“And without total abandonment of the law of the Koran [argues opposition MP Cobden], it was impossible to put the Christians of Turkey upon an equality with the Turks.” We may as well ask Mr Cobden whether, with the existing State Church and laws of England, it is possible to put her working-men upon an equality with the Cobdens and the Brights?
—Marx, The Eastern Question, p. 260
Marx’s gesture here—that of turning an overconfident and unreflective Orientalism back onto its European author—fundamentally colours his entire approach to the Muslim world. His question to the opposition MP, deliciously Islamicising the British legislature and Church of England, exemplifies the strategy of tu quoque Marx often used in dealing with the Western critique of Islam: how can the English hope to judge the Ottomans, when they themselves have their own version of an Anglican ‘ulema preaching an Anglican Koran? The difficulties in writing about Marx and Muslims spring from all of the ambiguities, possibilities and latent prejudices of such a gesture. On the one hand, Marx’s fierce and uncompromising anti-imperialism, his relentless indignation at the injustices inflicted by a whole triad of imperialisms (Tsarist, Mid Victorian, Napoleonic) upon Arabs, Indians, Turks and Chinese, sets him off from every other major nineteenth-century thinker as an extraordinarily independent moral voice. Accompanying this admirable critique of colonialism, as numerous commentators have pointed out again and again, is a teleology of ‘advanced’ and ‘backward’ often differing little in character from those of the imperialists themselves. This ambivalent relationship towards European modernity—employing the Orientalist tropes and teleology of the modern to attack its capitalist/imperialist manifestations—will provide an interesting parallel to Nietzsche’s own Orientalist defense of the Oriental.
The biography-defying richness of Marx’s life and the irreducibility of his enormous oeuvre also supply a set of tacit yet incommensurable factors colouring the attitude Marx cultivated towards the religion and followers of Islam: from Marx’s own nickname ‘the Moor’, the Arabian Nights stories he read to his children at bedtime, the comparisons to a Turk he received from several quarters (most notably from the MP Urquhart, who said he had an intelligence worthy of one), to the irony of his only visit ever to a Muslim country (Algeria) in the final months of his life.1 The cumulative intimacy of such minutiae does force us to consider, once again, what it means to say a thinker thought x or y about a particular subject. In the case of Marx, who could call Turkey “a compact . . . mass of Mussulman fanaticism” one year and praise its “great development of communal and provincial life” the very next,2 this Heraclitean nature of a thinker’s thoughts will be particularly relevant.
What factors complicate our investigation of Marx’s attitude towards the Muslim world? Three seem to be of unavoidable significance: first of all, the unquestionable collaboration with Engels on many matters ‘Oriental’, even to the point of Engels occasionally sending articles on Turkey to Marx to be printed under his name. Of course, rather too much has been made out of the mythical joint identity of Marx and Engels (a myth Engels appears to have been quite willing to encourage3), although it does seem clear that Marx relied on Engels—at least initially—for a relayed, secondhand knowledge of Islam. We know from their correspondence that, at numerous points throughout the 1850s, Marx asked Engels for articles on the fortunes of the Ottoman army across the Danube or the English in Persia, articles which were published under Marx’s name.4 This does lead us to a situation unlike that of any of the other thinkers featured in this book— namely, that in writing about one thinker, we shall have to be careful we are not in effect dealing with two.
A second note of caution in examining the consistencies and inconsistencies of Marx’s relationship to the Muslim Orient lies in the unpredictable and often erratic nature of the political developments themselves. Alliances between powers could form quickly and change overnight with equal rapidity—as the world saw when British warships helped their Ottoman allies to put down a Greek rebellion at the beginning of the Crimean War. The relationship between Russia and Turkey offers another telling example: in 1833, the Tsar sent a squadron of troops to help the Turks defeat their Egyptian enemies—barely a decade later, the Egyptian would be helping the Turks attack the Russians. Without being aware of such diplomatic volatility, one runs the risk of over-attributing the various fluctuations in Marx’s journalistic responses to an exaggerated inconstancy, rather than (more accurately) the bewildering spontaneity of the Zeitgeist itself.
A final caveat lies in Marx’s own development as a thinker, particularly with regards his reading of non-European cultures. The Marx of the Communist Manifesto, who could speak sweepingly of an “everywhere” from “India to Ireland”, where history was gradually drawing “even the most barbarian nations into civilization”,5 appears to have gradually acquired a more sophisticated knowledge of the non-Western world through the reading of authors such as Kovalevsky and, in the case of Islam, Bernier and Raffles. Numerous authors have already pointed out an increasingly refined view of Russia in Marx’s work from the 1850s onwards,6 and to some degree this can be extended to the Muslim world as well. The Crimean War was certainly a factor in this awakening of Marx’s interest in the Ottomans—in one 1853 letter, he tells Engels how the whole ‘Eastern question’ is “complete Greek to me [ist mir Spanisch]”, but promises at the end to “have a look at a couple more books about Turkey, there’s a whole stack of them in the Athenaum”.7 In the years that follow, the possibility of Ottoman Turkey either as a site for revolution or a catalyst towards revolution in other countries (particularly Russia) drove both Engels and Marx to read more about Islam and Islamic societies, part of a general interest in non-European ethnology which culminated in the so-called ‘ethnological notebooks’ of the late 1870s. Exactly how solid an ascendant this line of development took in Marx remains to be seen—what is important, for now, is to warn against any idea in his work of a static level of knowledge of the Muslim world.
