The nature and origin of the Russian political structure is obviously not the most urgent question in the Western literature on the philosophy of history. At least, it was difficult for me to find as representative a debate among the "despotists" as the one among the "absolutists" which I have just analyzed. For this reason, I prefer to take another route in this chapter. I have chosen three well-known names, which from my point of view symbolize three main tendencies in the interpretation of "Russian despotism"—the "Tatar," the "Byzantine," and the "Patrimonial." They are, respectively, Karl Wittfogel, Arnold Toynbee, and Richard Pipes (I consider Tibor Szamuely's book
I am proceeding from the assumption that these authors represent more or less fully the spectrum of arguments in the Western literature dealing with the nature and origin of the Russian political structure. I respect their hypotheses, although I cannot agree with them. As distinct from the "
However this may be, in passing from the absolutists to the despotists, the unprejudiced reader will be easily persuaded that only the direction of the emotional thrust—only its sign (plus for minus)—is changed. The despotists are obviously not too friendly to Russia, but the picture remains the same: black-and-white. The spectrum of concepts is limited to the bipolar model, to the fateful contrast between "multicentered" and "single-centered" civilizations (Wittfogel), or "Western" and "totalitarian" (Toynbee), or "monarchy" and "patrimonial state" (Pipes). In short, we are dealing with the same absolutism and despotism, under different pseudonyms. This fact, to say the least, seriously complicates the analysis of the Russian historical process for our authors—to the degree that it proves difficult to explain many aspects of this process, not to speak of its origin and nature, with the aid of their hypotheses. This is precisely what I will now try to show.
It is obviously impossible to understand and evaluate Wittfogel's conception adequately without taking into account its basic quality: it is a model of militant scholarship. It is infinitely far from the coquettish "objectivity," the skeptical feeling that one's recommendations are not necessarily valid, the hint of play, and the sense of humor, which are characteristic of the style of many contemporary scholars in our humanistic field, which is suffering from an inferiority complex in this age of the triumph of natural science. In Wittfogel's work there is something deadly serious, rigorous, almost medieval—something between Puritan severity and the pathos of a crusader. This work breathes polemics and boils with passion. Like its author's native country, Germany, it fights on two fronts—the Eastern and the Western—and develops in four directions at once: on the level of abstract theory; on the historical level (or that of applied theory); on the methodological level; and on the political level. All this is terribly awkward to analyze, because it is tied up in such a tight knot that it is impossible either to reject or to accept it totally. It is this homogeneity or synthesis—I do not know how best to express it—which constitutes the second basic feature of Wittfogel's conception. Therefore, before arguing about it, it would perhaps be best to break it up into its component parts, and then to evaluate each one separately.
Certainly, it would be easiest to say that the conception of "Oriental despotism" was only the historical dimension of the political concept of totalitarianism which was fashionable during the years of the Cold War—that, to paraphrase Mikhail Pokrovskii, it was totalitarianism projected into the past. It is still easier to say, as S. N. Eisenstadt does, that "if one wants to write about communism and Stalin, the best way to do it is not necessarily through writing about Oriental despotism. Neither Oriental despotism nor modern communism get their due in this way."[57]