From Nature, Society and Thought 18(4) 2005
Marxist Ethics: A Short Exposition. By Willis H. Truitt. New York: International Publishers, 2005. 119 pages, paper $7.50.
Notwithstanding the subtitle, “a short exposition,” Willis Truitt’s book provides more than the basics, addressing a considerable range of issues around a topic that has dogged Marxists since Marx. As he shows, the responses to the proposition that there is a Marxist ethic have been varied, and it is to the credit of Truitt and those who share his perspective that the case is repeatedly made that such an ethic can be discovered and can be useful in understanding the necessity for social change. Besides being of interest to Marxists, this book will be helpful to those looking for a critical perspective on the profound social problems in the experience of capitalism. Truitt provides a sufficiently detailed discussion of Marx’s moral perspective, some of the essential debates, connections to the arts, and a brief discussion of ethics in the post-Soviet period.
Truitt begins with a discussion of Marx’s “early moralism,” born of outrage at the conditions produced by capitalism and earlier social systems (chapter 1). Although this did not represent a clear ethical theory, a purposeful, partisan moral perspective was evident. In this context Truitt addresses debates in Anglo-American philosophy about whether Marx had a systematic moral or ethical perspective, or whether one could be developed and sustained from his work (chapters 2 and 6). The views of Richard Miller and Allan Wood, for example, who consider Marx a nonmoralist, are contrasted with those of George Brenkert and Kai Nielsen.
Truitt demonstrates sufficient connections between Marx’s orientation and that of bourgeois ethics found in utilitarianism and pragmatism. He clarifies this relation later in the book: a Marxist ethic “adjusts or coordinates each [traditional] ethical perspective it appropriates with concrete social conditions and specific historical tasks, thus at once uniting theory and practice and avoiding the empty formality of Kantianism and the apparent moral neutrality of the principle of utility” (51).
Acknowledging that Marx’s political and philosophical arguments were often written as “descriptive, historical sociology” (20, 50), Truitt emphasizes the dynamic character of historical materialism. The historical-materialist method established a dialectical relation between the descriptive and the prescriptive. This relationship is central to his exposition. Marx, he suggests, cannot be said to be simply descriptive or prescriptive; Marxism abolished the dichotomizing of these positions just as it has overcome the separation of fact and value (67–68). Truitt grounds his argument in the compatibility of two passages from Marx’s work, a descriptive passage from the Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy describing the “formative influence” of the capitalist mode of production, and a passage from the Communist Manifesto. The latter is also a descriptive passage but one that contains an “ethically prescriptive dimension” (48). This dimension is effectively a call to action (50) that sets Marx’s perspective apart from the passive internalization of much of bourgeois ethics. Discussing relations of production, labor, use value, and exchange value, Truitt ably demonstrates how Marx developed the substance of his ethical framework from an analysis of the basis of capitalist economic structure.
This argument, beyond its theoretical import, has practical significance for working people’s systematic understanding of the value-substance of production and exchange, the relationship between economic value and social values. I would suggest that in this “prescriptive dimension” of Marx’s empirical discussions we see what he meant by “being determines consciousness”—the development of possible futures through knowledge and consciousness of the empirical present, but with the proviso that one must have some idea of what to look for.
Truitt’s discussion of determinism in the second and longest chapter in the book is important in this regard. The debates he selects for analysis are important ones. Some of these have focused on passages in Marx’s work that, Truitt argues, have been the source of the problem because of incomplete readings. William H. Shaw and G. A. Cohen are two proponents of Marx as a determinist. Truitt’s counterargument is soundly based on an understanding of the influence of productive forces (“causal priority”) on human development and society. These forces are properly understood alongside Marx’s conception of labor as an expression of purposeful creativity, the human capacity to intervene in order to shape or redirect these forces (22, 35).