My husband is at the moment deeply in the Eastern Question and highly elated about the honourable, unwavering entrance of the sons of Mahomet against all the Christian humbug and atrocity-mongers.
—Jenny Marx to Friedrich Sorge, January 21, 18778
Reminiscent of Herder in his fierce and often sarcastic critique of imperialism, Marx nevertheless shared little of Herder’s slavophilia—on the contrary, a fundamentally negative attitude towards Tsarist Russia and its Orthodox claims on Istanbul/Constantinople emerges as the dominant chord in Marx’s anti-imperialist voice.9 At a time when Russia was trying to use the widely perceived imminent collapse of the Ottoman domains as an excuse to invade them, we find Marx employing a variety of different registers to resist this—and to condemn the Russophilic elements of the British press and parliament (such as Cobden) who were on the Tsar’s side.
One such register was a strikingly moral note, a voice of indignation which invoked notions of friendship, loyalty, dignity and moral justice. When Russia attempts to negotiate secretly with England about a possible attack against her Ottoman allies, Marx translates this into distinctly moral terms—imagine if someone conspired with us on how to murder a common friend!10 In such moments, Turkey takes on a familiar Rousseauistic innocence—it has dignity, rectitude and all the righteousness victim-hood can bring:
It is not to be denied that Turkey, the weaker state, has shown more true courage, as well as more wise statesmanship, than either of her powerful allies [Britain and France]. She has risen to the height of the occasion—they have cowered beneath it. She has rejected the demands of her hereditary foe [Russia], not with braggadocio, but with grave and worthy earnestness and dignity.11
Of course, the risk of monodimensionality which all depiction of innocence runs coincided with Marx’s own low estimation of Turkey’s cultural level (in an article from the same year, Marx had bemoaned how “all the attempts at civilization by the Turkish authority . . . have failed”.12) This led to some problems for Marx, whose moral position vis-a-vis imperialism also involved a condemnation of the hypocrisy of the ‘civilizing mission’, a condemnation which has at least to imply some degree of already extant ‘civilization’ in the country concerned. Leaving the endlessly repeated ‘unconscious tool of history’ quote to one side for a moment, it is difficult not to be impressed by the moral depth and breadth of Marx’s anger—his awareness of how the English seized Herat with the pretense of defending the Afghans, or his rage at the brutal British treatment of Greeks in the Ionian islands—whipping women and children and then boasting of having given them a free constitution.13 However, in attempting to criticise the times for wanting “to subject the inhabitants of Turkey to the ‘pure sway’ and civilizing influence of Russia and Austria”,14 Marx sometimes saw such civilisateur justifications as hypocritical (i.e. a valid reason, but not the real reason) and other times as inaccurate (his insistence on the progress Ottoman Turkey had already made, his sarcastic repetition of the idea that Turkey was “a country without a road”, his occasional pleas not to dismiss Turkish history as a series of “palace revolutions”15).
To these subtly different motivating factors in Marx’s anti-imperialism— defending the Turk at times on the grounds of his innocence, at times on the grounds of his relative development—we can add the purity of Marx’s own Russophobia. Throughout his coverage of the Crimean War, Marx gives the general impression that Russia is no less culturally backward than Ottoman Turkey—Russia is “semi-Asiatic”,16 we are told, a conviction which seems to have dogged Marx into his late years (“your Russian”, Marx says of Bakunin in 1863, “once scratched, has again revealed himself to be a Tartar”17). In this sense, although Marx’s defense of the Ottomans in his journalism is quite striking—he calls the Tsar in his negotiations with Turkey a bear, a hypocrite, a monster—the anti-imperialist voice he uses in these moments might be more accurately termed an anti-Tsarist one, as Marx saw the expansion of Russian nationalism as a feudalistic threat to the progress of the Revolution. Throughout the 1850s, at least, even though there is a sympathy for the Ottoman underdog in the European negotiations, Marx only seems to really criticise the Western imperialist powers when they appear to be favouring Russia. The teleological underpinnings of this calculated sympathy we shall come to in a moment.
