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Title: Peter Kropotkin
Author: Errico Malatesta
Date: 15 April 1931
Language: en
Topics: Pëtr Kropotkin, biography, critique
Source: Retrieved on Jul 30, 2019 from http://dwardmac.pitzer.edu/Anarchist_Archives/malatesta/ForgottenPrinciples.html

Errico Malatesta

Peter Kropotkin

Peter Kropotkin is without doubt one of those who have contributed

perhaps more—perhaps more even than Bakunin and Elisee Reclus—to the

elaboration and propagandation of anarchist ideas. And he has therefore

well deserved the recognition and the admiration that all anarchists

feel for him.

But in homage to the truth and in the greater interest of the cause, one

must recognize that his activity has not all been wholly beneficial. It

was not his fault; on the contrary, it was the very eminence of his

qualities which gave rise to the ills I am proposing to discuss.

Naturally, Kropotkin being a mortal among mortals could not always avoid

error and embrace the whole truth. One should have therefore profited by

his invaluable contribution and continued the search which would lead to

further advances. But his literary talents, the importance and volume of

his output, his indefatigable activity, the prestige that came to him

from his reputation as a great scientist, the fact that he had given up

a highly privileged position to defend, at the cost of suffering and

danger, the popular cause, and furthermore the fascination of his

personality which held the attention of those who had the good fortune

to meet him, all made him acquire a notoriety and an influence such that

he appeared, and to a great extent he really was, the recognized master

for most anarchists.

As a result of which, criticism was discouraged and the development of

the anarchist idea was arrested. For many years, in spite of the

inconcolastic and progressive spirit of anarchists, most of them so far

as theory and propaganda were concerned, did no more than study and

quote Kropotkin. To express oneself other than the way he did was

considered by many comrades almost as heresy.

It would therefore be opportune to subject Kropotkin’s teaching to close

and critical analysis in order to separate that which is ever real and

alive from that which was more recent thought and experience will have

shown to be mistaken. A matter which would concern not only Kropotkin,

for the errors that one can blame him for having committed were already

being professed by anarchists before Kropotkin acquired his eminent

place in the movement: he confirmed them and made them last by adding

the weight of his talent and his prestige; but all us old militants, or

almost all of us, have our share of responsibility.

In writing now about Kropotkin I do not intend to examine his teachings.

I only wish to record a few impressions and recollections, which may I

believe, serve to make better known his moral and intellectual stature

as well as understanding more clearly his qualities and his faults.

But first of all I will say a few words which come from the heart

because I cannot think of Kropotkin without being moved by the

recollection of his immense goodness. I remember what he did in Geneva

in the winter of 1879 to help a group of Italian refugees in dire

straits, among them myself; I remember the small attentions, I would

call maternal, which he bestowed on me when one night in London having

been the victim of an accident I went and knocked on his door; I recall

the innumerable kind actions towards all sorts of people; I remember the

cordial atmosphere with which he was surrounded. Because he was a really

good person, of that goodness which is almost unconscious and needs to

relive all suffering and be surrounded by smiles and happiness. One

would have in fact said that he was good without knowing it; in any case

he didn’t like one saying so, and he was offended when I wrote in an

article on the occasion of his 70^(th) birthday that his goodness was

the first of his qualities. He would rather boast of his energy and

courage—perhaps because these latter qualities had been developed in,

and for, the struggle, whereas goodness was the spontaneous expression

of his intimate nature.

I had the honour and good fortune of being for many years linked to

Kropotkin by the warmest friendship.

We loved each other because we were inspired by the same passion, by the

same hopes…and also by the same illusions.

Both of us were optimistic by temperament (I believe nevertheless that

Kropotkin’s optimism surpassed mine by a long chalk and possibly sprung

from a different source) and we saw things with rose tinted

spectacles—alas! Everything was too rosy—we then hoped, and it is more

than fifty years ago, in a revolution to be made in the immediate future

which was to have ushered in our ideal society. During these long years

there were certainly periods of doubt and discouragement. I remember

Kropotkin once telling me: My dear Errico, I fear we are alone, you and

I, in believing a revolution to be near at hand”. But they were passing

moods; very soon confidence returned; we explained away the existing

difficulties and the skepticism of the comrades and went on working and

hoping.

Nevertheless it must not be imagined that on all questions we shared the

same views. On the contrary, on many fundamentals we were far from being

in agreement, and almost every time we met we would have noisy and

heated discussions; but as Kropotkin always felt sure that right was on

his side, and could not calmly suffer to be contradicted, and I, on the

other hand, had great respect for his erudition and deep concern for his

uncertain health, these discussions always ended by changing the subject

to avoid undue excitement.