The issues of determinism, value and values, and the descriptive-prescriptive relation emerge in the next chapters. Chapter three takes up value, interest, and ideology; chapter four addresses needs, rights, and the individual. These discussions are framed by a historical-materialist demonstration that ethics and morality in different historical periods develop on different economic bases but are legitimized through dominant ideologies. Truitt points out the difference between a rights-based morality and one based on human needs, developing his argument around different conceptions of the individual. This examination is much needed at the present historical juncture, in which rights-based systems of law and morality have become entrenched in much of the industrialized world and the rhetoric of rights is an agenda item in the global trading of commodities. There can be no doubt about the importance of human rights, but in many respects the vacuity of their extension has become quite clear to those for whom the satisfaction of basic needs—for food, disease control, health care, and education, among other things—is either nonexistent or subject to corporate profitability or the opportunist political interests of the state. While Truitt addresses some aspects of the individual, the development of ethics within the individual is an area in need of more intense focus, as much for its organizational value as for its significance to human society. This is evident in three related discussions in the book: the priority of tactics over ethics, the concept of the dictatorship of the proletariat, and the immanence of the working class as the agent of revolution.
Because Marxism realizes its own validity and its potential in action for concrete social change, an essential aspect of Marxist ethics is to know what measures can be taken to encourage individuals to participate in bringing about that change. Truitt briefly notes the difference between Kant’s ethics (54–56) and Marx’s position, and rightly argues (developing a point made by Lucien Goldmann) that “Kant’s deep rooted pessimism about harmonizing the contrary values of virtues and happiness here on earth is a result of his asking ‘What ought I to do?’ rather than ‘What ought we do?’” (55). When regarded as an organizational matter, the former question must be integral with the latter while retaining the ideological distinction between individualist and collectivist perspectives. Meaningful social change can only come about through “we” and not “I”; nevertheless, without the individual component, a movement can neither develop effectively nor move forward. The dialectical relation between the two is an important strategic point.
Specifically with regard to the development of a movement, I think it is problematic at this historical juncture to view the working class as not simply the prime mover and major beneficiary of social change, but the only one: “Only the proletariat, as a class, can comprehend the material and therefore moral imperative to replace a system of social reproduction and private appropriation with one of social production and social or public appropriation, i.e., socialism” (70–71). This statement contradicts, to some degree, the history of working-class struggles; the United Front in the 1930s and the civil rights movement of the 1960s are two examples of struggles developed with progressive fractions of other classes. It is only possible to speak of the working class as a whole theoretically because of the concrete problems of different levels of consciousness and commitment within the class. Truitt’s statement assumes that, given certain objective conditions, the working class is not only able, but willing, to engage in struggles against capitalism and for socialism. Although nothing precludes the development of an adequate level of knowledge and consciousness of the problems posed by capital and possible solutions, it is necessary to avoid the assumption that the “historic role” of the proletariat is immanent in the class itself. The working class as a whole has not always pursued its best collective interests; interests of benefit to the entire class have historically been pursued by fractions (sometimes large, sometimes small) of the working class.
Truitt is correct to suggest that “in considering certain shortterm advantages, it, as a class, must look upon every kind of compromise as a possible future obstacle to its revolutionary objective” (71; my emphases), but this should not rule out the inclusion (even, theoretically, in leadership positions) of those from other classes whose interests and contributions would assist the development of consciousness and the strategic interests of the majority class. This is a period of time in which access to education and training (increasingly constrained though they are) facilitates the movement of people out of the working class; it also exposes individuals of middle- or upper-class backgrounds to the realities of capitalist relations and the possibilities of more equitable and humane conditions. It may thus be potentially counterproductive to argue that “only the proletariat” can understand the imperative for social change. To do so risks reducing theoretical statements to rhetorical ones.