Time and space do not permit a study of the further sub-registers which could be discerned within Marx’s anti-imperialist defense of Turks, Afghans and Arabs. Apart from a resentment of Russia, a sense of injustice for the innocence of the exploited ‘native’, and an occasional frustration with the false European conviction of their savagery, a distaste towards Christianity as a state religion—and Empire’s use of it as a legitimator of rule—also comes to the fore. Whether it is in both Russia and Europe’s claims to protect the rights of Turkey’s Christian subjects (which Marx quite correctly saw as a right to interference), an insistence on there being—contrary to Western claims—“no polemical schism” between Muslims and Greeks in Ottoman Turkey, or even the Armenian prince, whose speech Marx reprints in his article, exhorting Armenians to support the Ottoman authorities against the Russian foe, Marx’s conviction of Christianity as a mere tool of imperialism does colour his Ottoman sympathies when writing about its struggle for survival against a Christian West.18
If anything complicated Marx’s defense of the Ottoman underdog against the “bear” of Russia and the moralizing hypocrites of Paris and London, it was the fact that the Ottomans were themselves an empire. Marx neither circumvented nor ever really confronted this question: his comparison of Turkish and Roman conquering styles (both, for Marx, were content to allow the pre-existing order to survive and merely pay tribute), his early anger at Turkish reprisals in Bucharest and the extraordinary alliance the Russians made with “their tools” the Turks to put down Romanian independence, not to mention his highly critical portrait of Ottoman Jerusalem, where “fanatic and greedy pashas” played the Christian populations against one another . . . all testify to an awareness of the limitations of any easy depiction of Ottoman ‘victimhood’.19 Not that Marx passed up a chance to compare Ottoman imperialism favourably with its British and Russian counterparts—in reporting the brutalities of British rule in the Ionian islands, Marx follows Hegel in the view that the Greeks do not even have the privileges under the British that they had under the Turks.20 Both Marx and Engels’s decision to sympathise with Turkey against Russia in their extensive coverage of the Crimean War was, in the end, a realpolitikal one—like all hermeneutical strategies born of Realpolitik, it emphasized some aspects and overlooked others. The surprising frequency of the noble Turk in Marx’s passionate anti-imperialism—innocent, dignified, not really as barbaric as claimed, but occasionally greedy and oppressive—was largely a consequence of this approach.
As for the swindle of religion, it seems . . . that Muhammed’s religious revolution, like every religious movement, was in terms of form a reaction, an apparent return to the old and the simple.
—Engels to Marx, June 3, 185321
If Marx spoke about Muslims as noble victims in his anti-imperialist voice, and even sought to combat Western charges of primitivism in his own critique of the ‘civilizing mission”, Marx’s teleology took a much less positive view of the Muslim world (and Ottoman Turkey in particular), seeing both the chronos and topos of Islam not so much as something to be defended, but rather as something to be overcome.
This view certainly underwent a great deal of restructuring and refinement throughout Marx’s life. The early Marx was happy to use Turkey as a constant pool of negative references for his own critique of Europe: “Rhineland justice is as imperfect as the Turkish!” he cries in 1842, and in the same year writes how Prussian patriotism is advocated in the same way “the hangman’s rope enhances Turkish nationalism”.22 Marx’s conviction of the utter backwardness of Ottoman Turkey was so great that he considered it to be a rotting carcass, one whose feudal processes of putrefaction were as inevitable as they were irreversible.23
In touching this point, we are moving onto the familiar ground of Marx’s alleged collusion with imperialist projects as a means of bringing non-Western feudalisms in Asia and the Middle East onto the road of capitalism and, of course, ultimately communism. Numerous critics have rebuffed these charges in various ways. Some have pointed out how this view of colonialism as an auxiliary to revolution was merely a phase. Engels, having applauded the French conquest of Algeria in 1848, was expressing definite sympathy for Arab resistance to French rule after 1857 (similarly, Anderson points out how Marx makes fewer references to colonialism and progress after the same date).24 Aijaz Ahmad insists Marx never portrayed resistance to colonialism as misdirected, was far more radical in his position on Indian independence than any nineteenth-century Indian reformer, and points out that Marx was just as sweeping in his descriptions of the backwardness of European peasants (“mired in the idiocy of rural life”) as he was about Indian or Arab ones.25
Whilst a great deal of this argumentation is valid—Marx’s attitude towards the non-European does become more sophisticated after the 1850s—it rests on the questionable assumption that opposing beliefs in a thinker replace one another consecutively and coherently, instead of tacitly vying and engaging with one another in an unconscious struggle for the primacy of expression. The letters written from Marx’s late visit to Algiers (in 1882—Marx was sixty-four), seem to suggest the outlines of one such unresolved struggle—in one correspondence, we find Marx complaining of the French treatment of Arab Algerians:
a single, isolated judge’s life is occasionally threatened by colonists, if he does not allow . . . a dozen innocent Arabs to be jailed as suspects of murder . . . we know that were a European colonist settles among the “lower races”, he considers himself in general more invulnerable that the handsome Wilhelm I. But the Britons and Dutch surpass the French in shameless arrogance, pretentiousness, and cruel Moloch-propitiation-rage against the “lower races”.26
Marx’s indignation is very much the anger we have just been examining—a sympathy for the Muslim victim of European colonialism and racial arrogance. Five days later, however, in a letter to Laura Laforgue, quite a different picture of the Arab emerges, as Marx describes his visit to a cafe in Algiers:
On a rough table . . ., their legs crossed, half a dozen Moorish visitors . . . were together playing at cards (a conquest this on them of civilisation). Most striking this spectacle: some of these Moors were dressed pretentiously, even richly, others in, for once I dare call it blouses, sometime of woollen appearance, sometimes in rags and tatters—but in the eyes of a true Mussulman such accidents ... do not distinguish Mahomet’s children.
