The Origins of Autocracy

Their gross miscalculation probably lay in the fact that they mod­elled their political behavior on the absolutist Muscovy of Ivan III, where it was possible to contradict the tsar, to be in opposition to him (as they themselves had been for decades), and in general to be mis­taken without risking one's head. It apparently seemed to them that, having achieved the predominant influence on the sovereign, and having even declared him autocrator, they would be able to hold him in their hands.

But there was another possibility, not foreseen either by them or by Ivan III: given a choice between West and East, Russia might reject both orientations, and respond to the historical challenge facing it with an isolationist tyranny—autocracy. Given a choice between the reformist, secularizing ("Protestant") tendencies of the liberal intel­ligentsia and the conservative, theocratic ambitions of the church hi­erarchy, the autocrator might respond with the creation of a "new class" capable of ruining both.

How could this happen—unexpected and undesired, as it seems, by any significant force in the Russian establishment? One segment of the establishment, let me anachronistically call it the "Russian right," appeared powerful enough not only to end the debate about the fu­ture of the country and silence its opponents, but also to exterminate them. Faced with this challenge, the moderate "centrist" segment of the establishment, instead of joining forces with the "left" spokesmen of the reforms, chose to sacrifice them. At this price the moderates apparently hoped to save what it was still possible to save. They were mistaken. With the extermination of the "left," the entire reformist process came to a halt. This resulted in political stagnation, which in turn led to a "revolution from above."

Thus, this chain of events turned out to be a chain of fateful mis­takes, in which every segment of the then Russian establishment was destined to lose, and eventually to perish. The moderates succeeded the "left-wingers" as victims of the Oprichnina, and the "right-wing­ers" succeeded the moderates. Civil society was conquered by the state and virtually destroyed.

What is even more mysterious about this chain of mistakes is that it has—in different ways and in different circumstances—been re­peated in all of Russia's major crises: in the 1680s, before Peter I; in the 1780s, before Paul; in the 1820s, before Nicholas I; and so on, to this very day, when it is repeating itself before our eyes. Once again, the powerful "right-wingers" have broken the rules of the game and stopped the process of reform. Once again, the "centrists" have be­trayed the spokesmen of this reform. Once again, the nation has en­tered the zone of political stagnation, setting the stage for a restora­tion of the ancien regime.

What is the reason for these fatal repetitions? Is the Russian estab­lishment uniquely incapable of learning from history? Or have the historians of Russia, perhaps, failed to educate this establishment in the mistakes of the past? Have they, instead of using history to shape the future, merely justified the past, putting all the blame for Russia's misfortunes on obsolete stereotypes? "One cannot accuse Russian his­toriography of lack of hard work; it labored much, but I would not be sinning against the truth in saying that it does not know itself what to do with its subject matter," V. O. Kliuchevskii wrote bitterly, and I am afraid that this seems all too true. It is thus that, even in our own day, a modern American expert once again repeats the stereotype of the "state school":

Unquestionably, the civil society in Russia (that is, social groups and in­stitutions with their own structure and autonomous functions) ap­peared comparatively late and was quite weak at the beginning of our century. It is important to note the paradox of Russian history: the civil society was in part a creation of the state (the reforms of Peter I and Alexander II) and therefore its development was partly artificial and slow.¹³