Friday, July 12, 2013


While I do, on some level of ethical considerations, resent being used as a mere humanizing prop in the hands of a mass-murdering messianic maniac," thinks the cat . . . , "ultimately, I don't care. As long as he keeps scratching my back, it's all good. He's just a man, and I'm just a cat, and life is short. ~ Mikhail Iossel, Facebook

A strange thing happened to me as I was reading a biography of Lenin. The biographer’s hostility proved of no avail: despite my “better judgment,” I found myself growing fond of Lenin, even though I wasn’t willing to forgive him his dismissal of freedom and democracy in favor of dictatorship. I hate the very idea of dictatorship, so why wasn’t I able to hate Lenin the man? Not when I was a schoolgirl, and not now?

Lenin’s charisma continues to puzzle me. Before the revolution, Trotsky told Lenin that the “dictatorship of the proletariat” can only mean “dictatorship OVER the proletariat.” Yet Lenin managed to persuade Trotsky to join his side. This stunned me. Lenin’s power of persuasion was legendary. Why? Was it his unwavering dedication? His astonishing courage?

One of my favorite poets, Wallace Stevens, saw Lenin as a “logical lunatic.” Lenin self-discipline was also legendary, whether it came to his writing routine or physical exercise. He was a supreme workaholic. In Zurich, where he was at his poorest, living in one room, he wrote Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism, emphasizing the emergence of global finance. He thought that in order to eradicate capitalism one needs to destroy the value of money in the world and abolish the ruling class. Today we can laugh at this “logical lunacy,” but it’s amazing that anyone would even try to go against the immense power of money.

“Among the communists I knew were some of the most attractive people I have ever met,” states Aleksander Wat, a Polish pre-war communist and dadaist poet who became a staunch anti-communist and a lyrical poet after his stay in Soviet prisons, described in hair-raising detail in Wat’s memoir, My Century. I think I understand that attractiveness, that spell of the heroic and exceptional. Living for an ideal can make a person charismatic. My spell was broken only when, in Robert Payne’s biography, I got to the Soviet invasion of Poland in 1920, and learned that Lenin expected the Polish workers to greet the Red Army as liberators, and together move on to “liberate” Germany and England. The fact that Poles saw the Red Army as invaders to be fought against took Lenin by surprise. It was then that I saw Lenin as out of touch with reality and going into the imperial over-reach that precedes downfall -- one in a long line of “logical lunatics.”

Lenin could be described as a prisoner of one idea, a utopian vision of the class-free future. In his long poem, “Esthétique du Mal,” Wallace Stevens uses “Konstantinov” (note the “constant” in the name) as a stand-in for Lenin. Victor Serge was an anarchist who later joined the Bolshevik cause, and later yet denounced Stalin. He died in Mexico City. The rumors that he was poisoned on Stalin’s orders have not been substantiated. 

Victor Serge said, “I followed his argument
With the blank uneasiness which one might feel
In the presence of a logical lunatic.
He said it of Konstantinov. Revolution
Is the affair of logical lunatics.
The politics of emotion must appear
To be an intellectual structure. The cause
Creates a logic not to be distinguished
From lunacy . . . One wants to be able to walk
By the lake at Geneva and consider logic:
To think of logicians in their graves
And of the worlds of logic in their tombs.
Lakes are more reasonable than oceans. Hence,
A promenade amid the grandeurs of the mind,
By a lake, with clouds like lights amid great tombs,
Gives one a blank uneasiness, as if
One might meet Konstantinov, who would interrupt
With his lunacy. He would not be aware of the lake.
He would be the lunatic of one idea
In a world of ideas, who would have all people
Live, work, suffer and die in that idea
In a world of ideas. He would not be aware of the clouds
Lighting the martyrs of logic with white fire.
His extreme logic would be illogical.

~ Wallace Stevens, “Esthétique du Mal,” XIV

Yes, Lenin was a “lunatic of one idea.” I can’t argue with that:

He would be the lunatic of one idea
In a world of ideas, who would have all people
Live, work, suffer and die in that idea
In a world of ideas.