But this did not in any way harm the intimacy of our relationship,

because we loved each other and because we collaborated for sentimental

rather than intellectual reasons. Whatever may have been our differences

of interpretation of the facts, of the arguments by which we justified

out actions, in practice we wanted the same things and were motivated by

the same intense feeling for freedom, justice and the being of all

mankind. We could therefore get on together.

And in fact there was never serious disagreement between us until that

day in 1914 when we were faced with a question of practical conduct of

capital importance to both of us: that of the attitude to be adopted by

anarchists to the War. On that occasion Kropotkin’s old preferences for

all that which is Russian and French were reawakened and exacerbated in

him, and he declared himself an enthusiastic supporter of the Entente.

He seemed to forget that he was an Internationalist, a socialist and an

anarchist; he forgot what he himself had written only a short time

before about the war that the Capitalists were preparing, and began

expressing admiration for the worst Allied statesmen and Generals, and

at the same time treated as cowards the anarchists who refused to join

the Union Sacre, regretting that his age and his poor health prevented

him from taking up rifle and marching against the Germans. It was

impossible therefore to see eye to eye: for me he was a truly

pathological case. All the same it was one of the saddest, most painful

moments of my life (and, I dare to suggest, for him too) when, after a

more than acrimonious discussion, we parted like adversaries, almost as

enemies.

Great was my sorrow at the loss of the friend and for the harm done to

the cause as a result the confusion that would be created among the

comrades by his defection. But in spite of everything the love and

esteem which I felt for the man were unimpaired, just as the hope that

once the moment of euphoria had passed and their proper perspective, he

would admit his mistake and return to the movement, the Kropotkin of

old.

Kropotkin was at the same time a scientist and a social reformer. He was

inspired by two passions: the desire for knowledge and the desire to act

for the good of humanity, two noble passions which can be mutually

useful and which one would like to see in all men, without being, for

all this, one and the same thing. But Kropotkin was an eminently

systematic personality and he wanted to explain everything with one

principle, and reduce everything to unity and often, did so, in my

opinion, at the expense of logic.

Thus he used science to support his social aspirations, because in his

opinion, they were simply rigorous scientific deductions.

I have no special competence to judge Kropotkin as a scientist. I know

that he had in his early youth rendered notable service to geography and

geology, and I appreciate the great importance of his book on Mutual

Aid, and I am convinced that with his vast culture and noble

intelligence, could have made a greater contribution to the advancement

of the sciences had his thoughts and activity not been absorbed in the

social struggle. Nevertheless it seems to me that he lacked that

something which goes to make a true man of science; the capacity to

forget one’s aspirations and preconceptions and observe facts with cold

objectivity. He seemed to be to be what I would gladly call, a poet of

science. By an original intuition, he might have succeeded in foreseeing

new truths, but these truths would have needed to be verified by others

with less, or no imagination, but who were better equipped with what is

called the scientific spirit. Kropotkin was too passionate to be an

accurate observer.

His normal procedure was to start with a hypothesis and then look for

the facts that would confirm it—which may be a good method for

discovering new things; but what happened, and quite unintentionally,

was that he did not see the ones which invalidated his hypothesis.

He could not bring himself to admit a fact, and often not even consider

it, if he had not first managed to explain it, that is to fit it into

his system.

As an example I will recount an episode in which I played a part.

When I was in the Argentinean Pampas (in the years 1885 to 1889), I

happened to read something about the experiments in hypnosis by the

School of Nancy, which was new to me. I was very interested in the

subject but had no opportunity at the time to find out more. When I was

back again in Europe I saw Kropotkin in London, and asked him if he

could give me some information on hypnosis. Kropotkin flatly denied that

there was any truth in it; that it was either all a fake or a question

of hallucinations. Some time later I saw him again, and the conversation

turned once more onto the subject. To my great surprise I found that his

opinion had completely changed; hypnotic phenomena had become a subject

of interest deserving to be studied. What had happened then? Had he

learned new facts or had he had convincing proofs of those he had

previously denied? Not at all. He had, quite simply, read in a book, by

I don’t know which German physiologist, a theory in the relationship

between the two hemispheres of the brain which could serve to explain,

well or badly, the phenomena of hypnosis.

In view of this mental predisposition which allowed him to accommodate

things to suit himself in questions of pure science, in which there are

no reasons why passion should obfuscate the intellect, one could foresee

what would happen over those questions which intimately concerned his

deepest wishes and his most cherished hopes.

