The basement was dimly lit with a lamp. It smelled of kerosene and cheap tobacco. The curtains were closely drawn. Casting somber, monstrous shadows, the workers would silently sit down at the table covered with dark oilcloth that was torn and stained with ink. It was always cold in the room. Someone would move the iron stove closer, and the smoke would make your throat itch and eyes burn. They felt like meetings of mysterious conspirators, but the faces of those present were always perfectly ordinary. Sternly and possessively, Nikita would examine the members of the circle, as if testing them, tap on the table with his knuckle or a pencil, and say solemnly: “Listen to the Comrade Speaker.”23
Nikita was an older worker who “loved ‘learning,’ put on ancient glasses to read books and newspapers, did not tolerate teasing, and never joked himself, or indeed knew how.” The Comrade Speaker’s learning was partly offset by his awkwardness in front of those whose social and intellectual inferiority was offset by their maturity and redemptive mission.24
“Agitation” (as opposed to “propaganda”) referred to making speeches at factories or outdoor rallies. The speeches were to be short and more or less to the point. The point, according to the the agitators’ instructions, was to make sure that “the flame of hatred … burned in the listeners’ hearts.” Voronsky delivered his “in one violent burst, without catching his breath, gesticulating volubly.”25
Once, I was rhapsodizing at an improvised open-air meeting from the caboose of a freight train. Below me was a crowd of railway workers. I ardently prophesied “the hour of vengeance and retribution” and was passionately urging them “not to give way to provocation” and “to fight to the end,” while piling on the appeals and not sparing the slogans. Transported by my revolutionary fervor, I did not notice the clanking and the jerking of the train as, before the eyes of the amazed workers, I began to float away, first slowly, then faster and faster, farther and farther away, still waving my arms and shouting out fiery words.26
Words—written or spoken—are at the center of all missionary work. Voronsky and his fellow agitators spent most of their time talking, whether the train was moving or not. Reading (often out loud) was incorporated into discussion; writing (Lenin’s, in particular) was like shouting out fiery words; and some of the most important silences in socialist autobiographies are memories of being spellbound by someone else’s eloquence: Lenin’s, Trotsky’s, Chernov’s. Everyone seemed quick-tempered, talkative, and contemplative at the same time.
Socialist proselytizing was different from the Christian kind in two fundamental ways. First, it was not universalist. The Christian message was, in theory, for everyone; the socialist one was aimed exclusively at the elect (Russian peasants for the SRs, industrial workers for the Marxists). Even the Calvinists, who preached members-only salvation for the chosen, did not claim to know who the chosen were. Socialists, by contrast, assumed that a particular, objectively defined part of humanity was the exclusive means of universal redemption and the indigenous population of the kingdom of freedom. The original preachers could come from anywhere—indeed, they were all intellectuals (unapologetically so, in the case of the Bolsheviks)—but the real meaning of their “agitation and propaganda” and the only chance for the coming of the real day was to convert the convertible. The prince was to wake up the sleeping beauty, not the ugly step-sisters.
The Bolsheviks were particularly forceful on this score. By being the most skeptical of “spontaneity” (“class political consciousness can be brought to the workers only from without,” according to Lenin), they were the most intent on proselytizing. And proselytizing demanded organizational rigor. As the agitator’s instructions put it, “explicating the role of our party as the most advanced detachment of the working class, you must not forget that our party is a fighting army, and not a debating society.” And as a member of Bukharin’s debating society put it, having followed his instructions, “my opponent tried to frighten us with talk about the barracks. I am not afraid of words. There are barracks and barracks, just as there are soldiers and soldiers. We are building our party not as a, I am sorry, motley collection of swans, crawfish, and pikes, but as a party of the truly like-minded, and a military party at that. Yes, military.” And the reason they could do that was that they were the only party led by an uncontested charismatic leader. Lenin was both the creature and the guarantee of the unity of the like-minded.27
The second way in which socialist evangelism differed from its Christian counterpart was its intellectualism—the degree to which it was, indeed, a debating society. Most Russian Orthodox converts to Protestant Christianity seemed to be after personal salvation and independent work on the self, much of it through reading and conversation. Socialists were after the same thing, but they went much further. A conversion to socialism was a conversion to the intelligentsia, to a fusion of millenarian faith and lifelong learning. It was an immediate step up socially and intellectually, as well as spiritually. The student preachers of Bolshevism were asking the workers to become students while remaining workers. The would-be converts had a special role because of who they were, but they could not perform that role without an altered “consciousness.”
This combination of proletarian chosenness with committed intellectualism—self-affirmation through change and upward mobility without betrayal—seemed to appeal to some workers. As one of Voronsky’s pupils put it, “‘It’s really strange, all these people wearing glasses coming to serve us, for God’s sake! And why are they serving us? They are serving us because they’re beginning to understand our untold strength, because,’ he would start beating himself on the chest, ‘because proletarians of all countries unite! Simple as that.’” In Kon’s version of a popular fairy-tale metaphor (also used in the title of Voronsky’s memoirs), “the work was going well. Having been sprinkled with the magic water of life, the sleeping kingdom was waking up and coming to life.”28
Karl Lander (Kārlis Landers), the son of Latvian day laborers, was fifteen years old when he saw a May Day demonstration and suddenly felt “drawn by a new powerful force.” As he writes in his autobiography, “I knew the everyday life of workers well because of my relatives and close friends, but, suddenly, it appeared in a completely new light, as a carrier and keeper of some great mystery.” His first mentor was a “Christian socialist in the best sense of the word,” a man “who would have been at home during the peasant wars of the Reformation.” Impressed by the message, Lander “dropped everything” and set out in search of sectarians “who did not recognize secular or religious authority and owned all things in common.” What he found he did not like—because the “Dukhobor” sectarians who welcomed him did not allow secular books, whereas he was convinced that “in order to understand all these things, it was necessary to study, and study long and hard.” The police did him the favor of sending him to prison, where he “spent whole nights in animated conversations.” Having “cleared up many unresolved questions,” he joined a Social-Democrat reading circle “united by common intellectual interests and bonds of close friendship.”29
Pavel Postyshev
Pavel Postyshev, a “calico printer” from Ivanovo-Voznesensk, was sent to the Vladimir Central Prison in 1908, when he was twenty-one. His savior was a local doctor’s wife, Lubov Matveevna Belokonskaia, who procured food, books, money, clothing, and fictitious brides for the prisoners. Four years later, he wrote to Belokonskaia from his place of “eternal exile” on Lake Baikaclass="underline" “Dear L.M., I am a working man and am proud to belong to that class because it is destined to perform a great deed. Treasuring my title or rank of proletarian, and determined to keep that title pure and unsullied, especially as a conscious proletarian, I must not lie to you. You have dedicated your life to the great cause of the workers, and how can we not love you as children love a kind mother.”30