George García-Quesada - Karl Marx, Historian of Social Times and Spaces
George García-Quesada - Karl Marx, Historian of Social Times and Spaces
Editorial Board
volume 238
By
George García-Quesada
leiden | boston
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Acknowledgements ix
List of Figures and Tables x
3 In Marx’s Archive 94
3.1 Documentary Critique and Critique of Ideology 96
3.2 The Imperial Archive and the Limits to Interpretation 105
3.3 Beyond Marx’s Archive 113
Epilogue 121
Bibliography 165
Index 183
My deepest gratitude goes to Peter Osborne, whose careful readings and obser-
vations always led to substantial improvements to previous versions of this
writing. Useful suggestions and challenging questions about this work were for-
mulated at different moments by Peter Hallward, Howard Caygill and Étienne
Balibar. Héctor Hernández, Maria Chehonadskih, George Tomlinson, Eric-John
Russell, Rebecca Carson and Francisco Víctor gently read one or more chapters,
and their comments have made this a better book. The anonymous reviewers
of the original manuscript have also contributed decisively to this version. I am
also indebted to Pablo Quirós Solís and Danny Hayward for their help with this
edition. The limitations of this work are nonetheless my exclusive responsibil-
ity.
I would also like to thank my mother Ingrid Quesada and her husband,
Richard Doud (r.i.p.), for their decisive support before and during my research.
I also extend thanks to Saray Córdoba as well as Sammy, Fabio and Yessika, for
their valuable time and resources in helping me with diverse errands in Costa
Rica, and to Eilyn Baltodano and her family for their hospitality during my first
weeks in the United Kingdom. My friends and colleagues Minor Calderón, Gis-
elle Marín, Alexánder Jiménez, Pablo Hernández and Mario Salas honoured me
with their time and trust in dealing with other requirements. Last but not least,
I want to express my gratitude to my partner Amanda Alfaro for her support at
every level during the writing of this book.
The investigation leading to this book has been possible thanks to the partial
sponsorship of the University of Costa Rica.
Figures
Table
1 Domains of reality 59
∵
This investigation seeks to establish a dialogue between Marx’s conception of
history and some current problems in the philosophy of history, through the
analysis of the categories of social space and social time. Along these lines, I
interpret and systematise Marx’s conception of history in its various levels in
order to clarify his explicit positions, but equally to explore possibilities that he
did not always thoroughly develop. This helps us address and reformulate prob-
lems of historical theory and historiography. Although the reading presented
here seeks to understand Marx’s corpus rigorously in its philosophical, histor-
ical and philological aspects, my aim is not to present an ‘original Marx’ – an
attempt that has proved impossible after more than a century and a half of
conflicting interpretations2 – but to highlight the possibilities of a ‘best Marx’
in terms of the capacity of his theory and historical research to account for
complex, unevenly developing social totalisations.3
As the first chapter argues, Marx’s formulations in the direction of a mul-
tilinear conception of history – based on social forms rather than on stages –
first appear in his 1856–7 Grundrisse, and assume a perspective that enables
the integration of diverse social space-times without reducing them to a single
social principle. In this conception, knowledge about actual historical pro-
cesses requires both empirical and theoretical grounding, and thus the study of
Marx’s conception of history implies not just the revision of his more abstract
analyses of modes of production – with capitalism as the mode of production
par excellence – but also, necessarily, an engagement with his analyses of actual
historical cases.
In this manner, the epigraph by Massimiliano Tomba appropriately descri-
bes the importance of Marx’s case studies and contingency in his conception
of history. The historically particular is a ‘point of condensation’ inasmuch as it
is comprised by multiple social relations and practices. Therefore, when prop-
erly done, historical explanation accounts for the complexity of phenomena by
presenting the social totalisation through its contradictory relations. Historical
knowledge is produced in the tension between the abstract and the concrete:
Marx’s concept of a ‘mode of production’ is essential for historical analysis, but
particular socio-historical contexts are equally important to his theory of his-
tory. This is the argument of the second chapter.
