Karl Marx

First published Tue Aug 26, 2003; substantive revision Mon Dec 21, 2020

Karl Marx (1818–1883) is often treated as a revolutionary, an activist rather than a philosopher, whose works
inspired the foundation of many communist regimes in the twentieth century. It is certainly hard to find many
thinkers who can be said to have had comparable influence in the creation of the modern world. However, Marx
was trained as a philosopher, and although often portrayed as moving away from philosophy in his mid-twenties
—perhaps towards history and the social sciences—there are many points of contact with modern philosophical
debates throughout his writings.

The themes picked out here include Marx’s philosophical anthropology, his theory of history, his economic
analysis, his critical engagement with contemporary capitalist society (raising issues about morality, ideology,
and politics), and his prediction of a communist future.

Marx’s early writings are dominated by an understanding of alienation, a distinct type of social ill whose
diagnosis looks to rest on a controversial account of human nature and its flourishing. He subsequently
developed an influential theory of history—often called historical materialism—centred around the idea that
forms of society rise and fall as they further and then impede the development of human productive power. Marx
increasingly became preoccupied with an attempt to understand the contemporary capitalist mode of production,
as driven by a remorseless pursuit of profit, whose origins are found in the extraction of surplus value from the
exploited proletariat. The precise role of morality and moral criticism in Marx’s critique of contemporary
capitalist society is much discussed, and there is no settled scholarly consensus on these issues. His
understanding of morality may be related to his account of ideology, and his reflection on the extent to which
certain widely-shared misunderstandings might help explain the stability of class-divided societies. In the
context of his radical journalism, Marx also developed his controversial account of the character and role of the
modern state, and more generally of the relation between political and economic life. Marx sees the historical
process as proceeding through a series of modes of production, characterised by (more or less explicit) class
struggle, and driving humankind towards communism. However, Marx is famously reluctant to say much about
the detailed arrangements of the communist alternative that he sought to bring into being, arguing that it would
arise through historical processes, and was not the realisation of a pre-determined plan or blueprint.

1. Life and Writings

1.1 Early Years
1.2 Paris
1.3 Brussels
1.4 London
2. Alienation and Human Flourishing
2.1 The Basic Idea
2.2 Religion and Work
2.3 Alienation and Capitalism
2.4 Political Emancipation
2.5 Remaining Questions
3. Theory of History
3.1 Sources
3.2 Early Formulations
3.3 1859 Preface
3.4 Functional Explanation
3.5 Rationality
3.6 Alternative Interpretations
4. Economics
4.1 Reading Capital
4.2 Labour Theory of Value
 4.3 Exploitation
5. Morality
5.1 Unpacking Issues
5.2 The “Injustice” of Capitalism
5.3 Communism and “Justice”
6. Ideology
6.1 A Critical Account
6.2 Ideology and Stability
6.3 Characteristics
7. State and Politics
7.1 The State in Capitalist Society
7.2. The Fate of the State in Communist Society
8. Utopianism
8.1 Utopian Socialism
8.2 Marx’s Utopophobia
9. Marx’s Legacy
Bibliography
Primary Literature
Secondary Literature
Academic Tools
Other Internet Resources
Related Entries

1. Life and Writings

1.1 Early Years

Karl Marx was born in 1818, one of nine children. The family lived in the Rhineland region of Prussia,
previously under French rule. Both of his parents came from Jewish families with distinguished rabbinical
lineages. Marx’s father was a lawyer who converted to Christianity when it became necessary for him to do so if
he was to continue his legal career.

Following an unexceptional school career, Marx studied law and philosophy at the universities of Bonn and
Berlin. His doctoral thesis was in ancient philosophy, comparing the philosophies of nature of Democritus
(c.460–370 BCE) and Epicurus (341–270 BCE). From early 1842, he embarked on a career as a radical
journalist, contributing to, and then editing, the Rheinische Zeitung, until the paper was closed by the Prussian
authorities in April 1843.

Marx married Jenny von Westphalen (1814–1881), his childhood sweetheart, in June 1843. They would spend
their lives together and have seven children, of whom just three daughters—Jenny (1844–1883), Laura (1845–
1911), and Eleanor (1855–1898)—survived to adulthood. Marx is also widely thought to have fathered a child—
Frederick Demuth (1851–1929)—with Helene Demuth (1820–1890), housekeeper and friend of the Marx
family.

Marx’s adult life combined independent scholarship, political activity, and financial insecurity, in fluctuating
proportions. Political conditions were such, that, in order to associate and write as he wished, he had to live
outside of Germany for most of this time. Marx spent three successive periods of exile in the capital cities of
France, Belgium, and England.

1.2 Paris
Between late 1843 and early 1845, Marx lived in Paris, a cosmopolitan city full of émigrés and radical artisans.
He was subsequently expelled by the French government following Prussian pressure. In his last months in
Germany and during this Paris exile, Marx produced a series of “early writings”, many not intended for
publication, which significantly altered interpretations of his thought when they were published collectively in
the twentieth century. Papers that actually saw publication during this period include: “On the Jewish Question”
(1843) in which Marx defends Jewish Emancipation against Bruno Bauer (1809–1882), but also emphasises the
limitations of “political” as against “human” emancipation; and the “Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right:
Introduction” (1844) which contains a critical account of religion, together with some prescient remarks about
the emancipatory potential of the proletariat. The most significant works that Marx wrote for self-clarification
rather than publication in his Paris years are the so-called “1844 Manuscripts” (1844) which provide a
suggestive account of alienation, especially of alienation in work; and the “Theses on Feuerbach” (1845), a set
of epigrammatic but rich remarks including reflections on the nature of philosophy.

1.3 Brussels
Between early 1845 and early 1848, Marx lived in Brussels, the capital of a rapidly industrialising Belgium. A
condition of his residency was to refrain from publishing on contemporary politics, and he was eventually
expelled after political demonstrations involving foreign nationals took place. In Brussels Marx published The
Holy Family (1845), which includes contributions from his new friend and close collaborator Friedrich Engels
(1820–1895), continuing the attack on Bruno Bauer and his followers. Marx also worked, with Engels, on a
series of manuscripts now usually known as The German Ideology (1845–46), a substantial section of which
criticises the work of Max Stirner (1806–1856). Marx also wrote and published The Poverty of
Philosophy(1847) which disparages the social theory of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1809–1865). All these
publications characteristically show Marx developing and promoting his own views through fierce critical
attacks on contemporaries, often better-known and more established than himself.

Marx was politically active throughout his adult life, although the events of 1848—during which time he
returned to Paris and Cologne—inspired the first of two periods of especially intense activity. Two important
texts here are The Communist Manifesto (1848) which Marx and Engels published just before the February
Revolution, and, following his move to London, The Class Struggles in France (1850) in which Marx examined
the subsequent failure of 1848 in France. Between these two dates, Marx commented on, and intervened in, the
revolution in Germany through the Neue Rheinische Zeitung (1848–49), the paper he helped to establish and edit
in Cologne.

1.4 London

For well over half of his adult life—from late 1849 until his death in 1883—Marx lived in London, a city
providing a secure haven for political exiles and a superb vantage point from which to study the world’s most
advanced capitalist economy. This third and longest exile was dominated by an intellectual and personal struggle
to complete his critique of political economy, but his theoretical output extended far beyond that project.

Marx’s initial attempt to make sense of Napoleon III’s rise to power in contemporary France is contained in The
Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte (1852). Between 1852 and 1862 Marx also wrote well over three
hundred articles for the New York Daily Tribune; sometimes unfairly disparaged as merely income-generating
journalism, they frequently contain illuminating attempts to explain contemporary European society and politics
(including European interventions in India and China) to an American audience (helpfully) presumed to know
little about them.

The second of Marx’s two especially intense periods of political activity—after the revolutions of 1848—centred
on his involvement in the International Working Men’s Association between 1864 and 1874, and the events of
the Paris Commune (1871), in particular. The character and lessons of the Commune—the short-lived, and
violently suppressed, municipal rebellion that controlled Paris for several months in the aftermath of the Franco-
Prussian war—are discussed in The Civil War in France (1871). Also politically important was Marx’s “Critique
of the Gotha Programme” (1875), in which he criticises the theoretical influence of Ferdinand Lassalle (1825–
1864) on the German labour movement, and portrays the higher stage of a future communist society as
endorsing distribution according to “the needs principle”.

Marx’s critique of political economy remains controversial. He never succeeded in fixing and realising the wider
project that he envisaged. Volume One of Capital, published in 1867, was the only significant part of the project
published in his own lifetime, and even here he was unable to resist heavily reworking subsequent editions
(especially the French version of 1872–75). What we now know as Volume Two and Volume Three
of Capitalwere put together from Marx’s raw materials by Engels and published in 1885 and 1894, respectively,
and Marx’s own drafts were written before the publication of Volume One and barely touched by him in the
remaining fifteen years of his life. An additional three supplementary volumes planned by Engels, and
subsequently called Theories of Surplus Value (or, more colloquially, the “fourth volume of Capital”) were
assembled from remaining notes by Karl Kautsky (1854–1938), and published between 1905 and 1910. (The
section of the “new MEGA”—see below—concerned with Capital-related texts contains fifteen thick volumes,
and provides some sense of the extent and character of these later editorial interventions.) In addition, the
publication in 1953—a previous two-volume edition (1939 and 1941) had only a highly restricted circulation—
of the so-called Grundrisse (written in 1857–58) was also important. Whether this text is treated as a
freestanding work or as a preparatory step towards Capital, it raises many questions about Marx’s method, his
relation to G.W.F. Hegel (1770–1831), and the evolution of Marx’s thought. In contrast, the work of political
economy that Marx did publish in this period—A Contribution to a Critique of Political Economy (1859)—was
largely ignored by both contemporaries and later commentators, except for the, much reprinted and discussed,
summary sketch of his theory of history that Marx offered in the so-called “1859 Preface” to that volume.

Marx’s later years (after the Paris Commune) are the subject of much interpretative disagreement. His inability
to deliver the later volumes of Capital is often seen as emblematic of a wider and more systematic intellectual
failure (Stedman Jones 2016). However, others have stressed Marx’s continued intellectual creativity in this
period, as he variously rethought his views about: the core and periphery of the international economic system;
the scope of his theory of history; social anthropology; and the economic and political evolution of Russia
(Shanin 1983; K. Anderson 2010).

After the death of his wife, in 1881, Marx’s life was dominated by illness, and travel aimed at improving his
health (convalescent destinations including the Isle of Wight, Karlsbad, Jersey, and Algiers). Marx died in March
1883, two months after the death of his eldest daughter. His estate was valued at £250.

