On my recent holiday in France I took with me a biography of Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the one by D. M. Thomas (subtitled “A Century in His Life”, first published Little, Brown and Company, 1998). Before that I had been reading Solzhenitsyn’s own The Oak and the Calf (which came out in 1975), and now I’m reading his Invisible Allies, which came out in 1995.
These latter two books are Solzhenitsyn’s answer to the question: “How on earth did you do it?” The first puts Solzhenitsyn’s own exploits centre stage. The second names some of the many names that could finally be named safely, without endangering lives. He did a lot himself. And he had a lot of help.
It was partly being a contributor to Libertarian “Samizdata” that prodded me into this reading burst. I quite understand why Perry gave the name “Libertarian Samizdata” to Libertarian Samizdata � messages that go under the radar and past the editorial defences of the official statist oriented big media, and so forth. Nevertheless I do feel a bit uneasy decking myself out in the word that originally meant people risking their very lives, all day, every day, for years on end, copying and distributing the real Russian literature of those times. The worst that can happen to us is a few hostile e-mails.
This reading has, of course, stimulated a million thoughts, but one thought in particular relates to Adriana Cronin’s point about how Stalin, his henchmen, his successors and his middle managerial puppets throughout the Soviet empire were prone to believe their own bullshit.
Simply: Why didn’t they just kill him? Solzhenitsyn was making a monumental nuisance of himself. So why, as soon as he started doing this seriously, didn’t they just take him out the back of somewhere private and have him shot? They had their chances, as Solzhenitsyn himself relates.
There are many reasons. Western “pressure” was indeed crucial. And Solzhenitsyn was a literary and political tactician of genius. This was no dreamy, socially dyslexic wimp we’re talking about. This was a man who, until they arrested him for being incompletely reverent about Stalin, was a highly effective and courageous Red Army artillery officer, and the military metaphor he uses to describe his “battles” with Soviet officialdom is relentless and entirely appropriate. He writes particularly memorably in The Oak and the Calf of “encounter battles”, involving not only him and his Soviet enemies, but also, operating independently, the dissident scientist Andrei Sakharov.
But here’s another reason they didn’t kill him. They didn’t kill him because killing him would have contradicted their idea of what they thought they were doing.
It wasn’t just “idiot savants” (D. M. Thomas’ killer phrase) like Jean Paul Sartre and his ilk who swallowed Soviet lies about happy smiling people marching joyfully into the cornfields and the steel factories; they believed this drivel themselves, if not as a complete fact exactly, then certainly as an aspiration. To have killed Solzhenitsyn would have been to admit to themselves that all this socialism-with-a-human-face nonsense was indeed nonsense, and that they were just old-fashioned, self-serving tyrants whose rule was based on brute force and nothing else.
Looking at the larger picture, the tendency to believe their own lies was a major part, not only of their failure to handle the likes of Solzhenitsyn, but of their failure period. The Soviet Empire fell apart because it was founded not only on the deception of others, but on self-deception self-inflicted by and on its own rulers. They didn’t, in the end, con us. Not enough of us, anyway. But they did con themselves.