This consideration is important in order to not exaggerate the distance
between Marx’s writings on political economy and those that deal with particu-
lar historical events. David Harvey’s idea of ‘two Marxisms’ – one deterministic,
the other voluntaristic – is complicit in this kind of exaggeration, by maintain-
ing that there is ‘a seemingly unbridgeable divide between the fluid, accidental
and voluntaristic tone of the historical and political writings, on the one hand,
and the rigorously scientific and lawlike political economy on the other.’4 If
Harvey’s position were correct, Marx’s writings about conjunctural processes
would be completely devoid of theoretical content.
To be sure, these writings were produced under quite different circum-
stances and have different value in terms of their contribution to Marx’s theory
of history. As we will note in the third chapter, the conditions for the production
of the different texts had a decisive influence on their contents. For instance,
simply translate a text rich with uncertainties into an intelligible code, but they are incorpor-
ated into the work and their context of reception’. Grüner 1995, p. 11.
3 Johnson 1982, pp. 153–201.
4 Harvey 2013, p. 15.
his entries for the American Encyclopedia were written merely for the sake of
earning income, and have a distant relation – if none at all – with his theory
of history, while The Civil War in France was written as a political communica-
tion from the International Workingmen’s Association, and centred its analysis
on aspects of the development of the French state. On the other hand, his art-
icles on the Civil War in the United States, written for audiences unfamiliar
with social conditions in that country, contextualise with historical materialist
rigour the economic and political contradictions that led to this military con-
frontation.
In this sense, Kevin Anderson’s praise of Marx’s post-1856 writings about
particular cases needs nuance: some of them contain, as he argues, signific-
ant theoretical analyses of specific historical societies – especially non-Western
societies – with greater detail and depth than his writings on political eco-
nomy,5 while others, in contrast, possess a significantly more limited scope. In
particular, I will be addressing Marx’s analyses about the origins of capitalism
in Volume One of Capital, on the Commune in The Civil War in France, and
his and Engels’s articles about the Civil War in the United States. These texts
explain processes of varying spatial and temporal scales, and deal with differ-
ent aspects of the development of capitalism, like dispossession of the means
of the working people, modern slave labour, and the relations between classes
and the state.6
In these analyses Marx concretely approaches each of the particular pro-
cesses, and in order to do so he elaborates narratives for their explanation –
even in the case of the articles about the US Civil War, which, in spite of their
fragmentary condition, amount to a coherent narrative. Indeed, as I will argue,
this narrative component is not opposed to structural explanation but is wholly
necessary for the explanation of historical processes. This opens the theme
of the literary dimension of historiography but, far from leading to an aes-
thetic formalism that downplays the epistemological value of historiography, a
Marxian approach to narrative – which Marx himself does not develop – high-
lights the role of political positions in historical knowledge. This is a central
concern of the fourth chapter.
Because some of these cases – e.g. the two mentioned civil wars – took place
while or shortly before Marx was writing about them, the consideration of
these analyses in a work about the philosophy of history also requires a pre-
liminary indication of Marx’s conception of history. For reasons that will soon
become clear, the title of this work should not be understood as an endorse-
ment of history as the discipline that traditionally has had the past as its object
of study: the categories of space and time at the core of Marx’s concept of
history radically differ from those of the most influential nineteenth-century
historians. In contemporary terms, Marx comprehended the science of history
as a transdisciplinary, totalising approach in the social sciences. Thus the title
of this book, in deliberate reference to Eduardo Grüner’s profound and suggest-
ive preface to Class Struggles in France,7 alludes to Marx as a social researcher
at philosophical, theoretical and empirical levels. Underlying this dialectical
unity is a conception of history as an object that can be grasped through appro-
priate categories, while at the same time the research of actual historical form-
ations helps to advance historical theory.