Engels’s wider role in the evolution of, and, more especially the reception and interpretation of, Marx’s work is
much disputed. The truth here is complex, and Engels is not always well-treated in the literature. Marx and
Engels are sometimes portrayed as if they were a single entity, of one mind on all matters, whose individual
views on any topic can be found simply by consulting the other. Others present Engels as the distorter and
manipulator of Marx’s thought, responsible for any element of Marxian theory with which the relevant
commentator might disagree. Despite their familiarity, neither caricature seems plausible or fair. The best-known
jointly authored texts are The Holy Family, the “German Ideology” manuscripts, and The Communist Manifesto,
but there are nearly two hundred shorter items that they both contributed to (Draper 1985: 2–19).

Many of Marx’s best-known writings remained unpublished before his death. The attempt to establish a reliable
collected edition has proved lengthy and fraught. The authoritative Marx-Engels-Gesamtausgabe, the so-called
“new MEGA” (1975–), is still a work in progress, begun under Soviet auspices but since 1990 under the
guidance of the “International Marx-Engels Stiftung” (IMES). In its current form—much scaled-down from its
original ambitions—the edition will contain some 114 volumes (well over a half of which are published at the
time of writing). In addition to his various published and unpublished works, it includes Marx’s journalism,
correspondence, drafts, and (some) notebooks. Texts are published in their original language (variously German,
English, and French). For those needing to utilise English-language resources, the fifty volume Marx Engels
Collected Works (1975–2004) can be recommended. (References to Marx and Engels quotations here are to
these MECW volumes.) There are also several useful single volume selections of Marx and Engels writings in
English (including Marx 2000).
2. Alienation and Human Flourishing
2.1 The Basic Idea

Alienation is a concept especially, but not uniquely, associated with Marx’s work, and the intellectual tradition
that he helped found. It identifies a distinct kind of social ill, involving a separation between a subject and an
object that properly belong together. The subject here is typically an individual or a group, while the object is
usually an “entity” which variously is not itself a subject, is another subject(s), or is the original subject (that is,
the relation here can be reflexive). And the relation between the relevant subject and object is one of problematic
separation. Both elements of that characterisation are important. Not all social ills, of course, involve
separations; for instance, being overly integrated into some object might be dysfunctional, but it is not
characteristic of alienation. Moreover, not all separations are problematic, and accounts of alienation typically
appeal to some baseline unity or harmony that is frustrated or violated by the separation in question.

Theories of alienation vary considerably, but frequently: first, identify a subset of these problematic separations
as being of particular importance; second, include an account (sometimes implicit) of what makes the relevant
separations problematic; and, third, propound some explanatory claims about the extent of, and prognosis for,
alienation, so understood.

2.2 Religion and Work

Marx’s ideas concerning alienation were greatly influenced by the critical writings on religion of Ludwig
Feuerbach (1804–1872), and especially his The Essence of Christianity (1841). One key text in this respect is
Marx’s “Contribution of Hegel’s Critique of Right: Introduction” (1843). This work is home to Marx’s notorious
remark that religion is the “opium of the people,” a harmful, illusion-generating painkiller (MECW 3: 175). It is
here that Marx sets out his account of religion in most detail.

While traditional Christian theology asserts that God created man in God’s own image, Marx fully accepted
Feuerbach’s inversion of this picture, proposing that human beings had invented God in their own image; indeed
a view that long pre-dated Feuerbach. Feuerbach’s distinctive contribution was to argue that worshipping God
diverted human beings from enjoying their own human powers. In their imagination humans raise their own
powers to an infinite level and project them on to an abstract object. Hence religion is a form of alienation, for it
separates human beings from their “species essence.” Marx accepted much of Feuerbach’s account but argues
that Feuerbach failed to understand why people fall into religious alienation, and so is unable to explain how it
can be transcended. Feuerbach’s view appears to be that belief in religion is purely an intellectual error and can
be corrected by persuasion. Marx’s explanation is that religion is a response to alienation in material life, and
therefore cannot be removed until human material life is emancipated, at which point religion will wither away.

Precisely what it is about material life that creates religion is not set out with complete clarity. However, it seems
that at least two aspects of alienation are responsible. One is alienated labour, which will be explored shortly. A
second is the need for human beings to assert their communal essence. Whether or not we explicitly recognise it,
human beings exist as a community, and what makes human life possible is our mutual dependence on the vast
network of social and economic relations which engulf us all, even though this is rarely acknowledged in our
day-to-day life. Marx’s view appears to be that we must, somehow or other, acknowledge our communal
existence in our institutions. At first it is “deviously acknowledged” by religion, which creates a false idea of a
community in which we are all equal in the eyes of God. After the post-Reformation fragmentation of religion,
where religion is no longer able to play the role even of a fake community of equals, the modern state fills this
need by offering us the illusion of a community of citizens, all equal in the eyes of the law. Interestingly, the
political or liberal state, which is needed to manage the politics of religious diversity, takes on the role offered by
religion in earlier times of providing a form of illusory community. But the political state and religion will both
be transcended when a genuine community of social and economic equals is created.
Although Marx was greatly inspired by thinking about religious alienation, much more of his attention was
devoted to exploring alienation in work. In a much-discussed passage from the 1844 Manuscripts, Marx
identifies four dimensions of alienated labour in contemporary capitalist society (MECW 3: 270–282). First,
immediate producers are separated from the product of their labour; they create a product that they neither own
nor control, indeed, which comes to dominate them. (Note that this idea of “fetishism”—where human creations
escape our control, achieve the appearance of independence, and come to oppress us—is not to be equated with
alienation as such, but is rather one form that it can take.) Second, immediate producers are separated from their
productive activity; in particular, they are forced to work in ways which are mentally and/or physically
debilitating. Third, immediate producers are separated from other individuals; contemporary economic relations
socialise individuals to view others as merely means to their own particular ends. Fourth, and finally, immediate
producers are separated from their own human nature; for instance, the human capacities for community and for
free, conscious, and creative, work, are both frustrated by contemporary capitalist relations.

Note that these claims about alienation are distinct from other, perhaps more familiar, complaints about work in
capitalist society. For instance, alienated labour, as understood here, could be—even if it is often not—highly
remunerated, limited in duration, and relatively secure.

Marx holds that work has the potential to be something creative and fulfilling. He consequently rejects the view
of work as a necessary evil, denying that the negative character of work is part of our fate, a universal fact about
the human condition that no amount of social change could remedy. Indeed, productive activity, on Marx’s
account, is a central element in what it is to be a human being, and self-realisation through work is a vital
component of human flourishing. That he thinks that work—in a different form of society—could be creative
and fulfilling, perhaps explains the intensity and scale of Marx’s condemnation of contemporary economic
arrangements and their transformation of workers into deformed and “dehumanised” beings (MECW 3: 284).

It was suggested above that alienation consists of dysfunctional separations—separations between entities that
properly belong together—and that theories of alienation typically presuppose some baseline condition whose
frustration or violation by the relevant separation identifies the latter as dysfunctional. For Marx, that baseline
seems to be provided by an account of human flourishing, which he conceptualises in terms of self-realisation
(understood here as the development and deployment of our essential human capacities). Labour in capitalism,
we can say, is alienated because it embodies separations preventing the self-realisation of producers; because it
is organised in a way that frustrates the human need for free, conscious, and creative work.

So understood, and returning to the four separations said to characterise alienated labour, we can see that it is the
implicit claim about human nature (the fourth separation) which identifies the other three separations as
dysfunctional. If one subscribed to the same formal model of alienation and self-realisation, but held a different
account of the substance of human nature, very different claims about work in capitalist society might result.
Imagine a theorist who held that human beings were solitary, egoistic creatures, by nature. That theorist could
accept that work in capitalist society encouraged isolation and selfishness, but deny that such results were
alienating, because those results would not frustrate their baseline account of what it is to be a human being
(indeed, they would rather facilitate those characteristics).

2.3 Alienation and Capitalism

Marx seems to hold various views about the historical location and comparative extent of alienation. These
include: that some systematic forms of alienation—presumably including religious alienation—existed in pre-
capitalist societies; that systematic forms of alienation—including alienation in work—are only a feature of class
divided societies; that systematic forms of alienation are greater in contemporary capitalist societies than in pre-
capitalist societies; and that not all human societies are scarred by class division, in particular, that a future
classless society (communism) will not contain systematic forms of alienation.

Marx maintains that alienation flows from capitalist social relations, and not from the kind of technological
advances that capitalist society contains. His disapproval of capitalism is reserved for its social arrangements
and not its material accomplishments. He had little time for what is sometimes called the “romantic critique of
capitalism”, which sees industry and technology as the real villains, responsible for devastating the purportedly
communitarian idyll of pre-capitalist relations. In contrast, Marx celebrates the bourgeoisie’s destruction of
feudal relations, and sees technological growth and human liberation as (at least, in time) progressing hand-in-
hand. Industry and technology are understood as part of the solution to, and not the source of, social problems.

There are many opportunities for scepticism here. In the present context, many struggle to see how the kind of
large-scale industrial production that would presumably characterise communist society—communism
purportedly being more productive than capitalism—would avoid alienation in work. Interesting responses to
such concerns have been put forward, but they have typically come from commentators rather than from Marx
himself (Kandiyali 2018). This is a point at which Marx’s self-denying ordinance concerning the detailed
description of communist society prevents him from engaging directly with significant concerns about the
direction of social change.

2.4 Political Emancipation

In the text “On The Jewish Question” (1843) Marx begins to make clear the distance between himself and his
radical liberal colleagues among the Young Hegelians; in particular Bruno Bauer. Bauer had recently written
against Jewish emancipation, from an atheist perspective, arguing that the religion of both Jews and Christians
was a barrier to emancipation. In responding to Bauer, Marx makes one of the most enduring arguments from his
early writings, by means of introducing a distinction between political emancipation—essentially the grant of
liberal rights and liberties—and human emancipation. Marx’s reply to Bauer is that political emancipation is
perfectly compatible with the continued existence of religion, as the contemporary example of the United States
demonstrates. However, pushing matters deeper, in an argument reinvented by innumerable critics of liberalism,
Marx argues that not only is political emancipation insufficient to bring about human emancipation, it is in some
sense also a barrier. Liberal rights and ideas of justice are premised on the idea that each of us needs protection
from other human beings who are a threat to our liberty and security. Therefore, liberal rights are rights of
separation, designed to protect us from such perceived threats. Freedom on such a view, is freedom from
interference. What this view overlooks is the possibility—for Marx, the fact—that real freedom is to be found
positively in our relations with other people. It is to be found in human community, not in isolation.
Accordingly, insisting on a regime of liberal rights encourages us to view each other in ways that undermine the
possibility of the real freedom we may find in human emancipation. Now we should be clear that Marx does not
oppose political emancipation, for he sees that liberalism is a great improvement on the systems of feudalism
and religious prejudice and discrimination which existed in the Germany of his day. Nevertheless, such
politically emancipated liberalism must be transcended on the route to genuine human emancipation.
Unfortunately, Marx never tells us what human emancipation is, although it is clear that it is closely related to
the ideas of non-alienated labour and meaningful community.