Where Stevens gets it wrong is in imagining Lenin as so obsessed with his one idea that he doesn’t even notice the lake and the clouds. On the contrary, Lenin was more than just “aware” of the lake. He took great delight in the beauty of Switzerland. He loved the Alps, the lakes and the clouds, just as he loved the beauty of southern Siberia where he was sent into exile. (Yes, Siberia is supposed to be beautiful. Lenin’s wife, Nadezhda Krupskaya, called Siberia an “enchanted kingdom.”)

And he loved Paris and London too, and Italy as well. And music and literature -- Pushkin, Tolstoy, Turgenev. He would not be the exceptional and charismatic man he was if he didn’t come across as brilliant and well-read, human and passionate, a soul on fire. He lived for his great cause and was fierce in debate, but would mellow listening to music.

(A shameless digression: “Esthétique du Mal” contains many lines I love. Here are the ones I simply can’t resist sharing:

His firm stanzas hang like hives in hell
Or what hell was, since now both heaven and hell
Are one, and here, O terra infidel.


The death of Satan was a tragedy
For the imagination.


The greatest poverty is not to live
In a physical world, to feel that one’s desire
Is too difficult to tell from despair.)

Lenin definitely lived in a physical world, and, despite moments of despair, was confident that his desire for a new social order would be fulfilled.

Alas, distractible reader, now that I have distracted you with metaphysics, let me note one more eruption of Lenin in another poem by Stevens, “Description Without a Place”:

Lenin on a bench beside a lake disturbed
The swans. He was not the man for swans.

The slouch of his body and his look were not
In suavest keeping. The shoes, the clothes, the hat

Suited the decadence of those silences,
In which he sat. All chariots were drowned.


The last line of this section ends with the phrase “apocalyptic legions.”

Again, though I agree about the apocalypse, I question the notion that Lenin “was not the man for swans.” He loved nature, having spent his childhood summers on his grandparents’ estate near Kazan. Much as we may condemn Lenin’s politics, he was not indifferent to swans or the opera.

A drawing of Lenin in his famous worker’s cap. Note the tie.

Was he sensitive, or was he ruthless to the point of cruelty? He was both. And that’s why he remains fascinating: he was a cultivated, well-read man with whom a typical cultivated person of his times would have much in common. If his older brother, Sasha, whom he adored, had not been executed for taking part in a foolish, juvenile anti-Tzarist plot, who knows if Lenin would have become a revolutionary at all. One can easily imagine him as a jovial lawyer in a pleasant little town on the Volga, playing piano duets and hunting in the woods. He’d be known for his mastery of chess. As for the revolution, well, it would never have happened without him. 

Four-year-old Lenin and his sister Olga.

The “logical lunatic” type of person certainly exists. I’ve met a couple of men who erected whole complex philosophical systems to justify their self-destructive behaviors. On a larger and more deadly scale, Sergey Nechayev, an anarchist leader in mid-nineteenth century, was an example of a logical lunatic. His “Revolutionary Catechism” opens with these words:

The revolutionary is a doomed man. He has no personal interests, no business affairs, no emotions, no property and no name. Everything in him is absorbed in the single thought and the single passion for revolution.

It may seem perverse of me, but this reminds me of what Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn says about how to survive as a prisoner. I quote from memory: You must think of yourself as already dead. Stop trying to save your life. If you see yourself as a dead man, they will have no power over your spirit. Only then you won’t lose your human dignity.


Dostoyevski presented the anarchists in a very unflattering way in The Devils. Lenin thought the novel was a work of genius, but was unhappy that it presented a Nechayev-like figure in such negative light. According to Lenin, Nechayev discovered the need for a small number of utterly dedicated revolutionaries, the elite who will insure the success of the revolution -- at least in its destructive phase.

But for Lenin, being utterly dedicated to the destruction of the old regime didn’t mean that he should sacrifice his beloved late afternoon walk.