Having said this, while Marx’s conception of history is broader than that of
traditional disciplinary historical studies, the problems in the latter are non-
etheless closely related to those which the materialist conception deals with,
especially due to the inescapable temporal dimension of historical research,
which other disciplines in the social sciences traditionally ignored. However,
the importance of the problems of the philosophy of history was downplayed
in much of Marxist theory during the twentieth century, wherein, as Peter
Osborne indicates, the concern for history
7 Grüner 2005. In a line close to the work of this and other Latin American authors – such as
Enrique Dussel, Ludovico Silva and Bolívar Echeverría – the present investigation seeks to
address Marxian and Marxist categories as means for the explanation of global capitalism
and its peripheral formations in particular.
8 Osborne 2010, p. 32. See also Fracchia 2004, pp. 125–46.
Whereas the philosophy of history in the last few decades has been dom-
inated by perspectives according to which historical knowledge is limited to
the linguistic, and in particular to the literary, mechanisms of historiography,9
one of the major non-Marxist contributions in this field has come from Paul Ri-
coeur’s hermeneutical approach to history. This author considers that history
has its roots in memory, but is also autonomous from it, and argues that it is
both a scientific and literary discipline. Hence, he analyses the construction of
historical knowledge as a multifaceted process whose account entails differ-
ent moments. In his Memory, History, Forgetting, Ricoeur differentiates three
indispensable epistemological phases, which are not meant to be considered
as distinct successive chronological stages, but as equally important ‘method-
ological moments, interwoven with one another.’10
He characterises these phases as follows:
I shall call the ‘documentary phase’ the one that runs from the declara-
tions of eyewitnesses to the constituting of archives, which takes as its
epistemological program the establishing of documentary proof. Next
I shall call the explanation/understanding [explicative/compréhensive]
phase the one that has to do with the multiple uses of the connective
‘because’ responding to the question ‘why?’: Why did things happen like
that and not otherwise? The double term ‘explanation/understanding’ is
indicative of my refusing the opposition between explanation and under-
standing that all too often has prevented grasping the treatment of the
historical ‘because’ in its full amplitude and complexity. Finally, I shall
call the ‘representative phase’ the putting into literary or written form of
discourse offered to the readers of history. If the major epistemological
crux occurs in the explanation/understanding phase, it does not exhaust
itself there inasmuch as it is the phase of writing that plainly states the
historian’s intention, which is to represent the past just as it happened –
whatever meaning may be assigned to this ‘just as’.11
9 On the ‘linguistic turn’ in historiography, see in particular Ankersmit 2001, pp. 29–74.
10 Ricoeur 2004, p. 137.
11 Ricoeur 2004, p. 136. The English translator has bracketed the French terms in this quote.
12 For a critique of theoreticism see Banaji 2011, p. 8. Also see below, Chapter 2.
13 Against such reduction, Ricoeur maintains that ‘a gap remains between narrative explan-
ation and historical explanation, a gap that is enquiry as well. This gap prevents us from
taking history, as Gallie does, as a species of the genus “story” ’. Ricoeur 1984a, p. 179. See
below, Chapter 5.
14 In this sense, see Jameson’s assessment on this philosopher: Jameson 2010, p. 486.
Because of the central function of this phase, the present work differs from
Ricoeur’s perspective in another significant way: while the French philosopher
tends to maintain a descriptive attitude towards the different possibilities of
explanation/understanding – as his very wording of this phase indicates – and
thus his methodological considerations are vague, Marx’s interest in the devel-
opment of a theory of history leads to a normative methodology which seeks
not only to describe the basic conditions of any historiography, but those con-
ditions necessary for an epistemologically adequate historical explanation. In
this sense, my reading of Marx is indebted to the critical realism of authors
like Roy Bhaskar, Andrew Sayer and others who have contributed to a Marx-
influenced philosophy of science.
This critical realist approach clarifies the production of historical know-
ledge, and in our case the Marxian conception of this. From this perspective,
Tomba’s call in the epigraph for the consideration of the relations between the
‘historical material’ and the conceptual exposition in Marx’s work leads to the
interplay between different levels of abstraction that produces historical know-
ledge. While the abstract concepts guide the research of particular cases, the
analysis of the latter can also lead to new concepts of varying levels of abstrac-
tion. Even the higher levels of abstraction are subject to their reformulation
under new circumstances or through the better understanding of the objects
to which they refer.