2.5 Remaining Questions

Even with these elaborations, many additional questions remain about Marx’s account. Three concerns are
briefly addressed here.

First, one might worry about the place of alienation in the evolution of Marx’s thought. The once-popular
suggestion that Marx only wrote about alienation in his early writings—his published and unpublished works
from the early 1840s—is not sustained by the textual evidence. However, the theoretical role that the concept of
alienation plays in his writings might still be said to evolve. For example, it has been suggested that alienation in
the early writings is intended to play an “explanatory role”, whereas in his later work it comes to have a more
“descriptive or diagnostic” function (Wood 1981 [2004: 7]).

A second concern is the role of human nature in the interpretation of alienation offered here. In one exegetical
variant of this worry, the suggestion is that this account of alienation rests on a model of universal human nature
which Marx’s (later) understanding of historical specificity and change prevents him from endorsing. However,
there is much evidence against this purported later rejection of human nature (see Geras 1983). Indeed, the
“mature” Marx explicitly affirms that human nature has both constant and mutable elements; that human beings
are characterised by universal qualities, constant across history and culture, and variable qualities, reflecting
historical and cultural diversity (McMurtry 1978: 19–53). One systematic, rather than exegetical, variant of the
present worry suggests that we should not endorse accounts of alienation which depend on “thick” and
inevitably controversial accounts of human nature (Jaeggi 2016). Whatever view we take of that claim about our
endorsement, there seems little doubt about the “thickness” of Marx’s own account of human flourishing. To
provide for the latter, a society must satisfy not only basic needs (for sustenance, warmth and shelter, certain
climatic conditions, physical exercise, basic hygiene, procreation and sexual activity), but also less basic needs,
both those that are not always appreciated to be part of his account (for recreation, culture, intellectual
stimulation, artistic expression, emotional satisfaction, and aesthetic pleasure), and those that Marx is more often
associated with (for fulfilling work and meaningful community) (Leopold 2007: 227–245).

Third, we may ask about Marx’s attitude towards the distinction sometimes made between subjective and
objective alienation. These two forms of alienation can be exemplified separately or conjointly in the lives of
particular individuals or societies (Hardimon 1994: 119–122). Alienation is “subjective” when it is characterised
in terms of the presence (or absence) of certain beliefs or feelings; for example, when individuals are said to be
alienated because they feel estranged from the world. Alienation is “objective” when it is characterised in terms
which make no reference to the beliefs or feelings of individuals; for example, when individuals are said to be
alienated because they fail to develop and deploy their essential human characteristics, whether or not they
experience that lack of self-realisation as a loss. Marx seems to allow that these two forms of alienation are
conceptually distinct, but assumes that in capitalist societies they are typically found together. Indeed, he often
appears to think of subjective alienation as tracking the objective variant. That said, Marx does allow that they
can come apart sociologically. At least, that is one way of reading a passage in The Holy Family where he
recognises that capitalists do not get to engage in self-realising activities of the right kind (and hence are
objectively alienated), but that—unlike the proletariat—they are content in their estrangement (and hence are
lacking subjective alienation), feeling “at ease” in, and even “strengthened” by, it (MECW 4: 36).

3. Theory of History
3.1 Sources

Marx did not set out his theory of history in great detail. Accordingly, it has to be constructed from a variety of
texts, both those where he attempts to apply a theoretical analysis to past and future historical events, and those
of a more purely theoretical nature. Of the latter, the “1859 Preface” to A Critique of Political Economy has
achieved canonical status. However, the manuscripts collected together as The German Ideology, co-written with
Engels in 1845-46, are also a much used early source. We shall briefly outline both texts, and then look at the
reconstruction of Marx’s theory of history in the hands of his philosophically most influential recent exponent,
G.A. Cohen (Cohen 1978 [2001], 1988), who builds on the interpretation of the early Russian Marxist Georgi
Plekhanov (1856–1918) (Plekhanov 1895 [1947]).

We should, however, be aware that Cohen’s interpretation is far from universally accepted. Cohen provided his
reconstruction of Marx partly because he was frustrated with existing Hegelian-inspired “dialectical”
interpretations of Marx, and what he considered to be the vagueness of the influential works of Louis Althusser
(1918–1990), neither of which, he felt, provided a rigorous account of Marx’s views. However, some scholars
believe that the interpretation that we shall focus on is faulty precisely for its insistence on a mechanical model
and its lack of attention to the dialectic. One aspect of this criticism is that Cohen’s understanding has a
surprisingly small role for the concept of class struggle, which is often felt to be central to Marx’s theory of
history. Cohen’s explanation for this is that the “1859 Preface”, on which his interpretation is based, does not
give a prominent role to class struggle, and indeed it is not explicitly mentioned. Yet this reasoning is
problematic for it is possible that Marx did not want to write in a manner that would engage the concerns of the
police censor, and, indeed, a reader aware of the context may be able to detect an implicit reference to class
struggle through the inclusion of such phrases as “then begins an era of social revolution,” and “the ideological
forms in which men become conscious of this conflict and fight it out”. Hence it does not follow that Marx
himself thought that the concept of class struggle was relatively unimportant. Furthermore, when A Critique of
Political Economy was replaced by Capital, Marx made no attempt to keep the 1859 Preface in print, and its
content is reproduced just as a very much abridged footnote in Capital. Nevertheless, we shall concentrate here
on Cohen’s interpretation as no other account has been set out with comparable rigour, precision and detail.

3.2 Early Formulations

In his “Theses on Feuerbach” (1845) Marx provides a background to what would become his theory of history
by stating his objections to “all hitherto existing” materialism and idealism, understood as types of philosophical
theories. Materialism is complimented for understanding the physical reality of the world, but is criticised for
ignoring the active role of the human subject in creating the world we perceive. Idealism, at least as developed
by Hegel, understands the active nature of the human subject, but confines it to thought or contemplation: the
world is created through the categories we impose upon it. Marx combines the insights of both traditions to
propose a view in which human beings do indeed create —or at least transform—the world they find themselves
in, but this transformation happens not in thought but through actual material activity; not through the imposition
of sublime concepts but through the sweat of their brow, with picks and shovels. This historical version of
materialism, which, according to Marx, transcends and thus rejects all existing philosophical thought, is the
foundation of Marx’s later theory of history. As Marx puts it in the “1844 Manuscripts”, “Industry is the actual
historical relationship of nature … to man” (MECW 3: 303). This thought, derived from reflection on the history
of philosophy, together with his experience of social and economic realities, as a journalist, sets the agenda for
all Marx’s future work.

In The German Ideology manuscripts, Marx and Engels contrast their new materialist method with the idealism
that had characterised previous German thought. Accordingly, they take pains to set out the “premises of the
materialist method”. They start, they say, from “real human beings”, emphasising that human beings are
essentially productive, in that they must produce their means of subsistence in order to satisfy their material
needs. The satisfaction of needs engenders new needs of both a material and social kind, and forms of society
arise corresponding to the state of development of human productive forces. Material life determines, or at least
“conditions” social life, and so the primary direction of social explanation is from material production to social
forms, and thence to forms of consciousness. As the material means of production develop, “modes of co-
operation” or economic structures rise and fall, and eventually communism will become a real possibility once
the plight of the workers and their awareness of an alternative motivates them sufficiently to become
revolutionaries.

3.3 1859 Preface

In the sketch of The German Ideology, many of the key elements of historical materialism are present, even if
the terminology is not yet that of Marx’s more mature writings. Marx’s statement in the “1859 Preface” renders
something of the same view in sharper form. Cohen’s reconstruction of Marx’s view in the Preface begins from
what Cohen calls the Development Thesis, which is pre-supposed, rather than explicitly stated in the Preface
(Cohen 1978 [2001]: 134–174). This is the thesis that the productive forces tend to develop, in the sense of
becoming more powerful, over time. The productive forces are the means of production, together with
productively applicable knowledge: technology, in other words. The development thesis states not that the
productive forces always do develop, but that there is a tendency for them to do so. The next thesis is the
primacy thesis, which has two aspects. The first states that the nature of a society’s economic structure is
explained by the level of development of its productive forces, and the second that the nature of the
superstructure—the political and legal institutions of society—is explained by the nature of the economic
structure. The nature of a society’s ideology, which is to say certain religious, artistic, moral and philosophical
beliefs contained within society, is also explained in terms of its economic structure, although this receives less
emphasis in Cohen’s interpretation. Indeed, many activities may well combine aspects of both the superstructure
and ideology: a religion is constituted by both institutions and a set of beliefs.

Revolution and epoch change is understood as the consequence of an economic structure no longer being able to
continue to develop the forces of production. At this point the development of the productive forces is said to be
fettered, and, according to the theory, once an economic structure fetters development it will be revolutionised
—“burst asunder” (MECW 6: 489)—and eventually replaced with an economic structure better suited to preside
over the continued development of the forces of production.

In outline, then, the theory has a pleasing simplicity and power. It seems plausible that human productive power
develops over time, and plausible too that economic structures exist for as long as they develop the productive
forces, but will be replaced when they are no longer capable of doing this. Yet severe problems emerge when we
attempt to put more flesh on these bones.

3.4 Functional Explanation

Prior to Cohen’s work, historical materialism had not been regarded as a coherent view within English-language
political philosophy. The antipathy is well summed up with the closing words of H.B. Acton’s The Illusion of the
Epoch: “Marxism is a philosophical farrago” (1955: 271). One difficulty taken particularly seriously by Cohen is
an alleged inconsistency between the explanatory primacy of the forces of production, and certain claims made
elsewhere by Marx which appear to give the economic structure primacy in explaining the development of the
productive forces. For example, in The Communist Manifesto Marx and Engels state that: “The bourgeoisie
cannot exist without constantly revolutionising the instruments of production” (MECW 6: 487). This appears to
give causal and explanatory primacy to the economic structure—capitalism—which brings about the
development of the forces of production. Cohen accepts that, on the surface at least, this generates a
contradiction. Both the economic structure and the development of the productive forces seem to have
explanatory priority over each other. Unsatisfied by such vague resolutions as “determination in the last
instance”, or the idea of “dialectical” connections, Cohen self-consciously attempts to apply the standards of
clarity and rigour of analytic philosophy to provide a reconstructed version of historical materialism.