Near the beginning of the book, in distinguishing Marx’s early moralism, Truitt cites a passage in an 1847 article in which Marx opens at least four sentences in a short paragraph with the phrase, “The workers know,” or similar terms (12–13). The context is Marx’s argument that workers know the historical trajectory of their conditions and the possibility of realizing their demands. Truitt regards this as an early “framework” for an ethics because it stresses that ethics is based on action informed by a partisan perspective. Consistent with his overall argument, this passage exhibits that crucial “prescriptive dimension” that denotes the empirical problem but also signals a way out. Brought forward in time, “the workers know” may appear as an empty slogan without the ethical meaning Truitt applies to it. At the same time, however, the meaning Truitt gives to Marx’s passage may itself stand on insecure ground without an organized means of facilitating the appropriation of the ethical standpoint he advocates among people who may not yet be clear about what they can or ought to know. Gramsci provides an example of the problem: That the objective conditions exist for people not to die of hunger and that people do die of hunger, has its importance. . . . But the existence of objective conditions, of possibilities or of freedom is not yet enough: it is necessary to “know” them, and know how to use them. And to want to use them. (1971, 360)
This goes to the heart of the value of ethics for revolutionary activity: the necessity of developing consciousness and ethical conduct along the way. Marxist ethics offers a way of thinking and analyzing morally the existing conditions and future possibilities—and this is precisely the point, that in the most meaningful sense the working class realizes a historical role for itself and the rest of humanity only when members of the class become conscious of it and accept it as an imperative. It is too easy, and ultimately insufficient, to rely on the “historical role” of the proletariat as it was presented theoretically by Marx, without developing it in relation to historical experience since Marx. I have tried to show necessary qualifications of a similar statement of Marx’s in an earlier article in this journal (Lanning 2002, 146). What makes the working class revolutionary is the development of the potential that lies within its understanding of common conditions experienced by all in the class; what solidifies this group as a class is its historical-materialist analysis of conditions and of consciousness itself. John Somerville has argued that Marx’s meaning of inevitability is valid only if a specified program of preparation and action is followed. This applies to the proletariat’s historical role as well (1974, 277–78).
The problem is evident in the prioritizing of tactics over ethics, in which the former is given priority in the period of revolutionary struggle while ethics acquires its historical significance as an “ethics of duty” (84–85) in the period of building socialism (Truitt returns to this in the final chapter as well). This is somewhat related to Ernst Bloch’s argument of a progression from “freedom of action” to “ethical freedom” (1986, 156–57). But does the “jump out of necessity to freedom” (Bloch’s phrase) constitute the beginning of ethical development? Surely there is an “ethics of duty” relevant to the period of struggle that can be distinguished for analytical and organizational purposes from tactics for organizing trade unions, on-the-job safety, or struggles against racism. Such ethics may be distinguishable, but cannot be fundamentally different, from those that motivate people to build socialism in a postrevolutionary period.
For Truitt, tactics in the period of revolutionary struggle may “determine the continuing conditions of life, and in many instances, the very survival of humanity” (71). He cites a passage from a version of Lukács’s Tactics and Ethics in which “correct tactics” are, categorically, ethical; that is, revolutionary tactics and ethics are identical. Truitt also notes such an identity in one of Brecht’s works (85). The use of Lukács’s statement misses something in his argument, the context of which was the preparation of revolutionary cadre (Lukács 1975, 8–10). Lukács’s emphasis on knowledge and conduct as the core of a revolutionary ethics is important in establishing a process obscured by his own problematic assumption of the identity of tactics and ethics in the statement quoted. Lukács’s definition of ethics is more clearly represented in the relation of conscience and responsibility in actions directed toward radical social change. But he notes that this is a “purely formal and ethical definition of individual action,” which moves forward into “a special level of action, that of politics,” when the individual “makes an ethical decision within himself,” a decision derived from the consciousness of common interests and goals. The relation between tactics and ethics is clarified by the requirements of action at this “special level”: knowledge of one’s position within existing historical conditions, the consciousness of the necessity to challenge the power of capital and of a means to achieve it, the necessity of commitment (non-neutrality), and the belief that one’s individual actions can make a meaningful difference in the struggle for socialism. The point here is that the ethical decision of the individual may occur with or without the influence of the movement—the Communist Party in Lukács’s case and perhaps our own—but the movement must present a clear ethical standpoint as a stimulus and a meeting ground for the newly committed individual. The identification of ethics with tactics in a period in which tactics is said to have a priority has certain organizational risks such as previously experienced in the history of the communist movement where the necessity of the struggle sometimes was, or appeared to be, exempt from ethical considerations. With Lukács’s intervention we arrive at the same place Truitt wants to take us—the period of building socialism—but through a process mediated by the development of consciousness in the education and training of people active in the struggle. Bloch’s note on the formation of ethics as character (1986, 157), Parsons’s argument that the “key ethical concept in Marx is ‘development’” (1974, 262), Markovic’s statement that the “concept of value implies a subject who evaluates” (1974, 223), and the insistence that the point of departure for ethical action is in the decision to become self-conscious and self-active (Lanning 2001, 330)—all speak to the same processes that form the base of knowledge and the sense of responsibility within the period of struggle and that, in turn, inform an ethics of duty in the period of building socialism.
