Ernest Mandel Anticipation and Hope as Categories of Historical Materialism

From a Marxist point of view, labour and the ability for advanced communication are the two most important features of humans as social beings. Social labour is impossible without advanced, mutual communication between people. This presupposes the ability to use structured linguistic tools, to conceptualise and develop consciousness. As materialists, we know that the ability for more than rudimentary communication also found among animals is rooted in the compulsion to participate in collective production for a living. The indissoluble nexus between labour and communication means among other things that
. . . we simply cannot get away from the fact that everything that sets man acting must nd its way through their brains even eating and drinking, which begins as a consequence of the sensation of hunger or thirst transmitted through the brain, and ends as a result of the sensation of satisfaction likewise transmitted through the brain.1
1

Engels 1968, p. 600.

Historical Materialism, volume 10:4 (245259) Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2002 Also available online www.brill.nl

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Labour itself, as Marx states clearly in Chapter 7 of the rst volume of Das Kapital, is however an intrinsically human, conscious activity in a dual sense. Not only do consciously expressed relationships between people in the production and exchange of use-values, of material goods for the production and reproduction of material life, develop hand-in-hand with the production and exchange of socially understood sounds, words and concepts. Human labour also has the additional, special characteristic of requiring anticipatory mental projects in the consciousness of the producers:
We presuppose labour in a form in which it is an exclusively human characteristic. A spider conducts operations which resemble that of a weaver, and a bee would put many a human architect to shame by the construction of its honeycomb cells. But what distinguishes the worst architect from the best of bees is that the architect builds the cell in his mind before he constructs it in wax. At the end of every labour process, a result emerges which had already been conceived by the worker in the beginning, hence already existed ideally.2

So the product of labour as a labour-project, as a not-yet-realised material reality, is a precondition for its realisation. The human ability to anticipate, picture and imagine is inextricably bound up with the ability for social labour. Homo faber can be homo faber only and exclusively because he is at the same time homo imaginosus. This ability of humans to conceptualise, to make abstractions, elaborate plans and imagine, i.e. their ability for anticipation, is in turn closely linked to their material and social conditions of life. Even the most elementary, and certainly the more complex human concepts and visions are not some pure product of the imagination and intellectual work, completely independent from and unrelated to material productive activity. In the nal analysis, they emerge through mental processing processing by the brain of material life-experiences. So they cannot be divorced from the participation of the individual in nature and society. To the metabolism between nature and society that forms its basis, to the material compulsion to produce and reproduce the conditions of life that gives

Marx 1976, p. 284.

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rise to this metabolism, corresponds a human purpose in the labour process, as Marx puts it, or in Engelss broader expression,
The in uences of the external world upon man express themselves in his brain, are re ected therein as feelings, thoughts, impulses, volitions in short as ideal tendencies, and in this form become ideal powers.3

Labour projects, which take shape in the mind before being materially realised, are therefore in turn ultimately products of material reality, even when they are not yet materially realised. So the concepts and ideal representations people have can never be completely detached from the preceding and accompanying material processes in nature and society, even if they are creatively combined by the human brain in a new way, rather than being simply mechanical mirror-images of those processes. They remain objectively determined by those processes. The material basis for the human ability for anticipation, for imaginative representation and making plans, is the survival instinct, that is, the instinctive, unconscious correlate of the compulsion to produce and reproduce material life to which humans are subjected. The most important expressions of this anticipation are fear and hope. But if fear can be purely instinctive it is not always or necessarily instinctive, but can be, and hence also ranks among the most important animal instincts a purely instinctive hope is impossible. Ernst Bloch therefore rightly emphasised that hope, even in its most elementary, instinctive expressions, is already more than purely instinctive; it already contains the ability for imagination and ideal anticipation.4 It is, therefore, the human instinct par excellence. Together with social labour and the ability to conceptualise and develop consciousness, hope belongs to the hard, unchangeable core of our anthropological speci city. Homo imaginosus is human, because he is homo sperans. The labour project, as a product of material necessity and needs, is tied to the material conditions for its realisation. But, obviously, not every ideal product of our brains leads to actual material production. Not every plan is actually achieved. Not every anticipatory hope becomes a reality. Only those labour projects can be realised which meet both the objective and subjective

3 4

Engels 1968, p. 600. Bloch 1959.