The key theoretical innovation is to appeal to the notion of functional explanation, also sometimes called
“consequence explanation” (Cohen 1978 [2001]: 249–296). The essential move is cheerfully to admit that the
economic structure, such as capitalism, does indeed develop the productive forces, but to add that this, according
to the theory, is precisely why we have capitalism (when we do). That is, if capitalism failed to develop the
productive forces it would disappear. And, indeed, this fits beautifully with historical materialism. For Marx
asserts that when an economic structure fails to develop the productive forces—when it “fetters” the productive
forces—it will be revolutionised and the epoch will change. So the idea of “fettering” becomes the counterpart
to the theory of functional explanation. Essentially fettering is what happens when the economic structure
becomes dysfunctional.

Now it is apparent that this renders historical materialism consistent. Yet there is a question as to whether it is at
too high a price. For we must ask whether functional explanation is a coherent methodological device. The
problem is that we can ask what it is that makes it the case that an economic structure will only persist for as
long as it develops the productive forces. Jon Elster has pressed this criticism against Cohen very hard (Elster
1985: 27–35). If we were to argue that there is an agent guiding history who has the purpose that the productive
forces should be developed as much as possible then it would make sense that such an agent would intervene in
history to carry out this purpose by selecting the economic structures which do the best job. However, it is clear
that Marx makes no such metaphysical assumptions. Elster is very critical—sometimes of Marx, sometimes of
Cohen—of the idea of appealing to “purposes” in history without those being the purposes of anyone.

Indeed Elster’s criticism was anticipated in fascinating terms by Simone Weil (1909–1943), who links Marx’s
appeal to history’s purposes to the influence of Hegel on his thought:

We must remember the Hegelian origins of Marxist thought. Hegel believed in a hidden mind at
work in the universe, and that the history of the world is simply the history of this world mind,
which, as in the case of everything spiritual, tends indefinitely towards perfection. Marx claimed to
“put back on its feet” the Hegelian dialectic, which he accused of being “upside down”, by
substituting matter for mind as the motive power of history; but by an extraordinary paradox, he
conceived history, starting from this rectification, as though he attributed to matter what is the very
essence of mind—an unceasing aspiration towards the best. (Weil 1955 [1958: 43])
Cohen is well aware of the difficulty of appealing to purposes in history, but defends the use of functional
explanation by comparing its use in historical materialism with its use in evolutionary biology. In contemporary
biology it is commonplace to explain the existence of the stripes of a tiger, or the hollow bones of a bird, by
pointing to the function of these features. Here we have apparent purposes which are not the purposes of anyone.
The obvious counter, however, is that in evolutionary biology we can provide a causal story to underpin these
functional explanations; a story involving chance variation and survival of the fittest. Therefore these functional
explanations are sustained by a complex causal feedback loop in which dysfunctional elements tend to be
filtered out in competition with better functioning elements. Cohen calls such background accounts
“elaborations” and he concedes that functional explanations are in need of elaborations. But he points out that
standard causal explanations are equally in need of elaborations. We might, for example, be satisfied with the
explanation that the vase broke because it was dropped on the floor, but a great deal of further information is
needed to explain why this explanation works.

Consequently, Cohen claims that we can be justified in offering a functional explanation even when we are in
ignorance of its elaboration. Indeed, even in biology detailed causal elaborations of functional explanations have
been available only relatively recently. Prior to Charles Darwin (1809–1882), or arguably Jean-Baptiste Lamarck
(1744–1829), the only candidate causal elaboration was to appeal to God’s purposes. Darwin outlined a very
plausible mechanism, but having no genetic theory was not able to elaborate it into a detailed account. Our
knowledge remains incomplete in some respects to this day. Nevertheless, it seems perfectly reasonable to say
that birds have hollow bones in order to facilitate flight. Cohen’s point is that the weight of evidence that
organisms are adapted to their environment would permit even a pre-Darwinian atheist to assert this functional
explanation with justification. Hence one can be justified in offering a functional explanation even in the
absence of a candidate elaboration: if there is sufficient weight of inductive evidence.

At this point the issue, then, divides into a theoretical question and an empirical one. The empirical question is
whether or not there is evidence that forms of society exist only for as long as they advance productive power,
and are replaced by revolution when they fail. Here, one must admit, the empirical record is patchy at best, and
there appear to have been long periods of stagnation, even regression, when dysfunctional economic structures
were not revolutionised.

The theoretical issue is whether a plausible elaborating explanation is available to underpin Marxist functional
explanations. Here there is something of a dilemma. In the first instance it is tempting to try to mimic the
elaboration given in the Darwinian story, and appeal to chance variations and survival of the fittest. In this case
“fittest” would mean “most able to preside over the development of the productive forces”. Chance variation
would be a matter of people trying out new types of economic relations. On this account new economic
structures begin through experiment, but thrive and persist through their success in developing the productive
forces. However the problem is that such an account would seem to introduce a larger element of contingency
than Marx seeks, for it is essential to Marx’s thought that one should be able to predict the eventual arrival of
communism. Within Darwinian theory there is no warrant for long-term predictions, for everything depends on
the contingencies of particular situations. A similar heavy element of contingency would be inherited by a form
of historical materialism developed by analogy with evolutionary biology. The dilemma, then, is that the best
model for developing the theory makes predictions based on the theory unsound, yet the whole point of the
theory is predictive. Hence one must either look for an alternative means of producing elaborating explanation,
or give up the predictive ambitions of the theory.

3.5 Rationality
The driving force of history, in Cohen’s reconstruction of Marx, is the development of the productive forces, the
most important of which is technology. But what is it that drives such development? Ultimately, in Cohen’s
account, it is human rationality. Human beings have the ingenuity to apply themselves to develop means to
address the scarcity they find. This on the face of it seems very reasonable. Yet there are difficulties. As Cohen
himself acknowledges, societies do not always do what would be rational for an individual to do. Co-ordination
problems may stand in our way, and there may be structural barriers. Furthermore, it is relatively rare for those
who introduce new technologies to be motivated by the need to address scarcity. Rather, under capitalism, the
profit motive is the key. Of course it might be argued that this is the social form that the material need to address
scarcity takes under capitalism. But still one may raise the question whether the need to address scarcity always
has the influence that it appears to have taken on in modern times. For example, a ruling class’s absolute
determination to hold on to power may have led to economically stagnant societies. Alternatively, it might be
thought that a society may put religion or the protection of traditional ways of life ahead of economic needs.
This goes to the heart of Marx’s theory that man is an essentially productive being and that the locus of
interaction with the world is industry. As Cohen himself later argued in essays such as “Reconsidering Historical
Materialism” (1988), the emphasis on production may appear one-sided, and ignore other powerful elements in
human nature. Such a criticism chimes with a criticism from the previous section; that the historical record may
not, in fact, display the tendency to growth in the productive forces assumed by the theory.

3.6 Alternative Interpretations

Many defenders of Marx will argue that the problems stated are problems for Cohen’s interpretation of Marx,
rather than for Marx himself. It is possible to argue, for example, that Marx did not have a general theory of
history, but rather was a social scientist observing and encouraging the transformation of capitalism into
communism as a singular event. And it is certainly true that when Marx analyses a particular historical episode,
as he does in the 18th Brumaire of Louis Napoleon (1852), any idea of fitting events into a fixed pattern of
history seems very far from Marx’s mind. On other views Marx did have a general theory of history but it is far
more flexible and less determinate than Cohen insists (Miller 1984). And finally, as noted, there are critics who
believe that Cohen’s interpretation is entirely wrong-headed owing to its dismissive attitude to dialectical
reasoning (Sayers 1984 [1990]).

4. Economics
4.1 Reading Capital

How to read Marx’s economic writings, and especially his masterpiece Capital Volume 1, remains a matter of
controversy. An orthodox reading is that Marx’s essential task is to contribute to economic theory, based on a
modified form of the labour theory of value. Others warn against such a narrow interpretation, pointing out that
the character of Marx’s writing and presentation is very far from what one would expect in a standard economic
text. Hence William Clare Roberts (2017), for example, argues that Capital Volume 1 is fundamentally a work of
political theory, rather than economics. Be that as it may, nevertheless, the work does contain substantial
presentation of an economic analysis of capitalism, and it is on this that we will focus here.

4.2 Labour Theory of Value

Capital Volume 1 begins with an analysis of the idea of commodity production. A commodity is defined as a
useful external object, produced for exchange on a market. Thus, two necessary conditions for commodity
production are: the existence of a market, in which exchange can take place; and a social division of labour, in
which different people produce different products, without which there would be no motivation for exchange.
Marx suggests that commodities have both use-value—a use, in other words—and an exchange-value—initially
to be understood as their price. Use value can easily be understood, so Marx says, but he insists that exchange
value is a puzzling phenomenon, and relative exchange values need to be explained. Why does a quantity of one
commodity exchange for a given quantity of another commodity? His explanation is in terms of the labour input
required to produce the commodity, or rather, the socially necessary labour, which is labour exerted at the
average level of intensity and productivity for that branch of activity within the economy. Thus the labour theory
of value asserts that the value of a commodity is determined by the quantity of socially necessary labour time
required to produce it.

Marx provides a two-stage argument for the labour theory of value. The first stage is to argue that if two objects
can be compared in the sense of being put on either side of an equals sign, then there must be a “third thing of
identical magnitude in both of them” to which they are both reducible. As commodities can be exchanged
against each other, there must, Marx argues, be a third thing that they have in common. This then motivates the
second stage, which is a search for the appropriate “third thing”, which is labour in Marx’s view, as the only
plausible common element. Both steps of the argument are, of course, highly contestable.

Capitalism can be distinguished from other forms of commodity exchange, Marx argues, in that it involves not
merely the exchange of commodities, but the advancement of capital, in the form of money, with the purpose of
generating profit through the purchase of commodities and their transformation into other commodities which
can command a higher price, and thus yield a profit. Marx claims that no previous theorist has been able
adequately to explain how capitalism as a whole can make a profit. Marx’s own solution relies on the idea of
exploitation of the worker. In setting up conditions of production the capitalist purchases the worker’s labour
power—his or her ability to labour—for the day. The cost of this commodity is determined in the same way as
the cost of every other; that is, in terms of the amount of socially necessary labour power required to produce it.
In this case the value of a day’s labour power is the value of the commodities necessary to keep the worker alive
for a day. Suppose that such commodities take four hours to produce. Accordingly the first four hours of the
working day is spent on producing value equivalent to the value of the wages the worker will be paid. This is
known as necessary labour. Any work the worker does above this is known as surplus labour, producing surplus
value for the capitalist. Surplus value, according to Marx, is the source of all profit. In Marx’s analysis labour
power is the only commodity which can produce more value than it is worth, and for this reason it is known as
variable capital. Other commodities simply pass their value on to the finished commodities, but do not create
any extra value. They are known as constant capital. Profit, then, is the result of the labour performed by the
worker beyond that necessary to create the value of his or her wages. This is the surplus value theory of profit.