. . .
Our nomadic Arabs (in many respects very degenerated, but who have retained some solid qualities through their struggle for existence) remember that they had once produced great philosophers, scholars, etc, and that the Europeans scorn them because of their present ignorance.27
To be fair to Marx, his evident conviction of the Arab’s cultural inferiority finds no explicit racial expression, even if a term such as “our nomadic Arabs” seems to be generically ethnic. The difference in tone between the two passages, however, is striking, and borders on the schizophrenic: the first voice expresses perfect moral empathy with the Arabs, directing its outrage at the false racial hauteur of the European colonialist and the swagger of their claims to superiority. The second voice, by contrast, appears to belong to precisely this group—the wry, self-certain irony of the bourgeois European traveller, observing the eccentric customs and silly costumes of the childish natives. Marx’s guided tour, the following week, of a squadron of French warships that were docked in the harbour would seem to underline the ambiguities of his sympathy with the colonial Arab.
The scholar Said, in his treatment of Marx, explains the contradiction in tone between his sympathy for Indians and his positive interpretation of British rule in India somewhat humanistically—a rush of “fellow feeling” for the victim of imperialism is blocked by the dehumanizing type of the Oriental Marx had received from writers such as Goethe.28 What Marx’s sympathy for the human demanded, his knowledge of the ‘Oriental’ denied. It might be more useful, however, to call what took place in Marx’s Algerian letters not merely a relegation of human compassion to the terminology of the Orientalist, but more specifically a clash of registers— Marx the critic of imperialism wanting to disparage Empire, but encountering resistance from the teleologist whose very understanding of progress was assisted by the imperialism under attack. The two voices brought with them different vocabularies—if the former saw Muslims as “innocent” and victims of “arrogance”, the latter saw them as “degenerate”, childlike and in evident need of civilization. If the voice of Marx’s anti-imperialism was an early nineteenth-century Romantic one, privileging individual freedom and protection from tyranny, Marx’s teleological voice brought with it a cooler, more technical awareness of collectivities, of how the revolution would come, and what cultural and economic conditions were necessary for it to take place. The inhumanism implicit in such an approach facilitated, indeed made necessary, the kind of dehumanized ‘Oriental’ Said correctly discerned.
With regards to Turkey, a similar tension emerges in Marx’s own opinion of the significance of the Ottoman Empire. In the 1850s, Marx had praised the “true courage” and “wise statesmanship” of Turkey,29 acknowledged the “great development” of its urban and rural infrastructures, been fiercely critical of the “ever-meddling Ambassadors” of Britain and France and had constantly denounced the anti-Turkishness of newspapers such as The Times and Russophiles such as Cobden.30 Nevertheless, despite Marx’s contempt for Empire, we still find in an 1853 letter to Engels (listed as the last of four important points):
4) The necessary dissolution [nothwendige Aufloesung] of the Mussulman empire. In one way or another it will slip into the hands of European civilisation.31
Around the same time, in an article for the New York Tribune, we see an expanded consideration of this perception of the Ottoman empire as a transitional phase:
who are the traders in Turkey? Certainly not the Turks. Their way of promoting trade, when they were yet in their original nomadic state, consisted in robbing caravans. . . The Greeks and Armenians. . . carry on the whole of the trade . . . Remove the Turks out of Europe, and trade will have no reason to suffer. And as to progress in general civilization, who are they that carry out that progress in all parts of European Turkey? Not the Turks, for they are few and far between ... It is the Greek and Slavonic middle class . . . who are the real support of whatever civilization is effectively imported into the country. That part of the population is constantly rising in wealth and influence, and the Turks are more and more driven into the background. Were it not for their monopoly of civil and military power they would soon disappear . . . The fact is, they must be got rid of.32
No longer an object of tyranny but an obstacle to progress, the Turk must disappear. In this transition from hero to hindrance, from scapegoat to stumbling block, Marx moves back and away from the empirical particularities of his critique of Empire (his objection against the Russian murder of Turkish prisoners of war, his moral indignation of the British/French betrayal of their Ottoman allies) to the ‘bigger picture’ of the wider aims of the Revolution, whom Marx called “our old friend . . . the old mole that can work in the earth so fast”.33 This move—from topos to telos, from the sympathy with a particular situation to a wider, more detached appraisal necessary for an overreaching goal—has a number of consequences for Marx’s Turk. In terms of temporality, the Turk is pushed into the past, ‘barbarianized’. The ludicrous association of contemporary Ottomans in 1850 with caravan-robbing nomads from the twelfth century (which runs contrary to Marx’s own frequent complaint that most Western notions of Turkey “were based on the Arabian Nights”34) underlines how, in order to move forward, the Turk has to be returned to history. A second consequence is the peripheralizing of the Turk, a gesture which goes hand in hand with his dehumanization. “The Sultan holds Constantinople only in trust for the Revolution”, Marx wrote the same year35—working in a purely ancillary manner, the Turk (and his ultimate disappearance) contribute indirectly to the secular eschatology of Marx’s analysis. Like the converted Sultan in the seventeenth-century millenarianism of the Turco-Calvinists, they will bring the Day of the Revolution forward. They are not the owners or the inhabitants of the lands they have but the stewards. With this peripheralization comes the loss of their Menschheit and the subsequent effacement of their right to moral sympathy, the sympathy Marx as critic of Empire had been more than willing to extend.