Yes, I hear the predictable comment: if only the Vienna Fine Arts Academy had accepted Hitler, he might have become a harmless landscape painter. We don’t know and we’ll never know. What if the two had not had such devoted mothers who infused them with great self-confidence. What if each had a charismatic teacher who’d point him in a different direction. What if . . . It’s startling to think that history would have been different if just one variable happened to be the opposite of what it was.

Speaking of the role of seemingly minor factors, Hitler’s father’s original name was Schicklgrubber. Alois Schickgrubber disliked the name and had it legally changed to Hitler -- according to one source, a name he picked off a tombstone. The joke that “Heil Shicklgrubber” would never have worked rings true.

The windows of the Zurich apartment rented by Lenin and his wife

Adolph Kammerer, Lenin’s Zurich landlord and a shoemaker, had fond memories of the Russian revolutionary. Robert Payne quotes Kammerer: “[Lenin] was always buying bottles of hair oil to cure his baldness, and he forgot to turn off the gas jets, but he was a good fellow.” Human, all too human.

Payne writes that Lenin was delighted with the beauty of Lake Zurich and often walked on the strand. The drawback of living on Spiegelgasse (Mirror Street) was the stench of the sausage factory, so the windows had to be kept shut. And the borders and the eyes.


My mind condemns him. My mind understands that even a serial killer is a mere petty criminal next to an idealist who lives for a Great Cause, willing to die and kill for it. Willing to kill hundreds of thousands, and what’s a million or two? As a Chinese physician from Taiwan -- and thus no fan of Mao, I foolishly assumed -- told me, “Perhaps those people needed to be killed.”

The mind condemns, but the heart is naive and sentimental. You might as well expect an American to turn against George Washington and his wooden teeth. Not as much as the Russian children, the little boys saluting, but we too were taught to love Lenin.

Odd that the church didn’t succeed with Jesus half as well. I suspect it was the crucifixion. You couldn’t love the kind of god who wanted to have his crucifixion and eat it too.

There were two Lenins, if you drew a line down the middle of his face. The right side was Mongolian, the left European -- or maybe the left eye was rounded with astonishment and sadness at the collision of the ideal and the real? That sadness at the dawn of my life, that death cry.

From a poem of mine:

I know I’ll never meet anyone
who’s had my childhood,
surrounded by portraits of Karl Marx,
Lenin, Friedrich Engels. Engels tossed in

only for the sake of Trinity.
We all knew who God the Father was,
who the Son with a slant Siberian eye,
and Engels the long-suffering Holy Ghost.

I’ll never meet anyone
who’s heard about the Tzar’s
Winter Palace, the salvo from the battleship
Aurora, the Finland Station, Smolny Institute.

Those were family names;
it didn’t matter that they stood for
humanity’s shattered dreams.
You love things because they are yours.

You love what you grew up with:
not the moronic regime
but the blossoming banners of springtime,
the lilacs of ideals, the enormous width

of The International. When you sang it,
you sang with a million mouths.
Aren’t all poems about forbidden love?

The swooning lilacs instead of suicide

after seeing the Ikea sign
from my old window in Warsaw?


When I returned for a visit, soon after the fall of communism, the portraits of Lenin were gone. Nowhere, that face more familiar than the faces of my relatives. The country was no longer his, and no longer mine.

Why didn’t I grow to dislike Lenin? Maybe there is something indelible about a childhood affection, the stories of how he worked into the night, the only one awake, the light of his solitary lamp seeping out through through the door. Or how he loved the mountains, including the High Tatras in what was then Austrian Galicia. I saw the little bronze stars marking the trails he’d hiked.

Or maybe it was the feeling that he wasn’t evil so much as naive about human nature. How could anyone imagine that he could abolish the power of money and create a class-free society? A society with no need for a standing army, police, or bureaucracy? Any idealist can understand and weep.

But that’s rationalizing. For me it was enough that he loved to read and write and take long walks. He was ascetic and compulsive. Any writer can understand that.