It appears to follow from this analysis that as industry becomes more mechanised, using more constant capital
and less variable capital, the rate of profit ought to fall. For as a proportion less capital will be advanced on
labour, and only labour can create value. In Capital Volume 3 Marx does indeed make the prediction that the rate
of profit will fall over time, and this is one of the factors which leads to the downfall of capitalism. (However, as
pointed out by Paul Sweezy in The Theory of Capitalist Development (1942), the analysis is problematic.) A
further consequence of this analysis is a difficulty for the theory that Marx did recognise, and tried, albeit
unsuccessfully, to meet also in the manuscripts that make up Capital Volume 3. It follows from the analysis so
far that labour-intensive industries ought to have a higher rate of profit than those which use less labour. Not
only is this empirically false, it is theoretically unacceptable. Accordingly, Marx argued that in real economic
life prices vary in a systematic way from values. Providing the mathematics to explain this is known as the
transformation problem, and Marx’s own attempt suffers from technical difficulties. Although there are
sophisticated known techniques for solving this problem now there is a question about the degree to which they
do rescue Marx’s project. If it is thought that the labour theory of value was initially motivated as an intuitively
plausible theory of price then when the connection between price and value is rendered as indirect as it is in the
final theory, the intuitive motivation of the theory drains away. Others consider this to be a superficial reading of
Marx, and that his general approach allows us to see through the appearances of capitalism to understand its
underlying basis, which need not coincide with appearances. How Marx’s theory of capitalism should be read
remains an active area of scholarly debate (Heinrich 2012).

A further objection is that Marx’s assertion that only labour can create surplus value is unsupported by any
argument or analysis, and can be argued to be merely an artefact of the nature of his presentation. Any
commodity can be picked to play a similar role. Consequently, with equal justification one could set out a corn
theory of value, arguing that corn has the unique power of creating more value than it costs. Formally this would
be identical to the labour theory of value (Roemer 1982). Nevertheless, the claims that somehow labour is
responsible for the creation of value, and that profit is the consequence of exploitation, remain intuitively
powerful, even if they are difficult to establish in detail.

However, even if the labour theory of value is considered discredited, there are elements of his theory that
remain of worth. The Cambridge economist Joan Robinson, in An Essay on Marxian Economics (1942), picked
out two aspects of particular note. First, Marx’s refusal to accept that capitalism involves a harmony of interests
between worker and capitalist, replacing this with a class-based analysis of the worker’s struggle for better
wages and conditions of work, versus the capitalist’s drive for ever greater profits. Second, Marx’s denial that
there is any long-run tendency to equilibrium in the market, and his descriptions of mechanisms which underlie
the trade-cycle of boom and bust. Both provide a salutary corrective to aspects of orthodox economic theory.

4.3 Exploitation
As noted, traditionally Marx’s definition of exploitation is given in terms of the theory of surplus value, which in
turn is taken to depend on the labour theory of value: the theory that the value of any commodity is proportional
to the amount of “socially necessary” labour embodied in it. However, the question arises of whether the basic
idea of exploitation should be so dependent on a particular theory of value. For if it is, the notion of exploitation
becomes vulnerable to Robert Nozick’s objection: that if the labour theory of value can be shown to be faulty,
the Marxist theory of exploitation collapses too (Nozick 1974).

Others have felt that it is possible to restore the intuitive core of a Marxist theory of exploitation independent of
the labour theory of value (cf. Cohen 1979, Wolff 1999, Vrousalis 2013). John Roemer, to take one leading case,
states:

Marxian exploitation is defined as the unequal exchange of labor for goods: the exchange is unequal
when the amount of labor embodied in the goods which the worker can purchase with his income …
is less than the amount of labor he expended to earn that income.(Roemer 1985: 30)

Suppose I work eight hours to earn my wages. With this perhaps the best thing I can buy is a coat. But imagine
that the coat took only a total of four hours to make. Therefore I have exchanged my eight hours work for only
four hours of other people’s work, and thereby, on this view, I am exploited.

The definition requires some refinement. For example, if I am taxed for the benefit of those unable to work, I
will be exploited by the above definition, but this is not what the definition of exploitation was intended to
capture. Worse still, if there is one person exploited much more gravely than anyone else in the economy, then it
may turn out that no-one else is exploited. Nevertheless, it should not be difficult to adjust the definition to take
account of these difficulties, and as noted several other accounts of Marx-inspired accounts of exploitation have
been offered that are independent of the labour theory of value.

Many of these alternative definitions add a notion of unfreedom or domination to unequal exchange of labour
and goods (Vrousalis 2013). The exploited person is forced to accept a situation in which he or she just never
gets back what they put into the labour process. Now there may be, in particular cases, a great deal to be said
about why this is perfectly acceptable from a moral point of view. However, on the face of it such exploitation
appears to be unjust. Nevertheless, we will see in the next section why attributing such a position to Marx
himself is fraught with difficulty.

5. Morality
5.1 Unpacking Issues

The issue of Marx and morality poses a conundrum. On reading Marx’s works at all periods of his life, there
appears to be the strongest possible distaste towards bourgeois capitalist society, and an undoubted endorsement
of future communist society. Yet the terms of this antipathy and endorsement are far from clear. Despite
expectations, Marx never directly says that capitalism is unjust. Neither does he directly say that communism
would be a just form of society. In fact he frequently takes pains to distance himself from those who engage in a
discourse of justice, and makes a conscious attempt to exclude direct moral commentary in his own works. The
puzzle is why this should be, given the weight of indirect moral commentary one also finds in his writings.

There are, initially, separate questions concerning Marx’s attitude to capitalism and to communism. There are
also separate questions concerning his attitude to ideas of justice, and to ideas of morality more broadly
concerned. This, then, generates four questions: (a) Did Marx think capitalism unjust?; (b) did he think that
capitalism could be morally criticised on other grounds?; (c) did he think that communism would be just? (d) did
he think it could be morally approved of on other grounds? These are some of the questions we consider in this
section.

5.2 The “Injustice” of Capitalism

The initial argument that Marx must have thought that capitalism is unjust is based on the observation that Marx
argued that all capitalist profit is ultimately derived from the exploitation of the worker. Capitalism’s dirty secret
is that it is not a realm of harmony and mutual benefit but a system in which one class systematically extracts
profit from another. How could this fail to be unjust? Yet it is notable that Marx never explicitly draws such a
conclusion, and in Capital he goes as far as to say that such exchange is “by no means an injury to the seller”
(MECW 35: 204), which some commentators have taken as evidence that Marx did not think that capitalism was
unjust, although other readings are possible.

Allen Wood (1972) is perhaps the leading advocate of the view that Marx did not believe that capitalism is
unjust. Wood argues that Marx takes this approach because his general theoretical approach excludes any trans-
epochal standpoint from which one can comment on the justice of an economic system. Even though it is
acceptable to criticise particular behaviour from within an economic structure as unjust (and theft under
capitalism would be an example) it is not possible to criticise capitalism as a whole. This is a consequence of
Marx’s analysis of the role of ideas of justice from within historical materialism. Marx claims that juridical
institutions are part of the superstructure, and that ideas of justice are ideological. Accordingly, the role of both
the superstructure and ideology, in the functionalist reading of historical materialism adopted here, is to stabilise
the economic structure. Consequently, to state that something is just under capitalism is simply a judgement that
it will tend to have the effect of advancing capitalism. According to Marx, in any society the ruling ideas are
those of the ruling class; the core of the theory of ideology.

Ziyad Husami (1978) however, argues that Wood is mistaken, ignoring the fact that for Marx ideas undergo a
double determination. We need to differentiate not just by economic system, but also by economic class within
the system. Therefore the ideas of the non-ruling class may be very different from those of the ruling class. Of
course, it is the ideas of the ruling class that receive attention and implementation, but this does not mean that
other ideas do not exist. Husami goes as far as to argue that members of the proletariat under capitalism have an
account of justice that matches communism. From this privileged standpoint of the proletariat, which is also
Marx’s standpoint, capitalism is unjust, and so it follows that Marx thought capitalism unjust.

Plausible though it may sound, Husami’s argument fails to account for two related points. First, it cannot explain
why Marx never explicitly described capitalism as unjust, and second, it overlooks the distance Marx wanted to
place between his own scientific socialism, and that of other socialists who argued for the injustice of capitalism.
Hence one cannot avoid the conclusion that the “official” view of Marx is that capitalism is not unjust.

Nevertheless, this leaves us with a puzzle. Much of Marx’s description of capitalism—his use of the words
“embezzlement”, “robbery” and “exploitation”—belie the official account. Arguably, the only satisfactory way
of understanding this issue is, once more, from G.A. Cohen, who proposes that Marx believed that capitalism
was unjust, but did not believe that he believed it was unjust (Cohen 1983). In other words, Marx, like so many
of us, did not have perfect knowledge of his own mind. In his explicit reflections on the justice of capitalism he
was able to maintain his official view. But in less guarded moments his real view slips out, even if never in
explicit language. Such an interpretation is bound to be controversial, but it makes good sense of the texts.

Whatever one concludes on the question of whether Marx thought capitalism unjust, it is, nevertheless, obvious
that Marx thought that capitalism was not the best way for human beings to live. Points made in his early
writings remain present throughout his writings, if no longer connected to an explicit theory of alienation. The
worker finds work a torment, suffers poverty, overwork and lack of fulfilment and freedom. People do not relate
to each other as humans should. Does this amount to a moral criticism of capitalism or not? In the absence of
any special reason to argue otherwise, it simply seems obvious that Marx’s critique is a moral one. Capitalism
impedes human flourishing. It is hard to disagree with the judgement that Marx

thinks that the capitalist exploitation of labor power is a wrong that has horrendous consequences
for the laborers. (Roberts 2017: 129)

Marx, though, once more refrained from making this explicit; he seemed to show no interest in locating his
criticism of capitalism in any of the traditions of moral philosophy, or explaining how he was generating a new
tradition. There may have been two reasons for his caution. The first was that while there were bad things about
capitalism, there is, from a world historical point of view, much good about it too. For without capitalism,
communism would not be possible. Capitalism is to be transcended, not abolished, and this may be difficult to
convey in the terms of moral philosophy.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, we need to return to the contrast between Marxian and other forms of
socialism. Many non-Marxian socialists appealed to universal ideas of truth and justice to defend their proposed
schemes, and their theory of transition was based on the idea that appealing to moral sensibilities would be the
best, perhaps only, way of bringing about the new chosen society. Marx wanted to distance himself from these
other socialist traditions, and a key point of distinction was to argue that the route to understanding the
possibilities of human emancipation lay in the analysis of historical and social forces, not in morality. Hence, for
Marx, any appeal to morality was theoretically a backward step.

