Stalinism as a Civilization

I have never quite agreed with Tolstoy’s famous quote, “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”  The quote seems to indicate to me that goodness is static, while evil has “interesting” variety.  I see it the other way round.  The great saints of the Church demonstrate great variety, whereas all the bad guys of history have little to differentiate them.  What, after all, makes Pol Pot that much different from Mao, or Nero from Cambyses, or Hitler from Stalin?  On the contrary, St. Francis and St. Thomas Aquinas, to take two contemporary medieval examples, could not be more different.

Of course I could also be misinterpreting the quote badly.

Reading Magnetic Mountain: Stalinism as a Civilization I thought of Tolstoy’s quote again and rethought it a bit.  

Kotkin’s goal for the book intrigued me.  Ok, he states, of course Stalin was a bad guy and Stalinism proved enormously destructive in many ways.  But no regime can last for as long as Stalin’s did without him doing something right, or at least, appealing to large numbers of the population with his ideas and “results.” In other words, not everyone got oppressed, and some must have benefitted from what Stalin did.  More than that, enough must have truly believed in what Stalin sought to accomplish not to just obey his directives, but to revere him as well.  Kotkin seeks to uncover exactly how Stalinism “worked” in every day life and get us beyond our cardboard cutout of Stalin as “bad dictator” without leaving it entirely. Looking at the city of Magnitogorsk gives him ample opportunity to do so, for it was a city built from nothing almost overnight according to at least what Soviets planned as purely “socialist” or “Stalinist” designs.

Is it possible that, “All evil dictators are alike, but each of them does their “good” things in different ways?

The book begins by discussing briefly the context of the rise of the “Stalinist city.”  Part of the appeal of communism in the 1920’s lie in the seeming collapse of the west.  In retrospect World War I seems to be the death knell of Europe, and many at the time felt the same.  Capitalism had, obviously, exhausted itself and brought about the grisly destruction of the war.  What else could one expect on a system rooted fundamentally in economic and class exploitation.  Socialism was so obviously the way of the future, only a stubborn fool would cling to it still.

Or so the argument went.

Given that for many ca. 1925 socialism represented the way of the future, socialism needed to be on the cutting edge of technology. Socialism had rational roots, and this rationalism would inevitably flee tradition and embrace the hopeful future.

To that end, the Soviets faced a few problems.

The first is that Russia was far, far behind the west in terms of technology and industrialization.  They needed to catch up in a big hurry, and not just for reasons of security, but also for ideology.  Socialism must show itself superior to capitalism in all respects if their revolution would spread.

The second is that Russia never quite experienced the Enlightenment and may have been the most traditional of European societies.   These traditions had their roots in the daily rhythms of peasant village life and in the multitude of small villages scattered throughout the country — the kind of places adored by Tolstoy.  These villagers invariably looked down on “cities” as enemies to their way of life and their faith, often with good reason.

To build the new humanity sought by socialists nearly everything had to change within the Soviet Union.

The “Magnetic Mountain” served as a perfect template for all of Stalin’s most important plans. Everyone knew that the mountains nearby contained enormous quantities of iron ore deposits, some of the largest in the known world.  And because the area stood as merely a barren wasteland in the steppes, they could build on a blank slate.  The new steel plant would be the largest in the world, and the people who came to work could be drafted from the villages, forging a new kind of humanity in the process (the use of the term “forging” was deliberate, tying the plant and economic changes to the social and political changes they sought).

Kotkin uncovers some fascinating, but perhaps obvious details about the design of the city.  Not just the village, but the family itself presented a barrier to socialist reform.  The original design of the living spaces were apartments.  Apartments had the advantage of economic efficiency.  They also helped “forge the new humanity, breaking down the village and then family unit in one go.  The first apartments had no kitchens or common space within individual quarters.  They located the kitchen’s and common areas in more central locations — no one should be excluded, and no one could exclude themselves (later buildings allowed for more family space).  The design of the buildings discouraged families from creating distinct identities for themselves apart from the people as a whole.

Equality formed the bedrock value, so each apartment should have equal access to the sun. Unfortunately, this meant that, with no courtyard, each apartment had equal exposure to the brutally cold winds that roared across the steppe 6-7 months a year.  Finally, as socialists defined value through labor, all apartments got built on a line equidistant from the plant itself. The prominence of the massive plant in the geography and psychology of the city made it not unlike the role of churches in medieval towns.  Mankind will be defined by what he worships, whether that be God or labor.