He thought he lived for a great cause, but I suspect it was his love of reading and writing that kept him alive. His excessive love of ideas. He loved ideas more than people. Any intellectual can understand that.

I was also astonished and impressed by the victory of the revolution, which had the air of the miraculous about it. The White Army with its professional Tzarist officers and the troops and supplies sent by the Western powers could not stop the Red Army, which had an ideal and charismatic leadership.

(Of course not everyone was persuaded. A factory worker in Paris said to Lenin’s wife [mercilessly described by Lenin’s sister Anna as looking like a herring], “God created the rich and the poor, and all is right in the world.”)

But perhaps it wasn’t so much a matter of personal charisma. Here is one historian’s view:

Charisma is typically associated with a saint or with a knight, some personal attribution, and what Lenin did was remarkable. He did exactly what he claimed to do: he created a party of a new type. He made the party charismatic. People died for the party. It’s as if people would die for the DMV. Most people don’t get too excited about the Department of Motor Vehicles because it's a bureaucracy. What Lenin did was combine the attributes of personal heroism and the efficiency of impersonal organization, and created a charismatic organization. That's been done before. It's been done by Benedictines, it’s been done by Jesuits, but it’s never been done by a political party before. ~ Ken Jowitt

The ideal, the great cause -- and the wild daring to try to put a utopian vision into reality. It had to end badly, but that someone had the daring! It seems that the experiment simply had to be performed so that humanity could learn about idealism pushed to the extreme. The greater the cause, the greater the ultimate evil that results. The steady repetition of that irony is like the fall of empires: they never learn.

But all this is pale, rational excuses next to the primordial fact that found its voice in the poem: the love of the familiar. The trinity of Marx, Lenin, and Engels above the blackboard in every classroom. The power of the familiar.


But here is the likely core reason of my “Lenin envy”: his life in Switzerland, except for the sausage factory in Zurich, is my idea of heaven: every day, quiet work and long walks with marvelous vistas. 

Nigel Barber observes:

For people who are really involved in their job, working hard and meeting objectives comes naturally. It requires effort, of course, but they are not fighting themselves every step of the way. Instead, they feel calm and focused and their day passes in a blur of pleasantly stimulating activity.

Such people tend to be workaholics and many feel far happier, calmer, more stimulated, and in control of their lives when they are working than on their days off. Working can be an avenue to peak experiences and such experiences are potentially addictive which is why some people work compulsively and go far beyond the call of duty.


I don’t think it takes peak experiences. Just maintaining calm focus is so pleasant to an introvert that leaving one’s study in order to, ahem, engage with the world, seems like leaving paradise for bedlam. 


Growing up I knew that Lenin’s wife was devoted to him, and never imagined that a different woman was the great love of his life. Once I learned about Inessa Armand, I wondered what it was about Lenin that attracted her most. She was a beauty with striking large eyes and full lips, an Olympian goddess next to the small, bald, corpulent man.
(He was completely bald by the age of twenty-three, when he became a sought-after speaker in the Marxist circles. The joke about him was that his brains were so big, they pushed out his hair.)

Inessa was allegedly the one who initiated the relationship after hearing Lenin speak in a meeting. She loved the way his face lit up when he spoke. Above all, she loved him for his intellect. Intellectual men don’t always realize how irresistible they are to women.
Lenin’s wife was actually fond of Inessa and the two children that Inessa brought with her to Paris (she left the other three with their father in Russia). Nadezhda wrote, “The house grew brighter when Inessa entered it.” 

Bertram Wolfe writes, “She had a wider culture than any other woman in Lenin's circle, . . . a deep love of music, above all of Beethoven, who became Lenin's favorite too. She played the piano like a virtuoso, was fluent in five languages, was enormously serious about Bolshevism and work among women, and possessed personal charm and an intense love of life to which almost all who wrote of her testify.” 