5.3 Communism and “Justice”

This leads us now to Marx’s assessment of communism. Would communism be a just society? In considering
Marx’s attitude to communism and justice there are really only two viable possibilities: either he thought that
communism would be a just society or he thought that the concept of justice would not apply: that communism
would transcend justice.

Communism is described by Marx, in the Critique of the Gotha Programme, as a society in which each person
should contribute according to their ability and receive according to their need. This certainly sounds like a
theory of justice, and could be adopted as such (Gilabert 2015). However, many will hold that it is truer to
Marx’s thought to say that this is part of an account in which communism transcends justice, as Lukes has
argued (Lukes 1987).

If we start with the idea that the point of ideas of justice is to resolve disputes, then a society without disputes
would have no need or place for justice. We can see this by reflecting upon the idea of the circumstances of
justice in the work of David Hume (1711–1776). Hume argued that if there was enormous material abundance—
if everyone could have whatever they wanted without invading another’s share—we would never have devised
rules of justice. And, of course, there are suggestions in Marx’s writings that communism would be a society of
such abundance. But Hume also suggested that justice would not be needed in other circumstances; if there were
complete fellow-feeling between all human beings, there would be no conflict and no need for justice. Of
course, one can argue whether either material abundance or human fellow-feeling to this degree would be
possible, but the point is that both arguments give a clear sense in which communism transcends justice.

Nevertheless, we remain with the question of whether Marx thought that communism could be commended on
other moral grounds. On a broad understanding, in which morality, or perhaps better to say ethics, is concerned
with the idea of living well, it seems that communism can be assessed favourably in this light. One compelling
argument is that Marx’s career simply makes no sense unless we can attribute such a belief to him. But beyond
this we can be brief in that the considerations adduced in Section 2 above apply again. Communism clearly
advances human flourishing, in Marx’s view. The only reason for denying that, in Marx’s vision, it would
amount to a good society is a theoretical antipathy to the word “good”. And here the main point is that, in
Marx’s view, communism would not be brought about by high-minded benefactors of humanity. Quite possibly
his determination to retain this point of difference between himself and other socialists led him to disparage the
importance of morality to a degree that goes beyond the call of theoretical necessity.
6. Ideology
6.1 A Critical Account

The account of ideology contained in Marx’s writings is regularly portrayed as a crucial element of his
intellectual legacy. It has been identified as among his “most influential” ideas (Elster 1986: 168), and acclaimed
as “the most fertile” part of his social and political theory (Leiter 2004: 84). Not least, these views on ideology
are said to constitute Marx’s claim to a place—alongside Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900) and Sigmund Freud
(1856–1939)—as one of the “masters of suspicion”; that is, as an author whose work casts doubt on the
transparency of our everyday understandings of both our own identity and the social world we inhabit (Ricouer
1970: 32–33).

Given this enthusiastic reception, it can come as something of a surprise to turn to Marx’s writings and discover
how little they contain about ideology, and how inchoate and opaque those infrequent and passing observations
on that topic are. There are, of course, some famous quotations, not least from The German
Ideologymanuscripts. The references there to ideology as involving an “inversion” of the relation between
individuals and their circumstances, perhaps analogous to the workings of a “camera obscura”—an optical
device which projected an image of its surroundings, upside down but preserving perspective, onto a screen
inside—have often mesmerised commentators but not always generated much genuine illumination (MECW 5:
36). The point should not be exaggerated, but these striking images notwithstanding, there is no clear and
sustained discussion of ideology in the Marxian corpus.

Many commentators maintain that the search for a single model of ideology in his work has to be given up.
Indeed, there is something of an “arms race” in the literature, as commentators discover two, three, even five,
competing models of ideology in Marx’s writings (Mepham 1979; Wood 1981 [2004]; Rosen 1996). Most
surprisingly, it seems that some licence can be found in Marx’s corpus for three very different ways of thinking
about what ideology is. There is textual evidence of his variously utilising: a “descriptive” account of ideology
involving a broadly anthropological study of the beliefs and rituals characteristic of certain groups; a “positive”
account of ideology as a “worldview” providing the members of a group with a sense of meaning and identity;
and a “critical” account seeking to liberate individuals from certain false and misleading forms of understanding
(Geuss 1981: 4–26).

It is the last of these—the critical account rather than either of the two “non-critical” accounts—which is central
to his wider social and political theory, but this account is itself subject to some considerable interpretative
disagreement. Marx’s theory of ideology is usually portrayed as an element in what might be called Marx’s
sociology, as distinct from his philosophical anthropology say, or his theory of history (although complexly
related to the latter).

6.2 Ideology and Stability

Marx does not view ideology as a feature of all societies, and, in particular, suggests that it will not be a feature
of a future communist society. However, ideology is portrayed as a feature of all class-divided societies, and not
only of capitalist society—although many of Marx’s comments on ideology are concerned with the latter. The
theory of ideology appears to play a role in explaining a feature of class-divided societies which might otherwise
appear puzzling, namely what might be called their “stability”; that is, the absence of overt and serious conflict
between social classes. This stability is not permanent, but it can last for extended historical periods. This
stability appears puzzling to Marx because class-divided societies are flawed in ways which not only frustrate
human flourishing, but also work to the material advantage of the ruling minority. Why do the subordinate
classes, who form a majority, tolerate these flaws, when resistance and rebellion of various kinds might be in
their objective interests?

Marx’s account of the sources of social stability in class-divided societies appeals to both repressive and non-
repressive mechanisms. Such societies might often involve the direct repression (or the threat of it) of one group
by another, but Marx does not think that this is the whole story. There are also non-repressive sources of social
stability, and ideology is usually, and plausibly, considered one of these. Very roughly, Marx’s account of
ideology claims that the dominant social ideas in such societies are typically false or misleading in a fashion that
works to the advantage of the economically dominant class.

We should note that ideology would seem to be a part and not the whole of Marx’s account of the non-repressive
sources of stability in class divided societies. Other factors might include: dull economic pressure, including the
daily grind of having to earn a living; doubts—justified or otherwise—about the feasibility of alternatives;
sensitivity to the possible costs of radical social change; and collective action problems of various kinds which
face those who do want to rebel and resist. Marx does not think individuals are permanently trapped within
ideological modes of thinking. Ideology may have an initial hold, but it is not portrayed as impervious to reason
and evidence, especially in circumstances in which the objective conditions for social change obtain.

6.3 Characteristics
For Marx ideological beliefs are social in that they are widely shared, indeed so widely-shared that for long
periods they constitute the “ruling” or “dominant” ideas in a given class-divided society (MECW 5: 59). And
they are social in that they directly concern, or indirectly impact upon, the action-guiding understandings of self
and society that individuals have. These action-guiding understandings include the dominant legal, political,
religious, and philosophical views within particular class-divided societies in periods of stability (MECW 29:
263).

Not all false or misleading beliefs count for Marx as ideological. Honest scientific error, for example can be non-
ideological. And ideological belief can be misleading without being strictly false. For example, defenders of the
capitalist economy portray what Marx calls the “wage form”, with its exchange of equivalents, as the whole
(rather than a part) of the story about the relation between capital and labour, thereby ignoring the exploitation
which occurs in the sphere of production. Indeed, the notion of the “falsity” of ideology needs to be expanded
beyond the content of the “ideas” in question, to include cases where their origins are in some way contaminated
(Geuss 1981: 19–22). Perhaps the only reason I believe something to be the case is that the belief in question has
a consoling effect on me. Arguably such a belief is held ideologically, even if it happens to be true. Nevertheless
paradigmatic examples of ideology have a false content. For example, ideology often portrays institutions,
policies, and decisions which are in the interests of the economically dominant class, as being in the interests of
the society as a whole (MECW 5: 60); and ideology often portrays social and political arrangements which are
contingent, or historical, or artificial, as being necessary, or universal, or natural (MECW 35: 605).

In addition to false or misleading content, ideological beliefs typically have at least two additional
characteristics, relating to their social origin and their class function. By the “social origin” of ideology is meant
that Marx thinks of these ideas as often originating with, and being reinforced by, the complex structure of class-
divided societies—a complex structure in which a deceptive surface appearance is governed by underlying
essential relations (Geras 1986: 63–84). Capitalism is seen as especially deceptive in appearance; for example,
Marx often contrasts the relative transparency of “exploitation” under feudalism, with the way in which the
“wage form” obscures the ratio of necessary and surplus labour in capitalist societies. Ideology stems, in part,
from this deceptive surface appearance which makes it difficult to grasp the underlying social flaws that benefit
the economically dominant class. Marx portrays the striving to uncover essences concealed by misleading
appearances as characteristic of scientific endeavour (MECW 37, 804). And, in this context, he distinguishes
between classical political economy, which strove—albeit not always successfully—to uncover the essential
relations often concealed behind misleading appearances, and what he calls vulgar economy, which happily
restricts itself to the misleading appearances themselves (MECW 37, 804).

By the “class function” of ideology is meant that Marx holds that the pervasiveness of ideology is explained by
the fact it helps stabilise the economic structure of societies. All sorts of ideas might get generated for all sorts of
reasons, but the ones that tend to “stick” (become widely accepted) in class-divided societies do so, not because
of their truth, but because they conceal or misrepresent or justify flaws in that society in ways which redound to
the benefit of the economically dominant class (Rosen & Wolff 1996: 235–236).
In response critics often see this as just another example of sloppy functional reasoning—purportedly
widespread in the Marxist tradition—whereby a general pattern is asserted without the identification of any of
the mechanisms which might generate that pattern. In the present case, it is said that Marx never properly
explains why the ruling ideas should be those of the ruling class (Elster 1985: 473). Yet there are obvious
possible mechanisms here. To give two examples. First, there is the control of the ruling class over the means of
mental production, and in particular the print and broadcast media which in capitalist societies are typically
owned and controlled by the very wealthy (MECW 5, 59). A second possible mechanism appeals to the
psychological need of individuals for invented narratives that legitimise or justify their social position; for
instance, Marx identifies a widespread need, in flawed societies, for the consolatory effects of religion (MECW3,
175).

7. State and Politics

This broad heading—the state and politics—could cover very many different issues. To make the present
account manageable, only two are addressed here: Marx’s account of the state in capitalist society; and Marx’s
account of the fate of the state in communist society. (Consequently, many other important political issues—the
nature of pre-capitalist states, relations between states, the political transition to communism, and so on—are not
dealt with.)

