Why Karl Marx is the most relevant philosopher in the modern world

“The philosophers have only interpreted the world. The point, however, is to change it.” ~ Karl Marx, Eleven Theses on Feuerbach.

Many people, if they have the misfortune to read my black and pixellated thoughts, may groan when they see the above title. After all, many philosophy students conform to a rather stagnant stereotype by utilising a Marxist dialectic. Whilst this isn’t a negative thing in itself, I would rather be a contrarian, than to be a man whom conforms to bland consensus. However, I would plead that any reader does not presume that I am a Marxist, or that I am not Marxist; all I am offering is an analysis of Marxism with regard to its focus on the material, rather than a sense of idealism.

Having been a passionate man, I have spoken to many people about my love of philosophy (I can be regarded as a philo-philosopher in that respect), and as a consequence, I have been told in a most robust manner by many people that philosophy is pointless. “What will philosophy get you?” I have been asked. The question was implied towards my material needs: how could studying philosophy lead to gained employment, and how would I be paid through gaining philosophical skills?

I already had an immediate answer to the question, but I must confess that it did not satisfy me. I told the questioner that, “Life is too broad to be narrowly confined to the pursuit of value tokens (money).” The reason my answer didn’t satisfy me was due to the fact that although the veracity of my answer held true for me, it didn’t hold true to most of society.

Society is focused on the average, the mundane, and the post-modern, hyper reality TV culture which dominates the current British media zeitgeist. Joey Essex, uneducated and fake tanned as he is, represents something which more people in post-modern society British society buy into when compared to philosophy. Nietzsche, Hume, and Wittgenstein do not. One could argue from a Nietzschean perspective that this proves only a philosophical superman is worthy of thinking about such high-brow topics; after all, “All rare for things are for the rare,” as Nietzsche would say.

All of this panem et circenses (bread and circuses - Ed) is a distraction from what is most relevant to society: the fact that with regard to material possessions, an incredible amount is owned by an elite. If the average working man – be he middle or working class – realised he could, in fact, have much, much more, then he would almost certainly demand it.

Marxism is very broad, as well as complex. Das Kapital is a well renowned, in philosophical circles at least, to be a behemoth of a work to read. Nevertheless, one of the major successes of Marxism is the fact that it can be simplified so that the average man on the street can understand it. Religion’s greatest boon is that anyone of sound mind – however average – can understand its message.

Where religion and Marxism differ, however, is around the issue of the very now. Christianity is, by its very nature, conservative. Marxism, however, overtly determines that revolution – one, I must confess, should be televised – is of the essence.

The fact that Marxism is concerned with humanity’s everyday existence is exactly why it appeals to such a wide demographic. Whether the mind works through the senses or through ideals actually doesn’t matter if you don’t know where your next meal is coming from.

Whilst liar paradoxes test the very limits of logic, how important are they when you are forced to work for thirty pence a day whilst making clothes for Primark, so that the British underclass can mimic the whimsical fashions of the rich and famous? I love the aphoristic nuances of Nietzsche, but how salient is his wit when your house has been repossessed by an insidious bank?

I could continue with many more examples, ad nauseum, but I think my point has been well and truly made.

Philosophy is a subject which only wealthy people can study. Wealth can be analysed in many different ways, and money isn’t a sole indicator of wealth; time, for me, is a very important factor. Very often, the bondage of work is the very barrier to the study of philosophy. I must concede, after a day of work, I feel very tired – using my intellectual energy to write this article is almost a Herculean effort. Thus, those in the rat race – whether well remunerated or not – are actually quite poor, if they are commuting into the heart of London every day, their noses in their neighbour’s armpits, packed in like sardines to maximise profitability of the privatised rail cartels.

We are often iterated the narrow maxim: time is money. The sad truth is that a lot of people live their lives by this maxim. It is these people who lack the passion and inclination to philosophise: for, if they did, they would realise how hollow a life of chasing value tokens is. If they had read Marx’s philosophy, they would surely realise they are being exploited (again, I am no Marxist, but I do believe that companies exploit their work force).

To conclude, if we do wish to engage the time poor, money rich, or the time poor money poor, then we, as philosophers, require to show them how relevant philosophy can be.  Furthermore, we must be honest with ourselves, not all philosophy is particularly relevant. I know I made that point earlier, but the whole point of a conclusion is to say what you’ve already said, isn’t it?

Samuel Mack-Poole

Escaping the Dance of the End of History

The political scientist Francis Fukuyama famously claimed after the fall of the Communist governments in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe that human history had, in essence, come to an end. He did not mean, of course, that time had, in fact, frozen solid and that historians would not be able to write about anything after 1991. Rather, his argument was based on Hegel's idea that the history of humanity is a progressive movement with a beginning, a middle and an end. The end of history, Hegel said, is the point at which humanity reaches its apex of consciousness and hence has in it's grasp the ideal form of organising society.

For Fukuyama, the defeat of Soviet-style socialism and the triumph of Western liberal democracy inaugurated, essentially, a New Earth where freedom would reign for eternity through representative democracy and free-market capitalism. The flip-side of this assertion was, of course, that Karl Marx was wrong: the stateless society of communism where class conflict would be no more was a pipe dream, and we had no option but to embrace this joyous new world of liberty – a world of marking an 'X' on a piece of paper every four or five years and endless shopping at Wal-Mart.