Yet she too became a “logical lunatic.” The love of beauty does not protect one against the lure of a heroic life, be it ultimately for the wrong cause (and every cause becomes wrong if pushed to the extreme). Perhaps the emotional intensity that often goes with mental giftedness and the love of beauty makes one even more susceptible. 


Inessa Armand, 1890

In 1920, Inessa died of cholera (and malnutrition and overwork. She was only forty-six. One witness described Lenin at her funeral: “Lenin was utterly broken by her death... He was plunged in despair, his cap down over his eyes; small as he was, he seemed to shrink and grow smaller. He looked pitiful and broken in spirit. I never saw him look like that before.” Olga Kollontai wrote: “He was not able to go on living after Inessa Armand. The death of Inessa hastened the development of the sickness which was to destroy him.”


(the village of Poronin, Tatra Mountains)

Dear Friend, My Red Angel: I long
to give you the voluptuous green
of the deep Tatra valleys, blueberries,
Five Black Ponds pure and dark
as your eyes. To think you have a husband
yet never speak of him, nor of 

anything as bourgeois as divorce.

The night I escaped, a corpse-like full moon
glazed the frozen Finnish Channel.
Halfway to the ship bound for Sweden,
the ice began to crack.
I was ready to die – life hadn’t denied
me anything except great love. Then 

you, Inessa, in the darkest time –
the Lafargues slumped in their chairs,
self-injected with cyanide
(Marx’s daughter! she could still be of use);
Russian exiles babbling about balalaikas,
carted off to insane asylums;
my wife dozing with her glasses on –
“So I can see where I’m sleeping.”

Remember when you played
the Appassionata for me?
I could listen to it all day, but I 

mustn’t: music makes me want
to stroke people on the head.

Imagine, Emma Goldman writes,
“If I can’t dance to it,
it’s not my revolution.”
Anarchists are such children.
Yet they too can be used:
what the Italians call utili idioti.

Then that madwoman Rosa Luxemburg
with her “freedom for the one
who thinks differently.”
I’m tired of repeating and repeating,
Liberty is a form
of bourgeois dictatorship.

The masses have no need of liberty.

Democracy -- what’s the point?
The ruling class remains the same.
I’m sorry, dearest – I should rather say
I remember our first New Year’s Eve
when you stood by the fireplace,
your red hair a shroud of flame –
I thought of the fox I saw

in the snow in Siberian woods:
so beautiful that I couldn’t kill it.

I know you will forgive me.
Yours, Vladimir Ilich.

~ Oriana © 2013


Lenin's house in Poronin. The statue was taken down in 1990.


I like the story of Lenin and the fox. He had a tender side.


Or at least a “human” and beauty-loving side. I wrote this blog to grapple with my own confusion about this man whose face was in every classroom as I was growing up. That face in the bookstores, in public offices. I wanted to say “everywhere,” but that would be a hyperbole. Still, I did see it every day for many years, always the same portrait, his slanted eyes looking to the side, not at the viewer.

The story of the fox was told by his wife in her memoirs. She says (and others have confirmed this) that Lenin often walked with his hunting rifle, but would come home with nothing. He wasn’t really interested in hunting. The fox suddenly appeared just a few yards in front of him. Asked why he didn’t shoot the fox, Lenin replied, “Because it was so beautiful.”

One more story that shows his human side: he’d play cards with his mother-in-law and usually let her win. She’d shake her head and say, “How could an intelligent man like you play so badly against a weak old woman like me?”

But I don’t mean to say that would should forget about the evil he helped to bring about, ruthlessly pursuing his vision of the ultimate good. Perhaps his greatest fault was having absolute certainty -- yes, the very trait that was essential to his success as a leader. With so much history behind us, with its sadly repetitious lessons, we need to develop a deep respect for the humility of uncertainty. 


Love how you humanized Lenin with interesting anecdotes and photographs. So interesting to think that if there was one variable in Lenin's or Hitler's life the world would be different.

My favorite line in blog is: "You couldn’t love the kind of god who wanted to have his crucifixion and eat it too."