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criteria for their realisation. Not every hope is realistic either. Ernst Bloch therefore distinguishes clearly between realistic expectations and wishful thinking. It is exactly the ability of mental labour to combine concepts in the most divergent directions, which only in the nal instance re ect or spring from life-experience, and without necessarily mirroring an already existing material reality, that leads to this distinction between anticipating what is really possible, and ights of fancy. But what is actually possible is in turn only partly predetermined. After all, human beings produce their own life, in the same way as they make their own history. The active dimension of our anthropological speci city therefore creates a margin, a transitional zone, between what is materially, socially and historically possible and what is materially, socially and historically impossible. This mediation encompasses all those changes in nature and society which are already materially possible, but whose actual realisation depends on a de nite, speci c human praxis, which does not arise automatically or simultaneously out of that material possibility. On the other hand, the boundaries of what is materially possible are not sharply de ned in all directions beforehand. The overall, general framework can be taken as a given condition; but within that framework, innumerable variants and possibilities exist. For example, given the emergence of the capitalist mode of production, both the rise of proletarian class struggle and, in the long run, the development of the modern labour movement were inevitable. But the concrete, speci c way in which capitalism developed, e.g. in Britain, France, Germany and the USA, its speci c historical background the socio-political prehistory and history of each of those four countries, national peculiarities in the emergence and development of the working class in those countries, the special characteristics of the ideological and political movement preceding, accompanying and following the bourgeois conquest of state power all of these factors deeply in uenced the speci c pattern of working-class struggles and socialist movements over the next fty years. The labour movement consequently took very different forms in those four countries for a lengthy historical period even though the historical variants were contained within the overarching framework of the rise, development, heyday and decline of capitalism and the growth of its internal contradictions. So historical-material reality is always an open-ended, uncompleted totality, which contains at least some different possibilities. Out of these, some will be

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realised, and others will not be. Nothing is more foreign to Marxism than historical fatalism or mechanical-economistic determinism. In every mode of production, the class struggle can lead either to the victory of the revolutionary class or to the mutual ruin of the contending classes, as Marx and Engels put it. Capitalism does not lead to the inevitable victory of socialism, only to the dilemma of a socialist victory or a regression to barbarism. Given that matter is not frozen or motionless but continually developing, that human society in turn is constantly changing, that the object of human thought and praxis responds to continually changing natural and social processes, and that human praxis intervenes actively in these processes, we can only fully grasp the totality of things by introducing the not-yet-existing but actually possible into the picture, just as much as we look at the status quo and what is potentially disappearing from it. To recognise reality as a totality full of contradictions, as a totality which driven by the motor of all its internal contradictions is constantly developing, means to incorporate in that knowledge all of the developmental possibilities of that totality as well. Anticipation therefore is not just an anthropological, but also an epistemological and scienti c category, a category of historical materialism. As Bloch puts it,
Precisely what seemed up till now the most divergent categories future and nature, anticipation and matter merge into each other in the ultimate rigour of historical materialism. Without matter, no basis exists for (genuine) anticipation, without (genuine) anticipation no horizon of matter can be reached . . . The actually possible begins with the germ in which the future is enclosed.5

The productive function of the subjective factor, together with its instinctual driving force hope can now be more closely de ned. Marx says in Das Kapital that if I want to realise a labour project, I must subordinate my will to this goal.6 This subordination is obviously signi cantly stimulated by a