7.1 The State in Capitalist Society

Marx offers no unified theoretical account of the state in capitalist society. Instead his remarks on this topic are
scattered across the course of his activist life, and deeply embedded in discussions of contemporary events,
events which most modern readers will know very little about. Providing some initial order to that complexity,
Jon Elster helpfully identifies three different models in Marx’s writings of the relationship, in capitalist society,
between the political state, on the one hand, and the economically dominant class, on the other. (The next three
paragraphs draw heavily on Elster 1985: 409–437.)

First, the “instrumental” model portrays the state as simply a tool, directly controlled by the economically
dominant class, in its own interests, at the expense of the interests both of other classes and of the community as
a whole. Marx is usually said to endorse the instrumental account in the Communist Manifesto, where he and
Engels insist that “the executive of the modern state is but a committee for managing the common affairs of the
whole bourgeoisie” (MECW 6: 486). On this account, the state might also act against the short term, or the
factional, interests of particular capitalists. The picture here is of the state as an instrument directed—
presumably by a subset of capitalists or their representatives—in ways which promote the long term interests of
the bourgeoisie as a whole. The precise mechanisms which might facilitate that result are not clear in Marx’s
writings.

Second, the “class balance” model portrays the state as having interests of its own, with capitalist interests as
merely one of the strategic limits on its pursuit of these. This model gets its name from the exceptional social
circumstances said to explain the independence of the state in this case. In situations where the social power of
the two warring classes of contemporary society—capitalists and workers—are very nearly balanced, the
political state (and especially the executive) can gain independence from both, exploiting that conflict in order to
promote its own interests (the interests of the political caste). Something like this picture appears in Marx’s
discussions of the continued existence of certain absolutist states after the revolutions of 1848, and of the
Bonapartist state established in France by the coup of Napoleon III in December 1851. The state now competes
with capitalists and proletarians (and is not merely the tool of the former), and by “promising each of the major
classes to protect it against the other, the government can rule autonomously” (Elster 1985: 425). On this
account, the state has interests of its own, but presumably only gets to pursue them if those promises to others
are plausible, finding some reflection in its policies and behaviour. Capitalist interests accordingly remain a
political constraint, but they are now only one of the factors constraining the state’s actions rather than
constituting its primary goal.
Third, the “abdication” model presents the bourgeoisie as staying away from the direct exercise of political
power, but doing this because it is in their economic interests to do so. As Elster notes, strictly speaking,
“abdication” here covers two slightly different cases—first, where the bourgeoisie abdicate from the political
power that they initially controlled (relevant to France); and, second, where the bourgeoisie abstain from taking
political power in the first place (relevant to Britain and Germany)—but they can be treated together. In both
cases, Marx identifies a situation where “in order to save its purse, [the bourgeoisie] must forfeit the crown”
(MECW 11: 143). Where the instrumental picture claims that the state acts in the interests of the capitalist
classbecause it is directly controlled by the latter, the abdication picture advances an explanatory
connection between the promotion of bourgeois interests and the retreat from the direct exercise of power.
Circumstances obtain where “the political rule of the bourgeoisie” turns out to be “incompatible” with its
continued economic flourishing, and the bourgeoisie seeks “to get rid of its own political rule in order to get rid
of the troubles and dangers of ruling” (MECW 11: 173). There are several possible explanations of why the
bourgeoisie might remain outside of politics in order to promote their own interests. To give three examples: the
bourgeoisie might recognise that their own characteristic short-termism could be fatal to their own interests if
they exercised direct political as well as economic power; the bourgeoisie might find political rule sufficiently
time and effort consuming to withdraw from it, discovering that the economic benefits kept on coming
regardless; or the bourgeoisie might appreciate that abdication weakened their class opponents, forcing the
proletariat to fight on two fronts (against capital and government) and thereby making it less able to win those
struggles.

There are many questions one might have about these three models.

First, one might wonder which of these three models best embodies Marx’s considered view? The instrumental
account is the earliest account, which he largely abandons from the early 1850s, presumably noticing how poorly
it captured contemporary political realities—in particular, the stable existence of states which were not directly
run by the capitalist class, but which still in some way served their interests. That outcome is possible under
either of the two other accounts. However, Marx seems to have thought of the class balance model as a
temporary solution in exceptional circumstances, and perhaps held that it failed to allow the stable explanatory
connection that he sought between the extant political arrangements and the promotion of dominant economic
interests. In short, for better or worse, Marx’s considered view looks closer to the abdication account, reflecting
his conviction that the central features of political life are explained by the existing economic structure.

Second, one might wonder which model allows greatest “autonomy” to the political state? A weak definition of
state autonomy might portray the state as autonomous when it is independent of direct control by the
economically dominant class. On this definition, both the class balance and abdication models—but not the
instrumental account—seem to provide for autonomy. A stronger definition of state autonomy might require
what Elster calls “explanatory autonomy”, which exists

when (and to the extent that) its structure and policies cannot be explained by the interest of an
economically dominant class. (Elster 1985: 405)

Only the class balance view seems to allow significant explanatory autonomy. In his preferred abdication
account, Marx allows that the state in capitalist society is independent of direct capitalist control, but goes on to
claim that its main structures (including that very independence) and policies are ultimately explained by the
interests of the capitalist class.

7.2. The Fate of the State in Communist Society

For reasons discussed below (see Section 8), Marx declines to say much about the basic structure of a future
communist society. However, in the case of the fate of the state, that reluctance is partially mitigated by his view
that the institutional arrangements of the Paris Commune prefigured the political dimensions of communist
society.
Marx’s views on the nature and fate of the state in communist society are to be distinguished from his
infrequent, and subsequently notorious, use of the term “the dictatorship of the proletariat”. (On the infrequency,
context, and content, of these uses see Draper 1986 and Hunt 1974.) The idea of “dictatorship” in this historical
context has the (ancient) connotation of emergency rule rather than the (modern) connotation of totalitarianism.
Marx’s use makes it clear that any such temporary government should be democratic; for instance, in having
majority support, and in preserving democratic rights (of speech, association, and so on). However, it is by
definition “extra-legal” in that it seeks to establish a new regime and not to preserve an old one. So understood,
the dictatorship of the proletariat forms part of the political transition to communist society (a topic not covered
here), rather than part of the institutional structure of communist society itself. The “dictatorial”—that is, the
temporary and extra-legal—character of this regime ends with establishment of a new and stable polity, and it is
the latter which is discussed here (Hunt 1974: 297).

The character of the state in communist society consists, in part, of its form (its institutional arrangements) and
its function (the tasks that it undertakes).

Some sense of the form of the state in communist society can be gained from Marx’s engagement with the Paris
Commune. His preferred future political arrangements involve a high degree of participation, and the radical
“de-professionalisation” of certain public offices. First, Marx is enthusiastic about regular elections, universal
suffrage, mandat impératif, recall, open executive proceedings, decentralisation, and so on. Second, he objects to
public offices (in the legislature, executive, and judiciary) being the spoils of a political caste, and sought to
make them working positions, remunerated at the average worker’s wage, and regularly circulating (through
election). This combination of arrangements has been characterised as “democracy without professionals” (Hunt
1974: 365). Marx saw it as reflecting his view that:

Freedom consists in converting the state from an organ superimposed upon society into one
completely subordinate to it. (MECW 24: 94)

Some sense of the function of the state in communist society can be gained from Marx’s distinction between
“necessary” tasks that a state would need to undertake in all societies (at least, economically developed
societies), and “unnecessary” tasks that a state would only need to undertake in class-divided societies. The
difficulty here is less in allowing this distinction, than in deciding what might fall into each category. On the
necessary side, Marx appears to require that the state in communist society provide both: democratic solutions to
coordination problems (deciding which side of the road traffic should drive on, for instance); and the supply of
public goods (health, welfare, education, and so on). On the unnecessary side, Marx seems to think that a
communist society might hugely reduce, or even eliminate, the element of organised coercion found in most
states (in the form of standing armies, police forces, and so on). At least, this reduction might be feasible once
communist society had reached its higher stage (where distribution is based on “the needs principle”), and there
is no longer a threat from non-communist societies.

Again, there are many reservations that one might have about this account.

First, many will be sceptical about its feasibility, and perhaps especially of the purported reduction, still less
elimination, of state coercion. That scepticism might be motivated by the thought that this would only be
possible if communist society were characterised by widespread social and political consensus, and that such
consensus is, both unlikely (at least, in modern societies), and undesirable (diversity and disagreement having a
value). However, the reduction, or even elimination, of state coercion might be compatible with certain forms of
continuing disagreement about the ends and means of communist society. Imagine that a democratic communist
polity introduces a new law prohibiting smoking in public places, and that a representative smoker (call her
Anne) obeys that law despite being among the minority who wanted this practice permitted. Anne’s motivation
for obedience, we can stipulate, is grounded, not in fear of the likely response of bodies of armed persons
enforcing the law, but rather in respect for the democratic majority of the community of which she is a part. In
short, reasonably strong assumptions about the democratic commitments of individuals might allow the scaling
down of organised coercion without having to presume universal agreement amongst citizens on all issues.
Second, some might object to the reference, throughout this section, to the “state” in communist society. It might
be said that a polity whose form and functions are so radically transformed—the form by democratic
participation and de-professionalisation, the function by eliminating historically unnecessary tasks—is
insufficiently “state-like” to be called a state. That is certainly possible, but the terminological claim would
appear to assume that there is greater clarity and agreement about just what a state is, either than is presupposed
here or than exists in the world. Given that lack of consensus, “state” seems a suitably prudent choice. As well as
being consistent with some of Marx’s usage, it avoids prejudging this very issue. However, anyone unmoved by
those considerations can simply replace “state”, in this context, with their own preferred alternative.

8. Utopianism
8.1 Utopian Socialism

It is well-known that Marx never provided a detailed account of the basic structure of the future communist
society that he predicted. This was not simply an omission on his part, but rather reflects his deliberate
commitment, as he colloquially has it, to refrain from writing “recipes” for the “restaurants” of the future
(MECW 35: 17, translation amended).

The reasoning that underpins this commitment can be reconstructed from Marx’s engagement with the radical
political tradition that he called “utopian socialism”, and whose founding triumvirate were Charles Fourier
(1772–1837), Henri Saint-Simon (1760–1825), and Robert Owen (1771–1858). Note that the distinction
between Marxian socialism and utopian socialism is not an exhaustive one. Marx happily allows that there are
socialists who are neither Marxian nor Utopian; for example, the “feudal socialists” discussed in the Communist
Manifesto.

What distinguishes utopian from other socialists is, in large part, their view that providing
persuasive constructive plans and blueprints of future socialist arrangements is a legitimate and necessary
activity. (The expression “plans and blueprints” is used here to capture the necessary detail of these descriptions,
and not to suggest that these designs have to be thought of as “stipulative”, as having to be followed to the
letter.) On the utopian account, the socialist future needs to be designed before it can be delivered; the plans and
blueprints being intended to guide and motivate socialists in their transformative ambitions. Of course, that Marx
is not in this sense utopian does not rule out the possibility of additional (here unspecified) senses in which he
might accurately be so described.