I also love this: "The greater the cause, the greater the evil. The steady repetition of that irony is like the fall of empires: they never learn."

And this: "He thought that in order to eradicate capitalism one needs to destroy the value of money in the world and abolish the ruling class."

Love the way you segued to LENIN TO HIS MISTRESS, INESSA ARMAND.


Anecdotes are antidotes to abstraction. This is especially important if a person has been either idealized or demonized. 

Lenin needs to be "humanized." As his shoe-maker landlord in Zurich said, he was a "good fellow." Intellectuals can easily recognize at least parts of themselves in him. In me he arouses the longing to give myself to a cause utterly,  and the envy that he was able to. Talk about a “purpose-driven life”! And then, the instant warning that this can lead to evil. I’m relieved that there is no blood on my hands, even through association. The love of ideas is a dangerous thing.

(Atheism -- no. Nobody would die -- or kill -- for atheism. I like being an example of “good without god,” but a more comprehensive and life-affirming vision needs to be worked out, with ideals that don’t kill.)

Yes, it's amazing to think that a single variable would have changed history. Maternal rejection, for example, would have made self-confidence difficult or impossible. A leader needs to radiate self-confidence, and that doesn’t come from having been put down and ridiculed and shamed. Extraordinary people often have extraordinary mothers, both loving and ambitious for their children. Or if it's not the mother, then another exceptional and inspiring person has "manifested" early in life. One way or another, there was a feeling of security and being greatly valued.

Lenin seems to have had a pretty wonderful childhood until the trauma of his older brother's execution by hanging for taking part in a failed (and ridiculously incompetent) anarchist plot. Imagine how the mother must have suffered. Of course all the children suffered too. But Lenin was already 17, so that didn't wreck his childhood. It did, however, ruin his chances for a professional career in Russia.

Yet another factor was Lenin's power of persuasion: he managed to recruit Trotsky, formerly a moderate who favored democracy. Without Trotsky, the revolution would not have succeeded. So yes: change one or two factors, and world history would have been different.

And yes, idealism pushed to the extreme leads to evil. The promise of workers’ paradise crumbles into communal apartments and food shortages. True, a devout liberal might say, but the extreme poverty at the social bottom was rapidly eliminated.The large land owners, the parasitic aristocracy, were gone (most of them left Russia). Literacy spread quickly. We need to acknowledge this too. History is very complex. Let's be less judgmental, but more complex in our thinking. Let’s be willing to say, “I don’t know.”




  1. Thank you Margaret. While I can't really solve the puzzle of Lenin's charisma, I hope this post provides interesting information.

  2. An interesting blog, but are you trying to say that Lenin was a sweetheart?

  3. I'm so glad someone asked. The short answer is NO.

    The long answer: My blog posts take shape around poems, and are meditations rather than essays with one clear-cut thesis. Lenin had a complex personality, and the circumstances of his rise to power were also complex and even astonishing -- who would have predicted that Germany, actually hoping for a Bolshevik revolution, would transport Lenin, Inessa, and a handful of other revolutionaries to Finland (and hence Russia) in the now-legendary “sealed train”? Otherwise he would have probably remained just an eccentric exile of no historical importance.

    But I am not saying that Germany is to blame for the evil that followed Lenin’s seizure of power. A bookish sort of man, he put too much faith in books -- specifically, Marx’s prediction that capitalism was doomed to destruction. Worse, Lenin was influenced by Nechayev, a ruthless anarchist. For instance, the idea of slaughtering the Tzar’s entire family originated with Nechayev.

    At the same time, compared with Stalin, Lenin could indeed be called a sweetheart -- but I mean only in that narrow comparative sense. When the country was starving after the Civil War, Lenin allowed limited private enterprise -- a mixed economy. He was able to accept compromise rather than let millions die. Stalin was the one who couldn’t care less if millions died. Nevertheless, Lenin is also guilty of not having cared enough. He set in motion a tide of blood and misery.