The Marxian approach to history thus differs in another decisive way from
Ricoeur’s philosophy of history: while Ricoeur makes no explicit reference to
the relations between the ‘historical condition’ and its historical conditions of
possibility – he makes no reference to capitalism, or history in general beyond
the realm of the conceptual – Marx’s conception necessarily considers its own
historicity. This thematisation of the material conditions of the ontology of his-
tory points not only to the temporal dimension of the latter but to its social
space as well; space is an inescapable problem for a materialist conception of
history, which has to account for social formations in different historical traject-
ories in terms of their spaces as much as their times. As the first chapter argues,
social space and social time are forms – products of human praxis – that organ-
ise social processes, and their analysis therefore helps to clarify those processes
and render the social agents within them visible.
The consideration of both social space and social time is thus a fundamental
aspect of explaining history as a multilinear process of human production. By
not reducing complex historical trajectories to a single principle, a properly
spatio-temporalised approach both distinguishes and relates those processes
in their uneven development. While the conceptual separation of time from
space and space from time can be productive in order to clarify the diverse
17 Bourdieu affirms that social theory should reconstruct ‘the point of view of the acting
agent, of practice as “temporalisation”, therefore revealing that practice is not in time but
makes time (human time, as opposed to biological or astronomical time)’. Bourdieu 2000,
p. 206. For a description and critique of the emergence of space and time in the social
sciences, see Merryman 2012, pp. 13–27. On the concept and history of the ‘spatial turn’:
Massey 2005 and Tally Jr. 2013, pp. 11–43. Harvey 1991; Jameson 1991; Soja 1989; Martineau
2016; Lefebvre 2004.
18 Jameson 1991, p. 51. On space-time compression, Harvey, The Condition of Postmodernity.
19 On cognitive mapping, Jameson 1997, pp. 415–18, 160–1; about Gehry’s house and the
Westin Bonaventure, Jameson 1997, pp. 40–54, 108–129.
20 Bourdieu 1998, p. 7.
occasionally Harvey treat it) the reason for doing this is not argued. This is par-
ticularly a problem in Soja’s book, whose argument for a historical-geographical
materialism at moments assumes a dualism where space is exclusively geo-
graphical and time is exclusively historical – a position that is not compatible
with Marx’s totalising conception of history.
In contrast, the first chapter maintains that this importance of space and
time in social theory has an ontological foundation that can be accounted
for, precisely, through the concept of totalisation (especially as elaborated by
Sartre), which not only clarifies the problems raised by these recent authors,
but also enhances Lefebvre’s theory of the production of space – which should
also account for the production of social time. The spatial dimension of total-
isation, in turn, has to be made explicit: both Sartre and Lefebvre are neces-
sary to develop Marx’s concept of praxis in the most productive manner. This
should lead to an ontology capable of explaining uneven spatial and temporal
development as part of a complex historical totalisation, while also helping to
clarify the relations between history (with its praxical, objective and subjective
moments) and our knowledge of it.
The second chapter, in turn, maintains a dialogue with the spatio-temporal
conceptions of social researchers that have made scale a central element of
their theories. Fernand Braudel’s theory of large scale history is here a fun-
damental reference.21 He not only argues convincingly for the advantages of
studying geographically and temporally large social units, but also incorpor-
ates the consideration of spatial configuration or arrangement, as he calls it,
and of differential temporalities (multiple temporalities developing with differ-
ent rhythms): the first with the core-periphery model developed originally by
the dependence theories, the latter especially through his use of secular cycles
for the analysis of capitalist development. Hence, scale, spatial configuration
and rhythm emerge as central determinations for historical research, helping
to shape the analysis of uneven and combined development.