Bloch 1959, pp. 2734. [Translators note: Marx 1976, p. 284: Man not only effects a change of form in the materials of nature; he also realises his own purpose in those materials. And this is a purpose he is conscious of, it determines the mode of his activity with the rigidity of a law, and he must subordinate his will to it. This subordination is no mere momentary act. Apart from the exertion of the working organs, a purposive will is required for the entire duration of the work.]
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subjective attitude towards realising this project, which is not neutral but rather consists in the desire and hope to realise this project. The stimuli can be diverse. They can range from the fear of punishment to the desire for reward, from greed and self-grati cation to consciously felt needs and dependence on a social group consuming the labour product, or even to pure altruism. At any rate, if this desire and hope are absent, or even turn into their opposites, the realisation of the project is obstructed in important ways. That is, the producer will behave with indifference or hostility towards his work. He may even continuously sabotage it (witness the attitude of slaves or prison labour in certain circumstances). Producers devoid of any hope are bad producers, hence much less productive. The applicability of this law is consistently con rmed throughout human history. What applies to elementary human praxis, applies even more to a totalising human praxis aiming to change society. An historically transitional gure like the semi-feudal leader of the great Dutch bourgeois revolution, William the Silent, could coin a beautifully stoic slogan which is characteristic of small, consciously revolutionary minorities: Point nest besoin desprer pour entreprendre, ni de russir pour persvrer no need for hope to undertake something, nor for success in order to persevere. But great masses of people, and even more social classes in their entirety, obviously cannot be moved to action by such a motivation. Their activity is oriented much more to immediate practicalities in the present. A class praxis aiming to change society is, to be sure, always determined by class interests in the last instance. But it gains all the more scope and ef ciency to the degree that it is accompanied by desires and expectations which convey those interests in an easily understood and accessible form to the masses. The hope to abolish exploitation and oppression, inequality and unfreedom, in other words the hope for a classless society, accompanied the emancipatory struggles of the modern working class in every phase of the tumultous rise of the workers movement. It gave them a soaring ight and driving power which can never emerge simply from the defence of immediate material interests in everyday life. In all epochs and countries where the workers movement restricted itself to such a defence, that driving power was absent or very limited even although in bourgeois society this hope remains inseparable from the defence of the immediate interests of the working class, without which emancipatory struggles dissipate into wishful thinking.

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But connected to the class-speci c hope for the abolition of capitalist exploitation through the socialist emancipation of the proletariat, in its role as liberator of the whole society, is another older historical process. As collectively producing and communicating beings, people are by nature cooperative. The leap from a classless society to a society torn into antagonistic social classes, which happened around 10,000 years ago, caused a tremendous traumatic shock in human thought and feeling, precisely because it corresponded so little to our co-operative nature. That is why human history is not just a history of class struggles, but also a history of innumerable expectations, projects, anticipations, lamentations, poems, stories, philosophical treatises, political plans and struggles revolving around the theme of: how can we recover the golden age of classless society? What is the real cause of social inequality? How can we get rid of this social inequality again? Greek philosophers and Roman revolutionary politicians, leaders of slave revolts, Jewish prophets and early Christian churchfathers, the impetuous forerunners and representatives of the Reformation, the rst utopian socialists, the representatives of the most radical tendencies in the great bourgeois revolutions they all raised this issue again time after time, to be sure in a manner speci c to their epoch, their society and their own class. But the tremendous power which springs from the continuity of this controversy, and the immanent self-critical development of its solutions, can hardly be emphasised enough. The Austro-Hungarian poet Nikolaus Lenau captured this continuity in a synthetic and symbolic way in the nal stanza of his epic poem Die Albigenzer:
Die Albigensern folgen die Hussiten und zahlen blutig heim, was jene litten; nach Huss und Ziska kommen Luther, Hutten, Die Dreissig Jahre, die Cevennenstreiter. Die Sturmer der Bastille, und so weiter7

Most the proponents of an egalitarian society just referred to were, to be sure, utopians, in the sense of lacking an adequate idea of the material and social

[Translators note: The Albigensians follow the Hussites, / and paid back in blood for what they suffered; / after Huss and Ziska come Luther, Hutten / the thirty years, the ghters of Cevennes, / the stormers of the Bastille, and so on].
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preconditions for realising their hoped-for project. It is also true that all practicalpolitical attempts in the past to create a classless society failed, because the material and social preconditions for it did not exist. But that does not mean at all that the efforts of those thinkers and ghters were in vain, or even harmful. On the contrary, the utopian socialists prepared, promoted and accelerated social thought and scienti c inquiry by enormously broadening the horizon of what was thought to be possible at the time. In so doing, they moreover broadened the knowledge of social reality itself. Because this knowledge requires a rigorously critical perspective on everything that exists, which has to be viewed as transitory. And so, precisely by integrating into social analysis that which does not exist yet, just where it turns from wishful thinking into realistic future possibilities, social criticism is given a much broader scope. Not only scienti c socialism but also classical British political economy, classical German philosophy and classical French sociological historiography learnt much more from the utopian socialists then one might think at rst sight. Without the preceding labour of the utopian socialists, they would very probably also have achieved their results, but more slowly, with greater dif culty and with more inconsistencies. If scienti c socialism appears historically as the supersession of utopian socialism, this is a supersession in the Hegelian sense, with the preservation and reproduction of its fertile and fructifying elements. And this assumes, in any event, the prior existence of that utopian socialism, of the ancient hope for a classless society, as a necessary and fructifying phase in the emancipatory struggles of the toilers. Ernest Bloch wrote that
The dialectical-historical tendential science of Marxism is the mediated science of the future of reality, plus the objectively-real possibility enclosed within it, with the general aim to take action . . . It is the horizon of the future which Marxism embodies, with the past as antechamber, which grants reality its real dimension. 8

This is true in two ways. Knowledge of reality is always knowledge of its laws of motion, of its developmental tendencies. The grandiose aspect of Marxs Das Kapital lies
8

Bloch 1959, pp. 3312.