One of the most dreary aspects of this period was the politicization of all aspects of life.  The Soviets faced the embarrassment of needing capitalist firms to design most of the major parts of the plant.  But . . . socialists could show their superiority by getting more out of the machines than believed by the capitalists.  So if part ‘x’ was predicted to operate at ‘y’ speed and efficiency, we could do better.  We will operate at ‘y + ?’ efficiency, thereby showing the superiority of socialist labor.  Of course, this resulted in a host of mechanical problems.

This forced them into an uncomfortable choice.  Either socialist labor was not superior, or . . . “wreckers” existed within the plant — counter-revolutionaries and capitalists.  So, now those that worked the machines too hard might be subject to “unmasking” by true patriots and devotees of the revolution.  Of course, if workers were to be true participants in the revolution they had to have the power to “unmask” — and be expected to.

As you might expect, many got unmasked. Limiting production turned into treason, for it was “counter-revolutionary.”  Under the principle of equality, many party members got unmasked as well (though many got reinstated on the back end — the party had to cover for itself).

But Kotkin shows that despite the madness of the method, it won many converts.  The Soviet Union did get transformed into an industrial colossus, and had enough social unity to withstand the withering Nazi onslought in W.W. II.  By most any rational calculus, Stalin and the Soviets should have closed up shop in 1941.  How did they avoid this fate?

We have recourse to the standard answers, which include

  • The Russian Winter
  • The deep reservoirs of Russian nationalism the Nazi’s unleashed that mobilized an entire population
  • The brutal tactics of the S.S. turning local populations against the Nazi’s
  • The over-extension of the Nazi forces and the sound interior lines of Soviet defenses.
  • And again, the industrialization Stalin began allowed them to churn out tank after tank after tank.

All of these factors played a role.

However, we cannot overlook the fact that Stalin also had converts.  His program worked in the sense that it gave people a a new purpose, a new sense of belonging, a new sense of destiny and their own place within History and the cosmos. Many remained ambivalent, some opposed him — mostly in secret.  But many others no doubt believed.

This should give us pause.  No man is an island.  We would like to think that we would not fall prey to the design of the buildings, the alluring glow of the plant and the comradeship of the work.  None of these, we think, would have any impact on us.  We would not believe, we would not be changed.

Hopefully, we would be right.  But one lesson of Stalin’s Magnetic Mountain is that people are inextricably influenced by their surroundings, sometimes even against their inclinations.

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Games People Play

Many of my clearest memories from growing up involve sports.  I am a middle-aged man but I still remember the time I recorded three consecutive outs at third base playing t-ball.  I have a very clear memory of exactly when and how I hit a double in high school off an all-county pitcher, easily the best hit of my life.  I remember too the crucial error I made in a key game against Kennedy High my junior year, and the fact that I struck out three times in my last game as a senior.

“The thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat.”

I suspect that I am hardly alone having such vivid memories of sport.*  But such memories come not just from playing “on stage” (if you count playing in front of 50 people a stage), but also the pickup games of football or basketball with neighborhood friends.  Naturally I grew up watching local sports teams and at times had my moods rise and fall with their success or failure.  But recently I have thought about the impact of sports and the culture around sports more as an observer.  Concussions in the NFL, the high salaries and high ticket prices, the surrounding sports culture with athletes, fans, and parents — all of this has had me reconsider our fascination with sport.

Good Game by Shirl Hoffman has many strengths.  At times it delves into anecdotes and could be more scholarly in approach.792100  But all in all the book gets one off to a good start in thinking about sport from a Christian perspective.  We certainly have to start somewhere, because in many ways our churches have been entirely co-opted by the sports culture.

As Hoffman points out, however, the connection between sports and religion is rooted in the most ancient of cultures.  Athletic contests in the ancient world had strong connections to gods and came accompanied with sacrifices.  This should not surprise those who played sports.  Anyone who has caught a fly ball, thrown the perfect pass, etc. knows the thrill of uniting mind, body, and spirit.  Great athletic feats can provide a sense of peace and simultaneous elation that hopefully comes, as God allows, in worship.  Athletics at their best can represent a kind of dance that mirrors the “circle dance “of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Perhaps formal religion and sport need not go together, but we cannot deny the religious undertones of athletic achievement.