Kropotkin adhered to the materialist philosophy that prevailed among

scientists in the second half of the 19^(th) century, the philosophy of

Moleschott, Buchner, Vogt and others; and consequently his concept of

the Universe was rigorously mechanistic.

According to his system, Will (a creative power whose source and nature

we cannot comprehend, just as, likewise, we do not understand the nature

and source of “matter” or of any of the other “first principles”)—I was

saying, Will which contributed much or little in determining the conduct

of individuals—and of society, does not exist and is a mere illusion.

All that has been, that is and will be, from the path of the stars to

the birth and decline of a civilization, from the perfume of a rose to

the smile on a mother’s lips, from an earthquake to the thoughts of a

Newton, from a tyrant’s cruelty to a saint’s goodness, everything had

to, must, and will occur as a result of an inevitable sequence of causes

and effects of mechanical origin, which leaves no possibility of

variety. The illusion of Will is itself a mechanical fact.

Naturally if Will has no power, if everything is necessary and cannot be

otherwise, then ideas of freedom, justice and responsibility have no

meaning, and have no bearing on reality.

Thus logically all we can do is to contemplate what is happening in the

world, with indifference, pleasure or pain, depending on one’s personal

feelings, without hope and without the possibility of changing anything.

So Kropotkin, who was very critical of the fatalism of the Marxists,

was, himself the victim of mechanistic fatalism which is far more

inhibiting.

But philosophy could not kill the powerful Will that was in Kropotkin.

He was too strongly convinced of the truth of his system to abandon it

or stand by passively while others cast doubt on it; he was too

passionate, and too desirous of liberty and justice to be halted by the

difficulty of a logical contradiction, and give up the struggle. He got

round the dilemma by introducing anarchism into his system and making it

into a scientific truth.

He would seek confirmation for his view by maintaining that all recent

discoveries in all the sciences, from astronomy right through to biology

and sociology coincided in demonstrating always more clearly that

anarchy is the form of social organization which is imposed by natural

laws.

One could have pointed out that whatever are the conclusions that can be

drawn from contemporary science, it was a fact that if new discoveries

were to destroy present scientific beliefs, he would have remained an

anarchist in spite of science, just as he was an anarchist in spite of

logic. But Kropotkin would not have been able to admit the possibility

of a conflict between science and his social aspirations and would have

always thought up a means, no matter whether it was logical or not, to

reconcile his mechanistic philosophy with his anarchism.

Thus, after having said that “anarchy is a concept of the Universe based

on the mechanical interpretation of phenomena which embrace the whole of

nature including the life of societies” (I confess I have never

succeeded in understanding what this might mean) Kropotkin would forget

his mechanistic concept as a matter of no importance, and throw himself

into the struggle with the fire, enthusiasm and confidence of one who

believes in the efficacy of his Will and who hopes by his activity to

obtain or contribute to the achievement of the things he wants.

In point of fact Kropotkin’s anarchism and communism were much more the

consequence of his sensibility than of reason. In him the heart spoke

first and then reason followed to justify and reinforce the impulses of

the heart.

What constituted the true essence of his character was his love of

mankind, the sympathy he had for the poor and the oppressed. He truly

suffered for others, and found injustice intolerable even if it operated

in his favour.

At the time when I frequented him in London, he earned his living by

collaborating to scientific magazines and other publications, and lived

in relatively comfortable circumstances; but he felt a kind of remorse

at being better off than most manual workers and always seemed to want

to excuse himself for the small comforts he could afford. He often said,

when speaking of himself and of those in similar circumstances: “If we

have been able to educate ourselves and develop our faculties; if we

have access to intellectual satisfactions and live in not too bad

material circumstances, it is because we have benefited, through and

accident of rebirth, by the exploitation to which the workers are

subjected; and therefore the struggle for the emancipation of the

workers is a duty, a debt which we must repay.”

It was for his love of justice, and as if by way of expiating the

privileges that he had enjoyed, that he had given up his position,

neglected his studies he so enjoyed, to devote himself to the education

of the workers of St. Petersburg and the struggle against the despotism

of the Tsars. Urged on by these same feelings he had subsequently joined

the International and accepted anarchist ideas. Finally, among the

different interpretations of anarchism he chose and made his own the

communist-anarchist program which, being based on solidarity and on

love, goes beyond justice itself.

But as was obviously foreseeable, his philosophy was not without

influence on the way he conceived the future and on the form the

struggle for its achievement should take.

Since, according to his philosophy that which occurs must necessarily

occur, so also the communist-anarchism he desired, must inevitably

triumph as if by a law of Nature.

And this freed him from any doubt and removed all difficulties from his

path. The bourgeois world was destined to crumble; it was already

breaking up and revolutionary action only served to hasten the process.

