abused in political discourse in our time than “geopolitics.” Originally, it referred to the relationship between politics and geography, an obvious and perfectly legitimate subject. But it has been used in different countries and by people of different political opinion to mean many different things. Sometimes, this may have happened because “geopolitical” sounds more impressive than “political,” but quite often it was intended to imply the special God- or nature-given rights and historical missions of a certain country derived from its geographic location. Thus, “geopolitical” can be used to prove that the historical mission of Ruritania is to be Africa’s leading power: because it is located in the very heart of the continent or because it has access to three different oceans and four major rivers or because the Ruritania-Utopiana axis makes such a dominating position its destiny—and its policy inevitable. However, the geographic facts mentioned can also be used to prove the very opposite.
“Geopolitical” is particularly useful when the issue at stake is to prove why a certain country has the divine mission to be a great power, a superpower, or an empire. Although the theory is now thought to be outdated, in Russia geopolitics is considered to be a valid justification for action.
The geopolitical message was brought to Russia by Alexander Dugin in the late 1990s. Dugin’s thinking (sometimes named the fourth political theory or the third doctrine) aimed at Russian domination of Eurasia, this being a new (third) continent. But since Russia was not powerful enough by itself for military, economic, and demographic reasons, it needed more than one axis to achieve this aim: Moscow-Tokyo and Moscow-Tehran were considered, but both proved to be excessively problematic. Moscow-Berlin, however, found many sympathizers in Russia. This is of considerable interest because Germany had been the traditional enemy and the United Kingdom and France the allies. However, by the time Putin had become president, Germany’s record in World War II was forgotten and forgiven.
The intellectual starting point of Dugin was the realm of the irrational, esoteric metaphysical, and mystical. These influences in Russian intellectual history were not exactly new. But Dugin acutely realized that whereas Gurdjieff and Madame Blavatskaya (Helena Petrovna), to name but two in this tradition, were likely to appeal to writers and composers (such as Mahler, Skryabin, and Sibelius) rather than to military men and politicians, whereas geopolitika Russian style would do precisely that. Dugin’s message was listened to with great interest by Russian military thinkers and the general staff and Ministry of Defense, although with a curious mixture of great interest and understandable caution, born of the recognition that some of his ideas were not practical. The conduct of foreign policy (as Putin saw it) had to be energetic and aggressive but was best left to men of the world rather than writers of political science fiction showing symptoms of hysteria in stressful situations.
Some of these concepts are bound to strike the reader as curious and strange, yet I have referred so far only to mainstream ideas and doctrines. Even the Dugin of 2014 is usually a little more moderate than twenty years ago.
Once one moves from mainstream to radical views—and much of contemporary Russian political literature belongs to this category—understanding and comment become difficult. Should views be taken literally that are both eccentric and unbelievable? Do their authors exercise what psychologists call confabulation? In other words, have their authors persuaded themselves that they tell us the truth, or do they simply wish to shock or entertain their readers?
The legitimate concerns of Russian patriotism include the aspirations of ethnic Russians in neighboring states who feel discriminated against and would like to be citizens of Russia. Given the fact that no country is wholly homogeneous, how may one do justice to all such aspirations? What of nonethnic Russians, for instance, in the Caucasus? Would regional arrangements bring a solution or merely collide with statism? The insistence on a strong central power (derzhavnost) is also a vital part of the new Russian doctrine. To understand Russian policy in this respect, it is probably more helpful to consider Pushkin’s attitude rather than Putin’s. In 1830, the Poles rebelled against Russian rule; the uprising was suppressed and eight thousand Poles lost their lives in the Battle of Ostrolenka alone. There was much support for the Polish cause in Europe and America, which annoyed Pushkin and many other Russians.
Russian public opinion supported the government reaction almost without exception. In one of his poems, “To the Slanderers of Russia,” Pushkin expressed his anger about the Western critics of Russia even more than about the traitorous Poles. Why did they threaten Russia with anathema (sanctions)? What business of theirs was it? Was it not a family struggle of the Slavs among themselves? Had they not been at war for a long time? The Poles had burned Moscow, and the Russians had destroyed Praga, a part of Warsaw. If the enemies of Russia want military intervention, Pushkin said, why do they not send their sons; there is enough space for them in the graves in the fields of our country. Strong emotions, strong words.
Pushkin’s feelings were shared even by the most bitter critics of official Russia and its society. Some of them were even afraid that the czar in his magnanimity would not be harsh enough in treating the Poles. But was not Pushkin the poet glorifying freedom rather than tyranny, and had he not suffered for his beliefs? How to explain this contradiction? An attempt to do so was made by Georgy Fedotov, a great theologian and church historian and the most clear-sighted thinker of his generation. Fedotov saw in Pushkin someone whose political views had been shaped in the eighteenth century: Freedom, yes—but not for everyone. Pushkin had been disappointed by his people. His heroes were Peter the Great and the empress Catherine, even though he must have been aware of the great corruption at court. He was not a democrat, but who was in the eighteenth century? As he grew older, Pushkin became more conservative.