Many have criticised Fukuyama's arguments, and this is not the place to attempt a point-by-point rebuttal. But I think it is clear that we haven't been living in a state of paradise since the end of the Cold War more than two decades ago. People are still going hungry, and in some cases die of starvation, even as others wine and dine at the Ritz. People are still paid poorly and housed precariously, and in some cases reduced to poverty and homelessness, even as others throw cash around and sleep soundly in mansions. People are still unhappy with their lives, and in some cases become depressed and despondent, even as others seem to be living it up and partying like its 1999.

For some, this sorry state of affairs is proof that liberal democracy is a sham, and that free-market capitalism is a scam. Yet one immediately hears shrill voices which say, “But what are we to do? Haven't we tried doing things differently, through the state, and failed?” “No,” others cry in response, “We're not talking about Soviet 'communism', but the welfare state and the 'public good'. Privatisation has led to inequality by allowing untrammeled greed to flourish! Yes, state-centric solutions can be bureaucratic and impersonal, but we don't have any other options.”

Most debates today about how society should be structured revolve around these two viewpoints. In one corner, wearing a pin-stripe suit, is liberal capitalism. In the other corner, wearing a duffel coat, is social democracy. Cheering and jeering from the crowd are more extreme versions of these two fighters, including neo-conservatives and fascists, as well as state socialists and communists. Should anything drastic happen, these observers are ready (and waiting) to join in the fray.

 

As a result, a large majority of people today feel they have to choose a side. It's either greater freedom or greater equality, either a larger role for private initiatives or a larger role for the state, either a system built on self-interest or a system built on solidarity.

What if this were a false choice? What if I told you that picking either side would not change the underlying structure of our present-day society?

Before you start thinking that I'm about to go off on some sort of conspiracy theory, let us slow things down a little. I'm not about to say these two sides are like the Galactic Republic and the Separatists in the Star Wars prequel trilogy – that is, appearing to be diametrically opposed to each other but in reality both being pawns in a game controlled by Darth Sidious. I don't believe that there's some secretive cabal running the world and playing us off each other like puppets on strings.

What I would like to suggest, however, is the different political systems that we see today in the world – together with many of those that some would like to see realised today in the world – are not as radically different as they seem. To help us dig into this proposition, the political thought of the contemporary theorist Kojin Karatani is quite instructive.

According to Karatani, the society we live in today is made up primarily of three types of human interactions. Firstly, we engage in acts of reciprocity with those whom we feel we have something in common. This could be because we have the same parents or because we have a shared interest in real ale. The essence of reciprocity is that we are willing to help each other because we consider ourselves part of a particular 'group'. Conversely, we're far less willing to help another who is not part of this group. This dynamic is the basis of the nation, which is an imagined community of people who identify with each other because they have a similar culture, history and so on.

Secondly, one segment of our society is engaged in acts of plunder and redistribution. On behalf of 'wider society', this segment collects resources – especially from those who have most – and redistributes them to those who have less. This is, of course, embodied in the state, which is an institution that claims to uphold the interests of the public in its operations.

Thirdly, almost all of us take part on a daily basis in forms of commodity exchange. This includes obvious things like shopping for groceries, but also things such as paid work, because what is being exchanged is the labour of one party for the money of the other. Such is the lifeblood of capital, which is the form of commodity exchange that, although based on the exploitation of most ordinary folk by those who own and run the businesses, claims to be founded on free exchange between equal actors.

When we take all these three forms of human interaction together, we get what Karatani calls the unholy trinity of Capital-Nation-State. All three are mutually supportive, and so when one of them is called into question – for example, by a social movement – the other two can move in to re-balance the system. Although there are moments where the respective forces of capital, nation and state clearly clash, at the end of the day the continued existence of each one is bound up with the others.

Hence, returning to the scene of the prize-fight between the Right and Left of mainstream politics, we can see how the triumph of either one only reconfigures the interconnected relationships between capital, nation and state, but does not actually challenge the basic structure of the trinity. Under the welfare state, the influence of capital is diminished, yet it continues to play an important role in the functioning of the system even as the power of the state increases. A turn towards a liberal free-market has exactly the opposite effect in that it weakens the state but strengthens capital. And when resources are scarce and the economy looks grim, the inward-looking and often violent rhetoric of the nation comes to the forefront of politics (think of Golden Dawn in Greece).

Faced with this vertigo of the three elements of the trinity dancing around us, it can seem difficult to imagine what can be done to bring about a different world. Karatani, drawing loosely from the 19th century anarchist Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, suggests that the way out is indeed to exit and transcend this system by means of a fourth type of human interaction, which he calls association.

Association involves elements of the other three forms, but goes beyond them. It incorporates the mutual aid of reciprocity, but without demanding conformity. It aims for egalitarianism, but does not coerce like the state. And it sees some good in the idea of freedom of exchange under capital, but it refuses exploitation through wage labour and usury.

What is it, then? Well, it is not a blueprint meticulously designed, nor an utopia erected in the mind, but rather the labourious and non-violent task of building alternatives to Capital-Nation-State through anti-capitalist, anti-nationalist and anti-statist forms of exchange, living together and co-operation. It is not found in sexy, youthful politics that builds barricades nor in idealistic reformers who run for public office. Rather, it takes shape in projects such as worker-owned co-operatives, Local Exchange Trading Systems, time banks, local demurrage currencies, social centres and free universities. In other words, it is – to steal some words from Marx – “the real movement which abolishes the present state of things.”

If the ongoing climate and economic crises continue to worsen, we may find the need for alternatives to Capital-Nation-State more urgent and crucial than ever. Nevertheless, regardless of what exactly comes to be, it will certainly not herald the end of history, at least not in the Hegelian sense.

Soo Tian Lee