There is perhaps no country, except Turkey, so little known and so falsely judged by Europe as Spain.
—Marx, New York Daily Tribune, July 11, 185436
When we speak of Marx the researcher, it is primarily the Marx who devoted himself to a factual reading of the Orient, and who consequently saw the Muslim world as an enormous collection of data, history and geographical information to be imbibed, absorbed and strategically displayed. The primary spurs to this desire for knowledge of the Muslim world appear to have been military conflict—the Crimean War, in particular, prompting Marx to go into his library and read “a couple more books about Turkey”, as well as the final Russo-Turkish war of 1877–1878.37
When Marx approached the Muslim world as an object of research, two motivations seem to underlie the intensity of his archival efforts: the desire to supply a more informed corrective to false Western perceptions of Muslims (and thereby undermine in a more general way the epistemological credibility of various institutional mouthpieces—British newspapers/German academics/Tsarist diplomats), and secondly, a more anthropological interest in the economic and social structures both of Islam, and of Muslim countries such as Algeria.
Initially, Marx seems to have relied upon Engels for detailed background about Islam. Although an early awareness of Western defamations and reductionism concerning the Muslim world is evident (we read in The German Ideology how “no-one will deny that amongst those who believe in Islam, no-one believes in exactly the same way”38), it was Engels who, in the summer of 1853, seems to have fed Marx with a number of key points concerning Islam. Engels’s approach towards the subjects of his topic reveals a surprisingly cavalier and condescending attitude—in a letter to Marx he writes:
Since I’ve been sitting in Oriental grease for a couple of weeks now, I’ve decided to use the opportunity to learn Persian. My in-bred hatred of all Semitic languages has scared me off Arabic, as well as the impossibility of ever learning (without losing too much time) such a long-established language, which has 4,000 roots and stretches back over 2–3,000 years. In contrast Persian as a language is child’s play. If it wasn’t for this bloody Arabic alphabet [verfluchten arabischen Alphabets] where six letters all look the same, and where the vowels aren’t visible, I’d manage the whole grammar in 48 hours.39
Because of the increasingly relevant geopolitical status of Ottoman Turkey due to the “Eastern Question”, Engels’s attitude towards the necessary ‘homework’ he has to do in order to accurately evaluate current events east of Rome is that of a reluctant learner. Given the inwardness and naivete of capitalist/imperialist pronouncements on Turkey, however, such knowledge proved to be essential as part of Marx and Engels’s much larger strategy of demonstrating the hollowness of both Russian “pan-slavic propaganda” as well as Western diplomacy’s “paltry” information networks, based more on the “interested [biased] accounts of Greek interpreters and Frank merchants” than any real knowledge of Muslim history and culture.40 Unsurprisingly, Marx’s criticisms of the exaggerated and exoticising tone of, for example, anti-Turkish attitudes in The Morning Chronicle—which Marx insisted was “exciting its dull readers by romantic descriptions of the fierce and undisciplined Asiatic hordes inundating European Turkey”41—was sometimes replicated to the letter by Marx himself. Six weeks after criticising the “Asiatic hordes” romanticized by newspapers like the Chronicle, Marx was reporting how “swarms of bedouins, Kurds and other warlike irregulars” were joining the Ottoman Transcaucasian army.42 Marx’s wide-ranging and intelligent denunciations of the mid-nineteenth-century print media, apart from offering some of the most striking examples of his humour, forms almost a Leitmotif in itself, a careful distancing from the unreflective ‘patriotism’ and imperialist xenophobia of his day. A superior knowledge of Muslim culture and history—not to mention Christianity’s interaction with it—was an essential part of Marx’s strategy in this respect, which is why we find him so often dwelling on myth-deflating details and complexities which run contrary to the us-versus-them paradigms in circulation.