His immense influence as a propagandist as well as stemming from his

great talents, rested on the fact that he showed things to be so simple,

so easy, so inevitable, that those who heard him speak or read his

articles were immediately fired with enthusiasm.

Moral problems vanished because he attributed to the “people”, the

working masses, great abilities and all the virtues. With reason he

praised the moral influence of work, but did not sufficiently clearly

see the depressing and corrupting effects of misery and subjection. And

he thought that it would be sufficient to abolish the capitalists’

privileges and the rulers’ power for all men immediately to start loving

each other as brothers and to care for the interests of others as they

would for their own.

In the same way he did not see the material difficulties, or he easily

dismissed them. He had accepted the idea, widely held among the

anarchists at the time, that the accumulated stocks of food and

manufactured goods, were so abundant that for a long time to come it

would not be necessary to worry about production; and he always declared

that the immediate problem was one of consumption, that for the triumph

of the revolution it was necessary to satisfy the needs of everyone

immediately as well as abundantly, and that production would follow the

rhythm of consumption. From this idea came that of “taking from the

storehouses” (“presanel mucchio”), which he polularised and which is

certainly the simplest way of conceiving communism and the most likely

to please the masses, but which is also the most primitive, as well as

truly utopian, way. And when he was made to observe that this

accumulation of products could not possibly exist, because the bosses

normally allow for the production of what they can sell at a profit, and

that possibly at the beginning of a revolution it would be necessary to

organize a system of rationing, and press for an intensification of

production rather than call upon to help themselves from a storehouse

which in the event would be nonexistent, Kropotkin set about studying

the problem at first hand and arrived at the conclusion that in fact

such abundance did not exist and that some countries were continually

threatened by shortages. But he recovered by thinking of the great

potentialities of agriculture aided by science. He took as examples the

results obtained by a few cultivators and gifted agronomists over

limited areas and drew the most encouraging conclusions, without

thinking of the difficulties that would be put in the way by the

ignorance and aversion of peasants to what is change, and in any case to

the time that would be needed to achieve general acceptance of the new

forms of cultivation and of distribution.

As always, Kropotkin saw things as he would have wished them to be and

as we all hope they will be one day; he considered as existing or

immediately realizable that which must be won through long and bitter

struggle.

At bottom Kropotkin conceived nature as a kind of Providence, thanks to

which there had to be harmony in all things, including human societies.

And this has led many anarchists to repeat that “Anarchy is Natural

Order”, a phrase with an exquisite kropotkinian flavour.

If it is true that the law of Nature is Harmony, I suggest one would be

entitled to ask why Nature has waited for anarchists to be born, and

goes on waiting for them to triumph, in order to destroy the terrible

and destructive conflicts from which mankind has already suffered.

Would one not be closer to the truth in saying that anarchy is the

struggle, in human society, against the disharmonies of Nature?

I have stressed the two errors which, in my opinion, Kropotkin

committed—his theory of fatalism and his excessive optimism, because I

believe I have observed the harmful results they have produced on our

movement.

There were comrades who took the fatalist theory—which they

euphemistically referred to as determinism—seriously and as a result

lost all revolutionary spirit. The revolution, they said, is not made;

it will come when the time is ripe for it, and it is useless,

unscientific and even ridiculous to try to provoke it. And armed with

such sound reasons, they withdrew from the movement and went about their

own business. But it would be wrong to believe that this was a

convenient excuse to withdraw from the struggle. I have known many

comrades of great courage and worth, who have exposed themselves to

great dangers and who have sacrificed their freedom and even their lives

in the name of anarchy while being convinced of the uselessness of their

actions. They have acted out of disgust for present society, in a spirit

of revenge, out of desperation, or the love of the grand gesture, but

without thinking thereby of serving the cause of revolution, and

consequently without selecting the target and the opportune moment, or

without bothering to coordinate their action with that of others.

On the other hand, those who without troubling themselves with

philosophy have wanted to work towards, and for, the revolution, have

imagined the problems as much simpler than they are in reality, did not

foresee the difficulties, and prepare for them…and because of this we

have found ourselves impotent even when there was perhaps a chance of

effective action.

May the errors of the past serve to teach us to do better in the future.

I have said what I had to say.

I do not think my strictures on him can diminish Kropotkin, the person,

who remains, in spite of everything one of the shining lights of our

movement.

If they are just, they will serve to show that no man is free from

error, not even when he is gifted with the great intelligence and the

generous heart of a Kropotkin.

In any case anarchists will always find in his writings a treasury of

fertile ideas and in his life an example and an incentive in the

struggle for all that is good.