    If I were to write another essay on Lenin, my focus would be on the revolutionary charisma in general, the heroic ideal -- and how it’s doomed to wither away after the seizure of power. Eventually the focus of the heroic shifts to dissenters: now they are the souls on fire, willing to die for the cause. And so the cycle goes on -- unless democracy takes root, with its dampening effect on radicalism.

    In summary, I would never call Lenin a sweetheart -- in fact I was worried that this blog might create this impression. I brought up the human side to create a richer, more complex portrait of him. But what is Lenin’s legacy? Only the failure of a great social experiment, and a warning that idealism pushed to the extreme inevitably leads to evil.

  4. I think that this might be one of your best blogs yet! It makes perfect sense and presents a completely coherent picture of something that ultimately makes no sense. I love he stories about Lenin and all the "forced/enforced" hagiography along the way. But most I love the two poems, both the letter to his mistress and your return to a Lenin-free Poland and Warsaw. Now with Milosz gone I'm afraid that all this wild and tragic history is gone too. I somehow missed all the Leninczynzna (?) in Wallace Steven.

  5. Thanks! Only now I feel relieved of my anxiety. “Leninszczyzna” is not a word I ever heard, but it works! It’s exactly what you mean -- pejorative, condescending, yet also homey, smelling of old potatoes. I admit that by force of habit I first thought of the obvious: “leninism” -- a somewhat comic word because of that middle “nini.”

    There was in fact much of the ridiculous in the communist movement, but that happens whenever things are taken with utmost seriousness, without a dose of healthy laughter -- note Catholicism and self-flagellation, or papal indulgences as time “off” from the Purgatory. The comic is often inseparable from the tragic: that old story.

    I don’t blame anyone for not noticing the Lenin bits in Stevens. If not for my sensitivity to anything pertaining to Lenin, and thus to my childhood, I would have hardly noticed those lines. But our hagiographic history textbooks presented Lenin as a kind of St. Francis of the revolution (Trotsky was completely deleted; I knew about him only because my mother told me): voluntary poverty (note the iconic worker’s cap), extreme dedication and hard work, total modesty, total kindness (not that it was described, but it was implied). Add to this his truly incredible courage -- and the fact that he loved hiking in the mountains, including the Polish Tatras!

    It actually took me longer to shake off the romance of the October revolution than to shake off Catholicism. But then in my teens I wasn’t even conscious of that romance with the revolution (I would have denied it), and how we were made to love Lenin, through sheer exposure and dramatic detail. Sure, corruption was all around us, but Lenin -- Lenin was pure.

    As I read the colorful Payne biography it happened all over again: I was falling in love with Lenin -- and again it was the Lenin in exile, the underdog surrounded by Tzarist spies. The sausage factory, and the wife who looked like a herring. And Inessa, herself the Appassionata. In his childhood, the trauma of an adored brother’s execution -- I could understand it much better now.

    Of course I couldn’t close my eyes to the ultimate tragedy. As I did more thinking, I realized that for me Lenin’s attractiveness had nothing to do with communism; it was my admiration for exceptional individuals living for a great cause. And my affinity for workaholics, since I am one myself. It was his quiet life in Switzerland that I loved. That’s the closest I can come to making sense of what ultimately makes no sense, as you correctly note.

    For whatever it’s worth, I also went through a period of infatuation with Teresa of Avila -- already in my adulthood. Again, the exceptional personality, exceptional dedication and courage. I felt drawn to those who could give themselves completely.

    And yes, Poland was once a unique country, almost outrageously avant-garde in its arts, the daily endured fueled by black humor. Now it’s just second-rate Europe trying to catch up on capitalism and again facing the dilemma of the human cost of any economic and political system. It was Barańczak who bravely declared, in a lecture at UCLA that I attended, that censorship turned out to be a blessing for Polish literature, forcing poets and writers to be more subtle and indirect and thus more imaginative and artistic. Not that I or anyone would wish for the restoration of censorship; it’s just that “in every curse there is a blessing, in every blessing a curse.”