Marx’s eye for detail, for all its spirit of one-upmanship, is impressive. He delights in the scholarly lacunae of his opponents—whether it is the Turcophile Urquhart’s not having read Moltke’s Turkish War or the propagandist Vogt’s ignorance of who the Ottoman Fanariots really were.43 In their Crimean War journalism, Marx and Engels seemed particularly keen to stress the relatively tolerant, multifaceted nature of Ottoman society (clearly with Russian complaints of tyranny and oppression in mind). In such moments, quoting Armenian princes who speak in support of the Turks against the Tsar or citing the Byzantine’s infamously stated preference for the Sultan’s turban over the Cardinal’s hat,44 Marx’s devotion to the problematic particular was clearly intended to dissolve the Manichean universes of Tsarist/imperialist rallying calls and remind people of what for Marx really moved history—not so much civilizational identities but the self-interest of specific groups. Marx’s identity as a researcher—his famed devouring of archives and library catalogues—to some extent found some harmony with this pro-Ottoman platform.
Before moving on, we should also mention another aspect of the Muslim world which Marx, in his capacities as a researcher, found of relevance: namely, its relationship to futurity both as a precedent for social collectivism and as a geo-political catalyst for revolutionary change. As early as 1844, Marx had defined communism as “the positive expression of the overcoming of private property”.45 There is a sense in which Marx’s gradually increasing familiarity with non-Western cultures—culminating in the ethnographical notebooks from the very last years of his life—gave him (in contrast to the Hegelian conviction of his teleologies) a fresh perspective on the propertylessness of the ‘Oriental’: “In the East, under the village system, the people practically governed themselves”.46 The idea of a social system somehow anthropologically prone to collectivism must have teased Marx, for he associated the idea with Islam again and again. In a letter to Engels, for example, he recommended the Orientalist Bernier’s work on the Moghuls:
Bernier finds quite rightly the basic form of the entire appearance of the Orient—he speaks of Turkey, Persia, Hindustan—lies in the fact that no private property exists. This is the real key to the Oriental heaven.47
Marx certainly never appears to have idealized Islam as a political model, unlike the other thinkers in this book: Nietzsche’s preferable vision of a manly, life-loving religion, Herder’s proto-nationalism, the early Schle-gel’s model for a new modernity (not to mention a modern thinker such as Foucault’s celebration of Shi’ia Islam as a “political spirituality”).48
Nevertheless, the remarks infuse Marx’s Islam with an air of opportunity and possibility—even if it is ultimately a missed opportunity. In one of his last letters from Algeria, Marx observed “the absolute equality in their social intercourse” in remarking upon his fellow Arab customers in the cafe, even if their cultural conviction of social equality was of little use: “Still they go to the devil without a revolutionary movement”.49 Marx makes a similar point in an 1878 letter to the activist Liebknecht. First of all, he describes the reasons why both he and Engels have taken the side of the Turks in the Russo-Turkish war:
We strongly take the Turks’ side for two reasons:
1. because we have studied the Turkish peasantry—that is, the Turkish people—and have got to know them as absolutely one of the toughest and most upright examples of peasantry in Europe.
2. because the defeat of the Russians. . . would have accelerated social change in Russia and thereby the rhythm of the whole of Europe.50
Two points emerge here. Marx’s letter, in many respects, continues the tone of his Crimean War journalism twenty years earlier; he goes on to blame the Western European powers for not supporting the Ottomans in their war with Russia—and yet the blame for the missed opportunity lies not merely with Austria and England, but also with the Turks, who “missed [versäumten] the chance of starting a revolution in Constantinople” (ibid.). Turkey, like Algeria, is politically hopeless: “A Volk who, in the most dramatic moment of crisis don’t know how to start a revolution, are lost” (ibid.). In this sense, Marx’s eschatological understanding of the catalytic part the Turks were to play in the oncoming revolution would be closer to the thirteenth-century Franciscan (and Schlegel) than the seventeenth-century Calvinist—that is, the Turks would be enabling, even crucial, but not converted.
Secondly, the moments where Marx speaks primarily as a researcher seem to dissolve, rather than reinforce, the idea of a clearly demarcated ‘modern’ or ‘Christian’ Europe, in contrast to his teleological or anti-imperialist positions (the Muslim world as a slow horse or innocent victim). The attention Marx gives to Christians who worked for the Ottomans (such as the Fanariots or the Polish officer Jozef Bem), his conviction of the Byzantine nature of the contemporary Ottoman, not to mention the wholly inclusive way he speaks about the Turkish peasants as ‘the best’ in Europe51 . . . all seem to subtly mix notions of a Christian Europe and a Muslim world, and push Marx’s Kritik in a different direction from his other voices. If the Marx obsessed with development saw the caravan-robbing Turks as obstacles to those real sources of civilization and progress in Ottoman Turkey, the Greeks, Marx the researcher saw no difference between the two, the Ottoman Turk simply being a fusion of Turkish tradition and “Byzantine theocracy”, both of which had to go (müssen caput gehn).52 Without exaggerating the frequency of these moments, we could say Marx’s more archival awareness of detail and genealogy did bring a tension into the absolutizing passions of his anti-imperialism and devotion to progress, tensions which sometimes led to contradictions.