Giving tactics a priority is particularly problematic if we agree with Truitt that the solution to the problem is the dictatorship of the proletariat (71), although he rightly emphasizes the compatibility of the concept with democracy. Truitt writes that “dictatorship of the proletariat is no more than working class control of the state” (72). The period of the dictatorship of the proletariat presumably would be that period of building socialism in which the “ethics of duty” would be possible and necessary. Does this imply an identity of ethics and the dictatorship of the proletariat? Without negating the theoretical significance of the dictatorship of the proletariat (cf. Marquit 2005, 9–10), it seems reductionist to offer it as a solution without a greater emphasis on the process of developing consciousness in the struggle for power. Historically, the Communist Party has rarely been without some programmatic means of developing class consciousness and, therefore, its advocacy of achieving state control has been to some degree shaped by necessary and comprehensive knowledge for the task that is attainable by working people. If a Marxist ethics is to have meaning for both periods, Marxists must pay greater attention to the conduct of the individuals and collectivities throughout the development and progress of the movement. The utopian imagination of Bloch and Benjamin in art and literature that Truitt discusses in his chapter “The Intersection of Morality, Politics and the Arts” is one means of achieving this.
These criticisms are not intended to detract from the quality and importance of Truitt’s work, but rather to suggest further development of aspects of the issue, especially as these relate to “what is to be done?” His analysis of debates, his critique of the relation between Marx and bourgeois philosophy, and the discussion of the problem of determinism should establish convincingly that there actually is a Marxist ethics. This “short exposition” is a well-written introduction to the topic; it is a book of philosophy unburdened with technical jargon. It is, therefore, an excellent choice for good, old-fashioned study circles.
Robert Lanning
Deptartment of Sociology and Anthropology
Mount Saint Vincent University
Halifax, Nova Scotia
REFERENCE LIST
Bloch, Ernst. 1986. Natural Law and Human Dignity. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Gramsci, Antonio. 1971. Prison Notebooks. New York: International Publishers.
Lanning, Robert. 2001. Ethics and Self-Mastery: Revolution and the Fully Developed Person in the Work of Georg Lukács. Science and Society 65(3): 327–49.
———. 2002. Lukács’s Concept of Imputed Consciousness in Realist Literature. Nature, Society, and Thought 15(2): 133–56.
Lukács, Georg. 1975. Tactics and Ethics. New York: Harper and Row.
Markovic, Mihailo. 1974. Marxist Humanism and Ethics. In Dialogues on the Philosophy of Marxism, edited by John Somerville and Howard L. Parsons, 212–29. Westport, CT.: Greenwood Press.
Marquit, Erwin. 2005. Response to Joe Sims. Political Affairs, January, 9–10.
Parsons, Howard L. 1974. Value and Mental Health in the Thought of Marx. In Dialogues on the Philosophy of Marxism, edited by John Somerville and Howard L. Parsons, 257–69. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press.
Somerville, John. 1974. Marxist Ethics, Determinism and Freedom. In Dialogues on the Philosophy of Marxism, edited by John Somerville and Howard L. Parsons, 270–78. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press.