Marx’s account of utopian socialism might appear contradictory. It is certainly easy to find not only passages
fiercely criticising utopian authors and texts, but also passages generously praising them. However, that criticism
and that praise turn out to attach to slightly different targets, revealing an underlying and consistent structure to
his account.

That underlying structure rests on two main distinctions. The first distinction is a chronological one running
between the founding triumvirate, on the one hand, and second and subsequent generations of utopian socialists,
on the other. (These later generations including both loyal followers of the founding triumvirate, and
independent later figures such as Étienne Cabet (1788–1856)). The second distinction is a substantive one
running between the critical part of utopian writings (the portrayal of faults within contemporary capitalist
society), on the one hand, and the constructive part of utopian writings (the detailed description of the ideal
socialist future), on the other.

Note that these distinctions underpin the asymmetry of Marx’s assessment of utopian socialism. Simply put: he
is more enthusiastic and positive about the achievements of the first generation of utopians, by comparison with
those of second and subsequent generations; and he is more enthusiastic and positive about the utopians’
criticism of contemporary society, by comparison with the utopians’ constructive endeavours.

8.2 Marx’s Utopophobia

The remainder of this section will focus on Marx’s disapproval of the constructive endeavours of the utopians.

In trying to organise and understand Marx’s various criticisms of utopianism, it is helpful to distinguish between
foundational and non-foundational variants. (This distinction is intended to be exhaustive, in that all of his
criticisms of utopianism will fall into one of these two categories.) Non-foundational criticisms of utopian
socialism are those which, if sound, would provide us with a reason to reject views which might be held by, or
even be characteristic of, utopian socialists, but which are not constitutive of their utopianism. That is, they
would give us a reason to abandon the relevant beliefs, or to criticise those (including utopians) who held them,
but they would not give us cause to reject utopianism as such. In contrast, foundational criticisms of utopian
socialism are those which, if sound, would provide us with a reason to reject utopianism as such; that is, a reason
to refrain from engaging in socialist design, a reason not to describe in relevant detail the socialist society of the
future. (Of course, that reason might not be decisive, all things considered, but it would still count against
utopianism per se.)

Many of Marx’s best-known criticisms of utopian socialism are non-foundational. For instance, in
the Communist Manifesto, he complains that utopian socialists hold a mistaken “ahistorical” view of social
change. The utopians purportedly fail to understand that the achievement of socialism depends on conditions
which can only emerge at a certain stage of historical development. They might, for instance, recognise that
there are strategic preconditions for socialism (for instance, the right blueprint and sufficient will to put it into
practice), but (mistakenly on Marx’s account) imagine that those preconditions could have appeared at any point
in time. This complaint is non-foundational in that one can accept that there are historical conditions for
establishing a socialist society, and that the utopian socialists fail to understand this, without thereby having a
reason to abandon utopianism as such. A commitment to the necessity and desirability of socialist design does
not require one to hold an “ahistorical” view of social change.

Assessing the soundness of non-foundational criticisms, and their relevance to the utopian socialist tradition, is a
complicated task (see Leopold 2018). However, even if sound and relevant, these criticisms would provide no
reason to abandon utopianism as such. Consequently, they are pursued no further here. Instead, the focus is on
the three main foundational arguments against utopianism that can be located in Marx’s writings; namely, that
utopian plans and blueprints are necessarily undemocratic, impossible, and redundant (see Leopold 2016).

Marx’s first argument involves a normative claim that utopian plans and blueprints are undemocratic.
(“Democracy” here connoting individual and collective self-determination, rather than political forms of
governance.) The basic argument runs: that it is undemocratic to limit the self-determination of individuals; that
providing a plan or blueprint for a socialist society limits the self-determination of individuals; and that therefore
the provision of plans and blueprints for a socialist society is undemocratic. If we add in the assumption that
undemocratic means are undesirable; then we can conclude that it is undesirable to provide plans or blueprints of
a future socialist society. One central reason for resisting this argument is that it is hard to identify a plausible
account of the conditions for self-determination, according to which it is necessarily true that merely providing a
socialist plan or blueprint restricts self-determination. Indeed, one might heretically think that detailed plans and
blueprints often tend to promote self-determination, helping individuals think about where it is they want to go,
and how they want to get there.

Marx’s second argument rests on an epistemological claim that that utopian plans and blueprints are impossible,
because they require accurate knowledge of the future of a kind which cannot be had. The basic argument starts
from the assumption that to be of any use a blueprint must facilitate the construction of a future socialist society.
Moreover, to facilitate the construction of a future socialist society a blueprint must be completely accurate; and
to be completely accurate a blueprint must predict all the relevant circumstances of that future society. However,
since it is not possible—given the complexity of the social world and the limitations of human nature—to
predict all the relevant circumstances of that future society, we can conclude that socialist blueprints are of no
use. One central reason for resisting this argument is that, whilst it is hard to deny that completely accurate plans
are impossible (given the complexity of the world and the limitations of human understanding), the claim that
only completely accurate plans are useful seems doubtful. Plans are not simply predictions, and providing less
than wholly accurate plans for ourselves often forms part of the process whereby we help determine the future
for ourselves (insofar as that is possible).
Marx’s third argument depends on an empirical claim that utopian plans and blueprints are unnecessary, because
satisfactory solutions to social problems emerge automatically from the unfolding of the historical process
without themselves needing to be designed. The basic argument runs as follows: that utopian blueprints describe
the basic structure of the socialist society of the future; and that such blueprints are necessary if and only if the
basic structure of future socialist society needs to be designed. However, given that the basic structure of the
future socialist society develops automatically (without design assistance) within capitalist society; and that the
role of human agency in this unfolding historical process is to deliver (not design) that basic structure, Marx
concludes that utopian blueprints are redundant. Reasons for resisting this argument include scepticism about
both Marx’s reasoning and the empirical record. Marx is certain that humankind does not need to design the
basic structure of the future socialist society, but it is not really made clear who or what does that designing in its
place. Moreover, the path of historical development since Marx’s day does not obviously confirm the complex
empirical claim that the basic structure of socialist society is developing automatically within existing
capitalism, needing only to be delivered (and not designed) by human agency.

This brief discussion suggests that there are cogent grounds for doubting Marx’s claim that utopian plans and
blueprints are necessarily undemocratic, impossible, and redundant.

Finally, recall that Marx is less enthusiastic about the second and subsequent generations of utopians, than he is
about the original triumvirate. We might reasonably wonder about the rationale for greater criticism of later
utopians. It is important to recognise that it is not that second and subsequent generations make more or grosser
errors than the original triumvirate. (Indeed, Marx appears to think that all these different generations largely
held the same views, and made the same mistakes). The relevant difference is rather that, by comparison with
their successors, this first generation were not to blame for those errors. In short, the rationale behind Marx’s
preference for the first over the second and subsequent generations of utopian socialists is based on an
understanding of historical development and an associated notion of culpability.

Marx held that the intellectual formation of this first generation took place in a historical context (the cusp of the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries) which was sufficiently developed to provoke socialist criticism, but not
sufficiently developed for that socialist criticism to escape serious misunderstandings (Cohen 2000: 51). Since
neither the material conditions of modern society, nor the historical agent capable of bringing socialism about,
were sufficiently developed, this first generation were bound to develop faulty accounts of the nature of, and
transition to, socialism. However, that defence—the historical unavoidability of error—is not available to
subsequent generations who, despite significantly changed circumstances, hold fast to the original views of their
intellectual forerunners. Marx maintains that more recent utopians, unlike the original triumvirate, really ought
to know better.

9. Marx’s Legacy
At this point, we might be expected briefly to survey Marx’s legacy.

That legacy is often elaborated in terms of movements and thinkers. However, so understood, the controversy
and scale of that legacy make brevity impossible, and this entry is already long enough. All we can do here is
gesture at the history and mention some further reading.

The chronology here might provisionally be divided into three historical periods: from Marx’s death until the
Russia Revolution (1917); from the Russian Revolution to the fall of the Berlin Wall (1989); and since 1989. It
seems hard to say much that is certain about the last of these periods, but some generalisations about the first
two might be hazarded.

That first period of “Classical Marxism” can be thought of in two generational waves. The first smaller group of
theorists was associated with the Second International, and includes Karl Kautsky (1854–1938) and Plekhanov.
The succeeding more activist generation includes Rosa Luxemburg (1871–1919), V.I. Lenin (1870–1924) and
Leon Trotsky (1879–1940).
The second period is perhaps dominated by “Soviet Marxism” and the critical reaction from other Marxists that
it provoked. The repressive bureaucratic regimes which solidified in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe
repressed independent theoretical work, including scholarly editorial work on the writings of Marx and Engels.
However, they also provoked a critical reaction in the form of a body of thought often called “Western
Marxism”, usually said to include the work of Antonio Gramsci (1891–1937), Theodor Adorno (1903–1969),
and Althusser. The later parts of this period saw the continuing development of “Critical Theory”, as well as the
birth of currents such as “Analytical Marxism” whose longer term impact is uncertain.

These first two periods are both partly covered by the Polish philosopher and historian of ideas, Leszek
Kołakowski, in the final two volumes of his encyclopaedic three volume Main Currents of Marxism (1976
[1978]). A succinct critical account of the emergence and distinctive character of Western Marxism is provided
by Perry Anderson in his Considerations on Western Marxism (1976). And some of the more philosophically
interesting authors in this latter tradition are also covered elsewhere in this Encyclopaedia (see the Related
Entries section below). Finally, and edging a little into the third of these historical periods, Christoph Henning
offers an account of the (mis) readings of Marx—especially those replacing social theory with moral philosophy
—in German philosophy from Heidegger to Habermas and beyond, in his Philosophy After Marx (2014).

However, we might also think of Marx’s legacy, less in terms of thinkers and movements, and more in terms of
reasons for wanting to study Marx’s ideas. In that context, we would stress that this is not simply a question of
the truth of his various substantive claims. The work of philosophers is, of course, also valued for the originality,
insight, potential, and so on, that it may also contain. And, so judged, Marx’s writings have much to offer.

The various strands of Marx’s thought surveyed here include his philosophical anthropology, his theory of
history, his critical engagement with the economic and political dimensions of capitalism, and a frustratingly
vague outline of what might replace it. Whatever the connections between these threads, it seems implausible to
suggest that Marx’s ideas form a system which has to be swallowed or rejected in its entirety. It might, for
instance, be that Marx’s diagnosis looks more persuasive than his remedies. Readers may have little confidence
in his solutions, but that does not mean that the problems he identifies are not acute.

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