If Marx saw the Muslim world, on different occasions, as a noble victim of imperialism, a backward realm of savagery, a catalyst of revolutionary change, an archive of anthropological data as well as a foil for imperialist hypocrisy and European self-congratulation, the Islamic Orient also supplied Marx with a final function: that of a reservoir of images and literary tropes, which he used to various ends in different rhetorical strategies. When we speak of Marx the image-dealer, a certain reader comes to the fore—the devotee of the translations of Rückert, Hammer and the Thousand and One Nights. The ‘Orient’ Marx was able to summon imagistically to ridicule a certain politician or eternalize the wisdom of a particular point was most certainly a rhetorical Orient, a pragmatist’s Orient, a textual Morgenland whose artificial status Marx was sometimes well aware of but which (as we have already seen) he also allowed to spill into what he thought and wrote about real Turks, Arabs and Kurds; barely three weeks into his stay in North Africa, Marx is still able to write of the “magical.. . city of Algiers” whose “mood” is straight out of “the Thousand and One Nights”.53 Images from the world of Sinbad and Shahrazad helped Marx to inject a note of falsity, caprice and superficiality into his intended subjects: the newly elected Prime Minister Palmerston was compared to “that cursed old man of the sea whom Sinbad the Sailor found it impossible to shake off once he had allowed him to mount on his shoulders”54; the various Rajas and Nawabs that the British in India tried to prop up as part of their imperial project were seen as “absurd, ridiculous and childish . . . [as] those Shahzamans and Shariars of the Arabian Nights”.55 Unsurprisingly, for a thinker who saw criticism of religion as the premise of all criticism,56 Mohammed and the Koran also emerge as metaphors for impostorship and domineering ambition: the global flight of the political activist Bakunin (whom Marx grew to dislike) is cynically described as the “wonderful Hegira of a new Mohammed”, whilst Daumer’s Religion des neuen Weltalters (which Marx detested) is reviewed as “a new Koran” whose “suras” are nothing more than a collection of flowery and over-embroidered phrases.57 In a sense, this “Mohammedanizing” of one’s chosen target takes us back to Luther’s Münzer, Kant’s Anabaptists, Herder’s Kant, Hegel’s Robespierre and forward in a different way to Nietzsche’s Plato—the calculated decision to evoke a particular series of infamous associations in the exoticising of a certain target.
To perform such a gesture—to call an enemy “Mohammed”, to call the book one rejects a Koran—is not merely to designate an illegitimate claim to power or authority, but to tacitly collude in the Christian/European mechanisms by which such ‘legitimacy’ is decided. This was clearly more of a problem for Marx than it was for Luther or Herder; the irony is augmented by the fact that Marx, in certain moments, seems to have felt some empathy with a figure and a religion collectively condemned by the very Christian, capitalist Europe he himself had such difficulties with. As one of the central aims of the International Alliance was, in Marx’s words, the “annihilation of all religious, monarchic, aristocratic and bourgeois powers and forces in Europe”,58 it is hardly surprising that some degree of unconscious empathy would be extended to the Other of those European powers and forces. From his famous nickname (“Moor” or “Old Moor”) to the self-stylized portrait with the “prophet’s beard” he had taken by a photographer before going to a barber’s shop in Algiers,59 Marx occasionally allowed something akin to an outsider’s sympathy for the outside to emerge in the development of his own political struggle. A curious instance of this appears in an early newspaper article on the freedom of the press (1843):
We have to tell our neighbour [the Kölnische Zeitung] an anecdote. In Rome, the publication of the Koran is prohibited. A wily Italian knew how to get around it. He published a Refutation of the Koran, but the content was simply the text of the Koran. And did not all heretics know how to play this trick? . . . Did not Voltaire himself, in his Bible enfin expliqueé, teach religious unbelief in the text and belief in the notes, and did anybody trust the purifying efficacy of these notes?60
In one sense, the meaning is clear and unproblematic. Marx’s struggles as a German newspaper editor with the Prussian censors have attained the status of myth—the passage is merely evoking Montecroce’s Rifutatione Alcorano as a clever trick for getting round the censors. Marx’s tip, however, places his own political ‘message’ in the same critical compartment as the Koran. Even if a common antipathy to the Vatican is not enough to have the analogy developed, an implicit pairing of Marx’s anti-capitalism with the Koran’s anti-Catholicism does make subversive cousins of them both. The familiar question here is: if identity really is shifting and malleable, how far does common opposition to a particular structure or belief system produce affinities—or even the inclination to find affinities—in otherwise separate vocabularies? A kind of triangular logic takes place at this point: when an Anglican calls the ‘ulema unjust, Marx may decide the Anglican is correct, but blind to the very same deficiencies in himself—a gesture which makes no rapprochement whatsoever to either religion; or, seeing the Church of England as fundamentally reactionary in its divine celebration of social inequity, Marx might critically reconsider what kind of ‘injustice’ the ‘ulema are supposed to practice, to see if it has any relation to his own notion of what is ‘just’. Among the oscillations between these two decisions Marx’s many voices performed throughout his life, the tendency seems to have been towards the first, although the possibility of a more radical empathy with the much-dreaded and much-defamed figure of the “cruel and barbarous Turk” (to use Marx’s wholly ironic phrasing61) was always there, even if it remained largely unactualized.