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precisely in the discovery of the long-range laws of motion of the capitalist mode of production, developmental laws which asserted themselves to the fullest extent only after Marx died. Contrary to an often repeated commonplace (and vulgar critique), Das Kapital is itself an anticipatory work, much more a work of the twentieth century than of the nineteenth century. On the other side, changing reality realising the programme of the 11th Thesis on Feuerbach, which is the true birth certi cate of Marxism assumes not only an orientation to the future, not just an insight into the not-yetexisting which is becoming actually possible, but also a hope for realising the actually possible, the mobilisation of all powers of the mind, of the will and feelings, with the aim of realising that which is actually possible but does not yet exist, the greatest exertion by the revolutionary individual between the status quo and the hoped-for potential to be realised, possibility suffused with hope. A bad revolutionary is not just somebody who no longer has his feet planted rmly on the ground of reality, and who loses all sense for the objective and subjective preconditions for realising the revolutionary project. A bad revolutionary is also somebody who has become so much a prisoner of the status quo, who is so immersed in daily routine, that he loses every understanding, premonition or sensibility for sudden, unexpected and radical shifts in the balance of forces and the activity of the revolutionary class somebody who sacri ces the strenuous orientation towards the future for the restricted, daily to-do (business as usual or die alte bewahrte Taktik as the German workers movement called it), with the result that he is hopelessly surprised, overtaken and paralysed by sudden volcanic outbursts of revolutionary mass struggle. In that sense too, no genuine and global understanding of reality is possible, if that reality is not broadened by the horizon of the future. After August 1914, Lenin, Rosa Luxemburg and a handful of their internationalist friends and comrades in other countries did not just condemn the capitulation of of cial social democracy to the imperialist war on moral grounds. They also evaluated that capitulation in the light of a not-yet-realised, hoped-for but scienti cally grounded (not wishfully created) perspective. This was the perspective of a revolutionary upsurge of the international proletariat, resulting from the inevitable intensi cation of the economic, social, political and ideological contradictions of bourgeois society and the imperialist world,

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of which the war would be simultaneously the expression and the motor. The events of 191719 proved them right. But what happened at the end of the world war gives the struggle between tendencies of 191415 within the international labour movement an added signi cance. Without the prior anticipation of those events, without that perspective, the capitulation of 1914 cannot be understood, explained and condemned in its totality. Without revolutionary perspectives, no genuine revolutionary politics is possible, and therefore also no genuine revolutionary practice, at least not within the framework of scienti c socialism. Of course, those perspectives have to be based on a correct analysis of reality, not on wishful thinking. They have to recognise real socio-economic contradictions, reveal their dynamics, investigate whether and why those contradictions are becoming less acute or are intensifying, and not take the hope for an abstract wishedfor development as their point of departure. Perspectives mean an orientation to the future, including anticipation, hope and fear. They play a role in any politics, both in working-class and in middleclass or bourgeois politics, and they rule out particular courses of action. After it had lost its revolutionary character, the bourgeoisie de ned politics as the art of the possible. The Austro-Marxist Otto Bauer modi ed this dictum by de ning politics as the art of prediction. This rede nition is undoubtedly an advance on the bourgeois philistine who tries to limit politics to insigni cant small steps, because his social conservatism makes him frightened of any radical change. But, at the same time, this advance also shows the passive, fatalistic dimension of Austro-Marxism. Because, in the art of prediction, the active, reality-transforming element of politics is totally missing. For Marxism, politics is the art of shifting the boundary of what is possible to the maximum degree in favour of working-class interests (and human progress as a whole), based on a scienti c perspective of what can be objectively and subjectively achieved if the mobilisation and initiatives of the broad masses are expanded as much as possible, and if the practice of the revolutionary party also remains fully integrated in that perspective, as a vital element of the reality that is coming into being. As a matter of fact, hope for revolution and fear for revolution played a crucial role in the divisions within the international workers movement after August 1914. Initially, the right-wing social democrats justi ed their capitulation

