This is, once again, the black-and-white version of the political universe: if Russian autocracy differed from European absolutism, then consequently it was . . . what? Certainly, Oriental despotism (Wittfogel would say, in his harsh language, "of the nonhydraulic semi- marginal subtype," while Pipes expresses himself more mildly: "of the patrimonial type"). The designations may differ, but the essence is one and the same; the check list of despotic features is identical. There is the absolute sovereignty of the state over the national product of the country. There is the absence of alternatives, and consequently of political opposition ("one can see no way in which the Muscovite population could have altered the system had it wanted to"). There is, finally, the incapacity of the system for internal change.
And if, nevertheless, the system, as distinct from its Hellenistic and Oriental-despotic relatives, did change from within (and as a professional historian of Russia, Pipes can't deny this), this is explained by . . . what would you think, reader, already being familiar with Wittfogel and Szamuely? Well, of course, by geography: what else? It simply turns out that "of all the regimes of the Hellenistic and Oriental- despotic type, Russia was geographically closest to Western Europe."[67]Paraphrasing a well-known saying, we can say that "the patrimonial state" of Richard Pipes is despotism, moderated by geography.
Thus, just as all roads lead to Rome, all the interpretations of Russian history which we have considered—the "Tatar," the "Byzantine," and the "patrimonial"—lead inexorably and inevitably to despotism, and hence to the bipolar model of political development, effectively making it impossible to explain the Russian historical process.
CHAPTER IV
THE GRANDFATHER AND THE GRANDSON
1. The Stereotype
In the work of the contemporary Western despotists, Muscovy is depicted, at the dawn of its existence as a state, as a narrow horseshoe of land caught between the Lithuanian hammer and the Tatar anvil, locked into a miserable northern territory, without an outlet to the sea, where it is not even possible to grow grain in quantity. Having taken this stereotype as sound coin, Tibor Szamuely was sure, it will be remembered, that for Muscovy national survival played the same role that irrigation facilities played in the Asiatic empires.
Even so prominent a native despotist as Georgii Plekhanov was seduced by this logic. One of Plekhanov's strongest arguments was the fact that Nikolai Pavlov-Sil'vanskii, the forefather of the native absolutists, himself conceded that "the external circumstances of the life of Muscovite Rus', its stubborn struggle against its eastern and western neighbors for existence, demanded an extreme expenditure of effort by the people," as a result of which "there was developed in the society a consciousness that the first obligation of each subject was to serve the state to the limit of his ability and to sacrifice himself for the defense of the Russian land."'
The "stubborn struggle for existence," "the defense of the Russian land"—in a word, self-defense—is the root of the stereotype, which is already so venerable that it does not enter anyone's head to doubt its truth. But is it, after all, true—at least as applied to the time of Ivan III, which took up almost the entire latter half of the fifteenth century, when, according to Wittfogel, the "institutional time bomb" was getting ready to explode; when, according to Pipes, indescribable "civil tumult" was taking place; and when, according to Szamuely, the "Muscovite variety of Asiatic despotism" was being created? Here is how this period is described by one of the most authoritative experts, Sergei Solov'ev:
In regard to political and physical calamities, it must be noted that for the regions which Ivan inherited from his father, his reign was the calmest and happiest: the Tatar incursions involved only the borderlands; but these incursions were very few and the harm caused by them reasonable and quite insignificant; the uprising of the grand prince's brothers only frightened the people; and the other wars were offensive on the part of Muscovy: the enemy did not show himself within the borders of the triumphant state.[68]
Whom are we to believe?
If, in fact, the Muscovy of this period was a garrison state struggling convulsively for its existence, as the stereotype has it, it is hardly likely that people from more favored and less militarized places would have emigrated there. The position of the Muscovite government in the matter of emigration is also indicative. After all, it is unthinkable that the government of Brezhnevist Russia, for example, would issue loud declarations defending the rights of citizens to emigrate. On the contrary, it declares emigres to be traitors to their country, and regards any help to them as interference in its internal affairs. And there is nothing surprising in this: in our day, no one flees into Russia; they flee from it.
But there was a time when they fled into it. And this was precisely during the reign of Ivan III.
Ivan's Lithuanian neighbor, the Grand Prince Kazimir, was a great diplomat. By a series of profound and brilliantly thought out intrigues, he managed matters so that after his death his sons, the Ka- zimirovichi, one after another took possession of the four Central European thrones—the Polish, the Czech, the Hungarian, and the Lithuanian, which was ascended by the future son-in-law of Ivan III and the future king of Poland, Aleksandr. This was the high point of Lithuanian history. Lithuania had its troubles—and who did not?— but in any case, no one would have dared to call it a garrison state, and its life and death did not rest upon the toss of a card.
Nevertheless, the current of migration for some reason ran clearly toward Muscovy. Who demanded the punishment of the emigres— the "runaways"—and branded them "traitors" or "scoundrels"? Who, by threats and entreaties, sought the conclusion of an agreement which would juridically specify the illegality of boyar "flight" ? The
Lithuanians. And who defended civil rights, and particularly the individual's right to choose his country? The Muscovites.
The flower of the Russian aristocracy, the princes Vorotynskii, Viazemskii, Odoevskii, Bel'skii, Peremyshl'skii, Novosil'skii, Glinskii, Mezetskii—their names are legion—were all of them successful refugees from Lithuania into Muscovy. There were also those who were not successful. In 1482 the great Lithuanian boyars Ol'shanskii, Olen- kovich, and Bel'skii prepared to flee to Muscovy. The king heard of it: "Ol'shanskii and Olenkovich were seized," and Fedor Bel'skii fled alone. In 1496 the Lithuanian ruler bitterly complained to the Muscovite sovereign: "The princes Viazemskii and Mezetskii were our servants, and betrayed their oath to us, and slipped into your land, like evil people, and if they had fled to us, they would have gotten from us what such traitors deserve."[69] But they were not fleeing to him.
The Muscovite government, on the contrary, welcomed the royal "traitors," did not give them up to the Lithuanian king, and evidently saw no treason in their actions. For example, in 1504 Ostafei Dashko- vich defected to Muscovy with many nobles. Lithuania demanded their extradition, citing the treaty of 1503, which supposedly required that "both sides not accept turncoats, runaways, and evil people." Muscovy craftily and mockingly replied that the text literally read, "a thief, a runaway, a bondsman, a slave, a debtor should be handed over to justice"—and could a great lord be a thief or a bondsman or an evil person? On the contrary, "Ostafei Dashkovich was a person of note at the court and had been a general, and nothing evil had ever been heard about him, and he had great cities under his control, and he came to serve us voluntarily, without causing any harm."[70]
Provided the runaway had not caused any harm—that is, had not fled from criminal prosecution—he was, for Muscovy, a respectable political emigre, and not a traitor. Muscovy insisted, as a matter of principle, on the right of personal political choice, using the strongest legal argument possible in medieval political disputes—appeal to the "old ways." As Ivan III wrote in his answer to the Lithuanian king, "before this, under us and under our ancestors and under their ancestors, people travelled without hindrance in both directions."[71]