    I’ve become so used to English that I forgot in Polish it’s “leninizm” -- with a ‘z’.

    I’m still pondering my strange attraction to brilliant fanatics, people with an iron will, seemingly fearless. Again I can only conclude that it’s my dedicated-compulsive-workaholic streak that makes me feel an affinity. My mother called me a fanatic many times. Maybe it’s better that I never found a great cause to which I could utterly give myself.

    In spite of my intensity and a certain ruthlessness toward myself (which is softening now -- I’m learning the pleasure of affection and gentleness toward myself), I’m against violence. It puzzles me that Lenin, an intellectual who wouldn’t kill a fox, could be in favor of violence. The puzzle remains. All who wrote about Lenin agree on one thing: he was a riveting individual.

  7. Interesting piece suggesting the complexity of Lenin, and finally the complexity of all of us. Most of us are normal, average, ordinary, and comfortable with that. We find comfort in this non-complex sense of self. But given certain circumstances, certain situations, we can find the ordinariness in our selves edging toward the extraordinary, the unpredictable. I saw this so often during the 60s, during our revolution. My ordinary friends tilting toward the extraordinary, the epic almost. Who would have/could have predicted? Lenin must have felt that. His ordinary self suddenly facing the possibility of the extraordinary--the man who loved lakes and forests and foxes suddenly being offered the chance to re-make the world in the image of something else. And what did he do finally? Ushered in a world where others could be even more extra-ordinary than he was, more epic, more mad. I wonder if my revolutionary friends ever count their blessings that they never had the chance to be the logical lunatic.

  8. John, thank you for a great comment. Yes, by creating a charismatic political party, Lenin introduced the heroic (and as you say, the epic, the mad -- that's the Dionysian rapture so missing in typical middle-class lifestyle). The idealism, pushed to the extreme, resulted in a huge amount of evil -- that's the lesson here, to be sure, but how can we not yearn for some ideal, especially in youth when due to youth's ignorance and inexperience changing the world for the better seems easier than it is?

    Lenin had a charming smile, always thanked his cleaning lady, spoke in a refined manner, and so forth -- there are plenty of those anecdotes. H.G. Wells visited Lenin and was charmed by him. But we can't forgive Lenin for not having grown up, in a manner of speaking. We can forgive a young man for oversimplifying things -- even for thinking that only a dictatorship can accomplish real change -- but a mature man should be wiser. Lenin had great intelligence -- again we have plenty of reports about that -- but, and this is not rare when it comes to intellectuals, no wisdom. If not for the sealed train supplied by Germany, he would have remained a theoretician, juggling abstractions, arguing with the German socialists, out of touch with reality -- but in a safe, scholastic manner.

    Speaking of the sealed train, we need to go back to the act that began WWI, the "suicide of Europe." Gavrilo Princip, who assassinated Duke Ferdinand in Sarajevo, was only 19!!

    Another huge disaster that happened was that Lenin managed to persuade Trotsky, who started out as a moderate. Without Trotsky the revolution would not have succeeded, or at least would not have survived the civil war that followed. Oh well, now all that is history, but let's not kid ourselves: another logical lunatic could rise up because the thirst for ideals is so great.

  9. One more thing: just this morning I found this line, in Blaise Cendrars'"The Prose of the Trans-Siberian: "I foresaw the coming of the Red Christ of the Russian Revolution." Aleksander Blok, an eminent Russian poet, wrote "The Twelve," a poem about twelve Bolshevik soldiers likened to the Apostles; behind them walks Christ. The idealism of Socialist movements owed a lot to Christianity and the way that Jesus treated the poor while condemning the rich. I'm not saying that the Socialist and Communist leaders were religious. But the influence is there. In spite of the outward atheism, a deep Christian influence can't be denied. Terry Eagleton discusses this in "Reason, Faith, and Revolution."

    Eagleton: "Our age is divided between those who believe far too much and those who believe far too little -- or as Milan Kundera would put it, between the angelic and the demonic.