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to the imperialist war drive with the argument that one should not lose contact with the masses, and that these masses had, after all, enthusiastically gone over to the war. But when the same masses enthusiastically sided against war and for revolution a few years later, in countries like Russia, Germany, Austria, Hungary and Italy, then the argument was suddenly turned around. Then it was suddenly discovered that it was necessary to staunchly defend principles, and it was argued that the courage to be unpopular and a sense of responsibility de ned true socialist politics. The conclusion to be drawn from this about-face is that the automatic adaptation to the mass movement was not really the true motive behind the capitulation of August 1914. In 191720, too, fear for revolution, the fear of risking the loss of previous gains, the fear for the leap into the unknown and the fear of breaking with daily routine undoubtedly played a decisive role. As Marxists, we need to relate this fear to the social and material interests of a stratum within the workers movement which has become conservative. Contrary to the pronouncements of the social democrats, the hope for revolution red on the radical wing of the working class all the more as the revolutionary trend began to manifest itself in reality and take de nite shape. Anticipation grew into lived experience, the political project became the goal of political mass action. Today, we witness something similar to the retreat of classical social democracy in the phenomenon of Eurocommunism. Many developmental tendencies are criss-crossing each other in this phenomenon. To explain Eurocommunism, we have to take into account many historical, social, economic, ideological (including the internal logic of theoretical revisionism) and even individual-psychological processes (for example the traumatic shock of a personal confrontation with some of the excesses of Stalinism).9 But it seems obvious to us that the development of many Communist Parties in an Eurocommunist direction was and is co-determined by a deep conviction that revolution in the West is not on the agenda for an inde nite time, in a word, that it is impossible and most, in fact, draw the additional conclusion that it is undesirable anyway, because it would culminate in a catastrophic
9 See for example the personal story of an ex-leader of the Spanish Communist Party: Semprun 1978.

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defeat. The rest of the strategy of Eurocommunism logically follows from this perspective; it is a similar story to that of classical social democracy before and after the First World War.10 The socialist transformation of society signi es the rst attempt in human history to steer that history consciously in predetermined directions, on the basis of conscious reconstruction of the economy and the state, with the aim of achieving a classless society and the withering away of the state. But the realisation of this project depends heavily on the capacity for self-organisation and self-emancipation of the exploited and oppressed. This makes the project all the bolder, and the dif culties for its realisation all the clearer. In this liberating, anticipatory project culminate both the critically assimilated results of all the human sciences and the theoretical and practical results of all previous utopian-revolutionary thinkers and mass revolutionary struggles. The anticipatory character of the project is, in its turn, affectively carried and stimulated by the hope for its realisation a hope and an urge which have a fruitful effect on the revolutionary activity of individuals, groups and social classes, in so far as they correspond simultaneously to a rational conviction about the historical-material possibility and necessity for realising the project. The reciprocal action between the objective tendency and its correlate in the eld of human hope is incisively expressed in Trotskys comment on the useful function of literature:
If one cannot get along without a mirror, even in shaving oneself, how can one reconstruct oneself or ones life, without seeing oneself in the mirror of literature? Of course no one speaks of an exact mirror. No one even thinks of asking the new literature to have a mirror-like passivity. The deeper literature is, and the more it is imbued with the desire to transform life, the more signi cantly and dynamically it will be able to picture life.11

In the still not fully developed but already broadly extended theory of socialist society of its economy and political order, the necessary withering away of commodity production, classes and the state, of its permanent cultural revolution, of its internationalism, and its all-encompassing, liberating dyna-

10 11

[Translators note: See Mandel 1978 and 197980]. Trotsky 1960, p. 137.