In its early years the Church faced the problem of how to separate sports from their pagan contexts, just as they did other areas of life.  No absolute unanimity in the historical record exists but it appears that Church leadership consistently condemned Roman athletics for their brutality, but also for their spectacle.  The games didn’t just impact those who fought  or raced, but also the fans who fell prey to meaningless hatreds.  Christians should not disturb their souls with such pointless cares.  In saying this the Church did not downplay the significance of athletics.  On the contrary, they fully recognized their power to mold and shape a culture.

To understand the full context of the Church’s condemnation, we have to understand the goal of the Christian life.  The Christian should strive to attain an inner stillness of heart, a union with God.  Such a person fully united to God will not be shaken by the things of the world, though certainly they deal with the world.  Such a place of contentment comes only with effort and striving after it however, and we should certainly not go out of our way to disturb it. Many of the great saints testify to how easily we can forfeit such a grace.  Getting angry because of a bad call by a referee, or because a team with a certain color jersey lost a game, will inevitably disturb and distort our hearts.  The glory and adulation given to athletes even in the ancient world would certainly not aid in a person’s quest for humility.  Hypothetically, one might be perfectly humble as throng’s of spectators chanted your name, but their point seemed to be, why put yourself in that situation to begin with?  The reverse stood as well.  The one who strikes out or who misses the last shot may be hounded with a different kind of attention.  Both kinds hurt the soul.

However, the Church had no consistent condemnation of informal games.  Exercise had its place, as did amusement, and combining the two in moderation could bring benefits.  But laced throughout almost all literature on the subject comes warnings to be careful.

As the church grew in scope and influence, it began to have a chance not merely to react against their pagan environs but to formulate a positive platform for sport.  Hoffman argues that right around the time when St. Francis gave us back nature and St. Thomas reason, the Church had “a moment” ca. 1250-1450 when sports could have been recaptured.  Games happened on Church holidays in communal contexts, and maintained an informal atmosphere about them.  Sports had their place within a larger religious context.  But then the games grew too violent.  Add to that, the Reformation had various Protestant groups trying not to be Catholic.  And so they eschewed the celebrations and amusement on holy days and condemned all accompanying events (which included sports at times) as “Catholic.”

Here I think Hoffman overstates the case somewhat.  He himself acknowledges the Church’s failure, despite centuries of condemnation, to eliminate knightly tournaments.  Such tournaments often were not deadly but certainly contained much violence and injury.  Nothing they tried seemed to work.  Finally by the late 1500’s the Church adopted the tack of, “if you can’t beat them, join them,” and issued favorable statements about tournaments along the lines of how tournaments could train soldiers to fight the infidel.  This naturally only added to their list of failures to influence athletic culture, reminding me of Homer Simpson’s comment to his daughter, “But Lisa, if I become part of the mob I can steer it in new and helpful directions.”

So yes, we have problems delineating the relationships between sports and faith, but these problems have always existed.  However, Hoffman rightly points out that today we have a much worse problem, because a) Sport dominates our culture  much more profoundly now than in the past, and b) The evangelical church in general has made no attempt to offer any critique, and has in some ways joined the mob.

Evidence for the idea that sports has become our de facto religion abounds.  Parents will rearrange schedules and make huge sacrifices of time and money so their kids can play sports, but will rarely make even a fraction of those sacrifices for church activities.  Weekends have now become the proprietary ground for athletics.  A veneer of, “this will build character” seeps into our justification for this, but evidence that sports builds character is exceedingly skimpy, and plenty exists that it in fact, does just the opposite.**  As Jay Leno quipped, “I see in the news that even more athletes are in trouble with the law.  Imagine the state of things if sports did not build character.”

Aside from this, no one has yet justified theologically how competition can flow from a Christian ethic that teaches to put others before oneself.  Some have tried by stating that competition must be built into the nature of creation itself, because it appears that culturally and economically we need competition to thrive.^  But this assumes that the most fundamental aspects of our life in Christ would be impossible to practice even if sin had never entered the world.