There is some resemblance with the present situation in Russia, except that the political outlook of Russia’s current rulers and their attitude toward democracy were formed not in the eighteenth century, but while the Soviet Union still existed. The relevant question, therefore, is whether and to what extent the attitude of the next generation will be different.
There has been a massive shift in the ideology of the Russian regime in the years since the downfall of the Soviet Union. Marxism-Leninism has been replaced by Russian nationalism and the glorification of a strong state. This process has been accelerated by the seizure of Crimea, the state of civil war in the eastern Ukraine, and the attack of MH17, the Malaysia Airlines airplane explosion that killed hundreds of passengers. At present, the process of transition from communism to some form of state capitalism under the supervision of the organs of state security is by no means complete, and it is impossible to know where this reorientation, the search for a new Russian idea, will lead.
During the last decades of Soviet power, the importance of Communist ideology was frequently overrated abroad. Only after the downfall of the regime did it become clear that Marxism-Leninism was no longer taken seriously; lip service was still paid to it, but it became the subject of ridicule among those at the very top. Is there a danger that a similar misapprehension may prevail now that political views once found only at the periphery of the political system have moved to its center? It is frequently argued that Russia has become deeply conservative, patriotic, and religious. But sociological investigations so far call for caution, because the fact that the mainline ideology has changed so much does not indicate much about the depth with which these new convictions are held. According to sociological investigations such as those conducted by Vladimir Petukhov of the Russian Academy of Sciences, there is no doubt about the patriotic upsurge that has taken place and the widespread satisfaction that some of the territory lost (such as Crimea) has been regained. However, once the question is raised concerning the sacrifices that will have to be made to restore more of the old glory, the results are less than striking. A great majority would like to see their country a major power, a superpower if possible, but are reluctant to make great efforts, especially financial efforts, to achieve this. Eurasianism might be a topic of intense interest among the intelligentsia, but much less so for the rest of society. The great majority are not motivated by ideology; their psychology and ambitions are primarily those of members of a consumer society.
Contemporary Russia is a traditionalist society, and the majority of its people are averse to change. But conservative values do not overwhelmingly shape their outlook and behavior. There are apparently no more true conservatives than liberals in contemporary Russia. The Orthodox Church plays a far larger role now than in the past, but it is not clear whether it will be able to maintain this position for long: Only a small minority attends church services (at the main holidays the percentage is somewhat higher) or has accepted the other religious duties. According to investigations, religion ranges as an actor of paramount importance for 8 percent of the population. Patriotism, with 14 percent, figures somewhat higher.
These facts concerning the motivation of the majority of Russian society will not necessarily be the only ones to shape Russian policy in the years to come, but they will undoubtedly limit its scope. Hence the need for caution at a time when the ideological declarations of Russian political leaders attract greater interest than usual because they differ so much from those made in the past.
Those ruling Russia today, the siloviki, have been described as the new nobility, selfless patriots motivated by pure idealism. It is indeed a noble vision, but how true is it? In the 1980s, a strange situation had arisen: The KGB spent much of its time harassing and persecuting the dissidents, but they believed as little in communism and the Soviet system as their victims. They did what they did because they had been given orders from above. What is known about their real convictions? Deep down many of them were probably cynics, willing apparently to serve any system as long as it preserved their privileged positions. What of the current situation? How important is ideology, and what is the specific weight of power and money? It would be wrong to dismiss the importance of patriotism and the other components of the new ideology altogether as a mere smoke screen; some of the new elite may deeply believe in it, some only a little, and some not at all.
The role of the Russian intelligentsia is a sad story in this general context. During the last century, this most attractive and creative section of Russian society, which contributed much to our culture, has been subject to myriad bloodlettings. As a result of emigration and “liquidation,” not much of it has remained; standards and levels have declined. The Russian democrats have been blamed for failing in their reformist attempts following the breakdown of the Soviet Union. This is correct, but could anyone have succeeded given the nondemocratic mind-set of Russian society in general, the desire for a strong hand to guide the country?
A new middle class might be emerging, but so far there are few signs heralding the appearance of a new intelligentsia. Of its remnants, some have made peace with the new regime and support it, but others have thought it wise to withdraw from politics and public life in general. In its cultural history, Russia went through a golden and a silver age, but now there are few prospects even for a bronze age. One feels reminded of Pushkin’s reaction having finished listening to Nikolai Gogol reading to him Dead Souls: “God, what a sad country, our Russia.”