One final aspect of the literary Marx concerns the use he made of ‘Oriental’ wisdom and anecdotes in order to justify his own positions. There was certainly nothing exclusively ‘Islamic’ about this; the enormous dimensions of Marx’s erudition, and the way he could skillfully draw on examples from Shakespeare or classical myth to strengthen or render ironic an argument, are commonplace enough observations in Marxian criticism. Whether it is the story of the two Persian naturalists and the bear who is capable of anything (which Marx uses to reinforce his own warnings concerning Tsarist expansionism) or the Arab tale of the ferryman and the drowning philosopher from Marx’s Algerian letters,62 Marx’s occasional nuggets of Oriental wisdom performed this function of exotically underlining the already said. An additional effect of these ‘Oriental’ citations was to supply a broader temporality for his own views by suggesting eleventh-century Arab and sixteenth-century Persian precedents for them. An early use of the medieval poet al-Hariri (whom Marx had read in Rückert’s translation) supplies an interesting example. In yet another article on the freedom of the press (1842), Marx mocks the conservative fear that press freedom can change material conditions—as naive, Marx insists, as believing a telescope is responsible for the “unceasing motion of the universe”.63 Scorning the conservative belief in both cosmic as well as social stasis, Marx quotes al-Hariri, a poet who “was no Frenchman by birth, but an Arab”:
He who never destroys what he has built, ever stands
On this terrestrial world, which itself never stands still. (Ibid.)
Just as the early Schlegel was able to glimpse the anticipation of modernity in the world-fashioning gesture of Mohammed, Marx locates a very modern belief in the dynamism of matter (and implicitly of history) in the writings of an eleventh-century Muslim poet. Just as Nietzsche will be able to ascertain a medieval precedent for his nihilism in a band of Islamic warrior-monks (the Assassins), Marx’s citation of al-Hariri runs against the temporality of ‘advanced’ and ‘backward’ not in any Rousseauistic fashion (a return to innocence, a frustration with the present, etc.) but rather in the acknowledgment of a moment of non-European clarity from the premodern. The fact that Marx was able to transform, however anachronistically, such moments of medieval Orientalia into ammunition for his present-day attacks on conservative naivete and bourgeois Russophilia, does suggest that in certain moments at least, even an “Arab by birth” could become a “Frenchman”. If Marx the researcher saw the Muslim world as an entity which could only teach Europe as a passive object of study, through what it was (and if Marx the teleologist saw little to be learnt from it at all), the literary Marx approached Arabs and Persians on a much more equal footing, as a still-relevant store of wisdom, tricks and tropes.64
All in all, how does Marx’s treatment of Islam stand in relation to his predecessors? Certain precedents are not hard to find: the Herderesque fervour in his critique of Empire, the Leibnizian sifting through data for a certain model, the familiar moments of the Muslim world’s Hegelian irrelevance, combined with an equally familiar apocalyptic tone—Marx trying to calculate the Day of the Revolution from the military fortunes of the Turks, just as Schlegel drew on the same kind of data to predict a slightly different Day. If the tensions between Leibniz’s, Hegel’s and Schlegel’s various identities seemed to spring from a disparity between ideological perception and philological knowledge, Marx’s numerous discordances arose primarily from a moral indebtedness to the identity of the colonized Muslim on the one hand, and a political need for his evaporation on the other.
That Marx would never effectively balance the two—as the Arabs in Marx’s Algerian letters show, colonized victim one minute, nomadic buffoon the next—stems in part from a conflicted attitude towards the whole idea of cultural difference; “The working men have no country”, Marx famously declares in the Manifesto, and goes on to report with delight that “[n]ational differences and antagonisms between peoples are daily more and more vanishing”.65 On the one hand, Marx the researcher would dedicate his reading-room energies to a greater knowledge of the non-Western world partly to better understand such cultures as an important point of reference in his own investigations, and partly to combat European imperialist propaganda and delusions about these regions. On the other hand, Marx was reluctant to essentialize and solidify the cultural differences he was delineating, lest he himself participate in the solidarity-dissolving game of nation-states and racial identity which monarchs and emperors played in order to keep the proletariat divided and against one another. In our next and final chapter, moving from one European outsider to another, we shall consider how closely Marx’s dilemma—how to write about the enemy of one’s enemy—resembled Nietzsche’s own collections of sympathies, prejudices, fantasies and spontaneous solidarities with non-Europe.