What much of the church has actually bought into, Hoffman argues, is a version of Christianity that Frank Deford called “Sportsianity.”  It emphasizes the martial virtues, where, “accomplishment and struggle are favored over mystery, joy, and spiritual insight. One member of a sports ministry organization pointed to Mike Singletary, former star for the Chicago Bears, who ‘broke 13 helmets on the football field, and he will tell you that he plays football to the best of his ability because Christ wants him to.'”

Whatever we do, we should do for the glory of God.  But this does not mean that we can do whatever we like.  Indeed, the only way to justify such thinking is to equate sports with war.  If we justify sports this way, I cannot find a  justification for dedicating childhoods and an early adulthood to pretending that these games have significance.   At least the knights who fought in tournaments would actually later fight in wars.  Indeed, the Church has experienced a similar tension with war and sport in its history.  The general testimony of the Church has been that Christians may fight in just wars to defend the weak or prevent the aggressive spread of evil.  As we have seen with tournaments, at times Christians justified sports for just this reason — recall the Duke of Wellington’s comment that the Battle of Waterloo was won on school athletic fields.  But this assumes, however, that we impute all kinds of horrible things to the team with the different color jersey.

Anyone who has watched their child play competitively knows how easily such insane and bizarre thoughts creep into our heads.  The other coach/player becomes “evil.”  Observe most any athletic competition for children 10 and over and see pagan tribalism reborn.  We can argue that this is merely a dress-rehearsal for real life, war, or what have you, but the feelings become quite real, the impact on the soul quite damaging.

Hoffman points out that when Christians today borrow sports rhetoric they do so as followers, not leaders.  They remain consistently co-opted by the sports culture.  And this should make us question what exactly happens to us when we play and watch sports.  Why is it that certain impulses seem to take over, and why should we put ourselves in this position?  Are we co-opted because of the weakness of our witness, or, is the power of sport simply too great a temptation for even strong Christians?

Hoffman’s book leaves many questions unanswered, but he raises important questions, and one can see many possible connections to other areas of life.  Just recently Donald Trump won the South Carolina primary, aided in no small measure by evangelicals.  “Trump is a fighter,” Mark Burns, pastor of the Greenville, S.C.-based Christian Television Network, told Fox News. “He is the one to fight for Christianity and for our conservative values we hold dear.”

What values is the man talking about?  I have no idea.  How can it be that we should “fight for Christianity?”  I have no idea.  But I suspect that one link has to do with the fact that parts of the American church have been co-opted entirely by “Sportsianity.”

Dave

 

*I realize though that I may have been a bit odd growing up.  As a white suburban kid I looked for heroes in the NBA and instead of Michael Jordan or local great Jeff Malone, for some reason I latched onto Detlef Schrempf.  A friend of mine from high school recently sent me a basketball card of Schrempf as a gift, where he is being guarded by, quite appropriately it seems,  Brad Lohaus.  Two white titans in action!

**Hoffman cites the testimony of athletes in different sports who describe the trance-like state they enter into to compete.  In this state, they reduce their opponents to something sub-human in order to “destroy” them.  Running-back Freeman McNeil was criticized by his coach when he broke down crying on the sidelines as a result of a block he made that injured an opposing player.  His coach said, “I understand his feeling, but that’s the way the game goes.  Obviously what happened [McNeil allowing his grief to impact his play] wasn’t good, and he realizes that.  Ultimately McNeil apologized to the team for not “staying focused” and not “being a leader.”

Perhaps no one minded when Lawrence Taylor broke Joe Theismann’s leg and got upset because no one doubted his ferocity.

^In Vol 2 of his A Study of History, Toynbee points out that for civilization to thrive, geography must present a challenge to its inhabitants.  In other words, if the geography is too good, the soil too rich, etc. there is no call for a response from the inhabitants, who then stagnate at a low level of development.

12th Grade: Making it up as You Go

Greetings,

This week we wrapped up our look at Madison’s notes on the Constitutional Convention.  We touched on many subjects, but centered on one particular issue that illumines both the glory and the problems of the heritage of that august assembly.

As the constitution neared completion, the delegates debated how the document would be received by the public.  What would make the Constitution the law of the land?  Should the states ratify it through their state legislatures, or should a general, national plebisite of the “people” make the decision?

The issue seems mundane, but at its root lay certain key ideas and problems.