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mic there is an obvious need for the critical (and self-critical) reworking of all the historical experience of proletarian revolutions in the past. But the theory of socialist society also includes a growing element of not-yet empirically manifested anticipation, which is nowadays essential both for the internal coherence of the theory and for the persuasive power of the political practice which it informs, in the eyes of the masses. After the historical catastrophe of Stalinism, Marxists can no longer afford to make statements like lets rst of all overthrow capitalism what society will be created afterwards, or what socialism will speci cally look like, can be safely left to historical development (or future generations). To leave out socialist anticipation from the real revolutionary project, undermines the credibility of this project in the eyes of the broad masses. A speci c vision of the socialism of the future we obviously prefer this expression to the formula concrete utopia, because we are convinced that the realisation of such a socialist vision is really possible has today become an absolute precondition for a practical-revolutionary political activity in the developed countries of the West. In those countries, the working classes will not overthrow capitalism unless they feel sure that there exists a real alternative to capitalism, a feasible alternative superior to, and radically different from, the so-called actually existing socialism of the Eastern bloc which is not socialism at all! and that they would gain from it just as much as it would be an advance over capitalism. The hope for the realisation of such a project already inspires hundreds of thousands of revolutionaries today. It enables them to avoid resignation or self-destructive despair about the catastrophes towards which the bourgeois world is heading. That same hope will, in the long run, inspire masses of people on an ever broader scale, and make a decisive contribution to the breakthrough to world socialism. Seventy- ve years ago, a still relatively unknown young revolutionary wrote a pamphlet insisting on the need for a revolutionary newspaper, as collective organiser of the working-class vanguard. He wrote it for the bene t of small groups of outlawed socialists, who, under the bloody dictatorship in their country, had taken the rst steps towards the formation of a modern workers movement. This pamphlet contains a peculiar ode to dreaming (or hope), which has been insuf ciently noticed by the innumerable readers of the pamphlet in which is appears. Here is the relevant passage:

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Ernest Mandel We should dream! I wrote these words and became alarmed. I imagined myself sitting at a unity conference and opposite me were the Rabocheye Dyelo editors and contributors. Comrade Martynov rises and, turning to me, says sternly: Permit me to ask you, has an autonomous editorial board the right to dream without rst soliciting the opinion of the party committees? He is followed by Comrade Krichevsky, who (philosophically deepening Comrade Martynov, who long ago rendered Comrade Plekhanov more profound) continues even more sternly: I go further. I ask, has a Marxist any right at all to dream, knowing that according to Marx mankind always sets itself the tasks it can solve, and that tactics is a process of the growth of Party tasks which grow together with the Party? The very thought of these stern questions sends a cold shiver down my spine, and makes me wish for nothing but a place to hide in. I shall try to hide behind the back of Pisarev. There are rifts and rifts, wrote Pisarev of the rift between dreams and reality. My dream may run ahead of the natural march of events or may y off at a tangent in a direction in which no natural march of events will ever proceed. In the rst case my dream will not cause any harm; it may even support and augment the energy of the working men. . . . There is nothing in such dreams that would distort or paralyse labour-power. On the contrary, if man was completely deprived of the ability to dream in this way, if he could not from time to time run ahead and mentally conceive, in an entire and completed picture, the product to which his hands are only just beginning to lend shape, then I cannot at all imagine what stimulus there would be to induce man to undertake and complete extensive and strenuous work in the sphere of art, science, and practical endeavour. . . . The rift between dreams and reality causes no harm if only the person dreaming believes seriously in his dream, if he attentively observes life, compares his observations with his castles in the air, and if, generally speaking, he works conscientiously for the achievement of his fantasies. If there is some connection between dreams and life then all is well.12

The authors name Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. The passage is taken from What Is to Be Done. Lenin is thought to have been the greatest exponent of revolutionary

Lenin 1961, pp. 50910. [Translators note: Lenin adds Of this kind of dreaming there is unfortunately too little in our movement.]
12

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Realpolitik. Evidently, anticipation, hope and dreaming are not just categories of historical materialism, but also categories of revolutionary Realpolitik.

References
Bloch, Ernst 1959, Das Prinzip Hoffnung, Berlin: Suhrkamp Verlag. Engels, Frederick 1968 [1886], Ludwig Feuerbach and the End of Classical German Philosophy, in Marx-Engels Selected Works in One Volume, Moscow: Progress Publishers. Lenin, Vladimir I. 1961 [19012], What Is to Be Done? Burning Questions of our Movement, in Collected Works, Vol. 5, Moscow: Progress Publishers. Mandel, Ernest 1979, From Stalinism to Eurocommunism, 2nd Edition, London: New Left Books. Mandel, Ernest 197980, A Critique of Eurocommunism, Marxist Perspectives, VIII, 2, 4: 11442. Marx, Karl 1976, Capital, Volume One, Harmondsworth: Penguin. Semprun, Jorge 1978, Autobiogra a de Frederico Sanchez, Barcelona: Ediciones Planeta. Trotsky, Leon 1960, Literature and Revolution, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.