If the states ratified the Constitution, it might seem that the states had superiority over the federal government the document created.  Charlemagne, for example objected to being crowned “Holy Roman Emperor” by Pope Leo III (he would crown his son and successor before the Church had a chance), much in the same way that Napoleon refused to allow Pope Pius VII to lay the imperial crown on his head.  He who crowns the king has authority over the king.  If the states gave the Constitution authority, they implicitly would hold supreme power.

The problem with this approach was that the delegates wanted to create a document that significantly increased the power of the federal government relative to the states.  A handful of delegates at the convention wanted to get rid of states altogether.

Another option involved a national ballot referendum and a direct appeal to the people. Bypassing the state legislatures would help emphasize the new power base of the national government.  It would exist not on the foundation of the states, but on the people/”nation” at large.*  So far, so good.  But most of the delegates gravely distrusted the wisdom of “the people,” and feared putting so much power in the hands of those they felt could be easily manipulated.^  So they had to flip a coin, basically, between Scylla and Charybdis.

As the delegates debated an even deeper issue arose.  Why were they in Philadelphia in the first place?  On whose authority?  “If we exist under the authority of the Articles of Confederation,” they might have thought, “then we must give ratifying authority to the states.  But if we exist under the Articles, then we must abide by the key principle of the Articles and not make any new changes without the unanimous consent of all the states.”  But with the decisions they already had made unanimous consent had been rare.  Besides, some states did not have any delegates at the Convention at all. Clearly then, they could not be proceeding under the Articles of Confederation or they would have to rework almost everything.

“But if we are not here under the authority of the Articles,” then who or what gives us the authority to make any decisions?  Will the new government get formed under our own assumed authority, or the authority of ‘the people?’ Are we just making this up as we go?”  I do wonder if the delegates felt themselves at the edge of a great precipice, or on the threshold of a dark and mysterious house, with little idea of what might come next.

One debate surrounding the American Revolution is the question as to whether or not the founders were “radicals” or “conservatives.”  Some scholars (like Edmund Burke) see the Americans as conservatives trying to preserve traditional ideas of government.  In this view it was the English, not the Americans, who were the real “radicals.”  As much as I hate to disagree with Burke, I think the vast bulk of the evidence suggests that the founders were the radicals (historians like Bernard Bailyn and Christopher Ferrara agree) and changed the very basis of modern governance.

Back in ancient times kings derived their authority from the gods.  Though the Greeks may have departed from this briefly in the golden age of their democracy, their philosophers rooted all legitimate authority in notions of Truth/God (Plato), or the Natural Law (Aristotle).  The Romans had a republic, yes, but their political offices often had religious overtones and the early Romans at least did everything with reference to the gods.  In Christendom, kings clearly believed they derived their authority ultimately from God, and that the state should reflect in some ways God’s kingdom and His governance on Earth.

The founders made no such assertions.  They formed a government rooted in Locke’s theory of the “consent of the governed” forming the basis of all legitimate power.  This gave the founders a great deal of freedom to improvise, but also created difficult dilemmas.  How should the “consent of the governed” be measured?  What if what the governed consent to changes over time? Without a clear and fixed point of reference, notions of authority, legitimacy, and morality inevitably would shift over time.

The founders should receive praise, I think, for creating a thoughtful system of government that did well in preventing abuses of power (relatively speaking) and allowed for a healthy tension of unity and diversity within the country. But even some of those present in Philadelphia in 1787 had a premonition that had little claim to authority beyond their own ideas.  Some made reference to history with their political ideas, others to experience.  But very few sought to root their thoughts in any authority beyond that.  The ripples effects of this certainly linger with us today.  What gives the Constitution authority is that we agree it has authority — we consent to its authority.  But as that authority has its roots in day-to-day consent, so too the meaning of our consent will change over time.  Hence, we decide Constitutional question by majority vote.  We may lament this, but the Constitution itself has little more to offer us.

Blessings,

Dave

*Patrick Henry objected to the Constitution because he recognized this shift of power in the first three words, “We the people . . . ”  He recognized the diminished role states would play in the new government.

^Reading Madison’s notes, students were routinely surprised to see the attitude of most delegates towards “the people.”  A great question to ask might be, “How democratic is the Constitution really?”