Theorists of globalisation such as Wallerstein, Castells and Sassen follow
Braudel in their large-scale approaches but, while the former adds a third inter-
mediate element – the semiperiphery – to the core-periphery model, the other
two explore the more dynamic aspects of recent global capitalism, elaborating
more nuanced concepts for the analysis of globalisation.22 Hence, instead of
the core-periphery model, Castells’s theory shifts from a logic of the space of
places in non-informational societies to one based on a space of flows (of cap-
demonstrates the state-centrist bias of the traditional archive, which in the late
nineteenth-century was imagined by the imperial élites as a project of total
knowledge and shaped the relation between knowledge and the state, Guha
argues that this imperial project introduced history (and specifically so-called
World-History) to India, and enumerates several examples of histories which
would have been lost if we were to have relied exclusively on traditional state
archives. Mbembe, in addition to this, argues that the archive sets the lim-
its of the temporalities – as well as the spatialities, we should add – woven
together by the historian in order to compose the possible historiographical
narratives. This is particularly important because it indicates that the critique
of the archive – not only the state-centrist kind – should consider the space-
time of the contents of the archived documents as much as the space-times
determining the activity of registering them.28
In this sense, the use of the traditional state-centrist archive is unavoid-
able, but should be properly thematised, and eventually complemented with
other archives in order not to obfuscate subaltern agents. The analysis of Marx’s
archive is of particular importance because it shows the possibilities of for-
mulating counter-hegemonic interpretations on the base of mostly hegemonic
sources. Moreover, it allows the assessment of his philosophy of history, and
more specifically of his theory of history, as regards to the spatio-temporal
bias – Eurocentrism – of which he has been repeatedly accused. Also, by analys-
ing how later investigations of the specific cases studied by Marx consider space
and time when formulating their explanations, we can enhance our under-
standing of the reach and limitations of his archive – and his explanations –
in contrast to the archive available to recent researchers.
Finally, the fourth chapter deals especially with Ricoeur’s account of the rela-
tions between time and narrative, from the point of view of historiography.
After this philosopher, authors following the dialectical tradition such as Jame-
son and Osborne conceive narrative as the fundamental means by which lan-
guage allows the subject to grasp temporality.29 But, while Ricoeur argues for a
pluralism of temporalities and narratives, in which a totalising narrative which
accounts for all the implied temporalities cannot emerge, for the latter authors
totalisation is a fundamental issue in dealing with the problems of histori-
ographical representation.30 Moreover, they argue that it is imperative to relate
the structures of social reality and their representation: hence the theoretical
criterion of social totalisation should also be the thread of the corresponding
historical narratives.
In the works by Osborne and Jameson, time is a product of history – which
is not immediately apparent – and hence a theory of history is necessary in
order to account for the narratives that shape diverse existential temporalit-
ies. Totalisation would be the operation by which the gaps, contradictions and
relations in general between temporalities are incorporated into a contradict-
ory history; there is one history, but it is not constituted by homogeneous times.
However, the development of the category of temporality leads both Jameson
and Osborne to problems of spatiality: the former through globalisation, the
latter through the materiality of the conditions of everyday praxis. Their efforts
to make history emerge from time end up making space emerge as well, be it at
the ‘micro’ or planetary level – arguably the widest scale of social life. A mater-
ialist approach always has an immanent spatial as well as temporal dimension;
how to relate space and narrativity is, hence, a central issue for a materialist
conception of representation.
In this sense, I propose a re-formulation of Bakhtin’s concept of the chrono-
tope and of Marx’s concept of presentation (Darstellung) following a critical
realist reading of Ricoeur, in order to address the problem of developing nar-
ratives capable of explaining social processes and their outcomes by better
accounting for their spatio-temporal dynamics. The formulation of a specific-
ally historiographical concept of the chronotope also throws light on the cru-
cial matter of the political side-taking of historiography. This ultimately leads
the chapter to deal with narrativist authors like Hayden White, who typically
hypostatise language while they overlook the role of time and space for histori-
ography – and the need to relate them to a theory of history.
Finally, a note on my approach to Marx’s work in this book. Since my inten-
tion is to systematise Marx’s conception of history on the base of the categories
of social time and social space – which, as I argue, should be fundamental at
every level of the social and historical analysis – I deal with Marx’s biographical
conditions only secondarily. I do however pay close attention to the conditions
in which his texts were elaborated and to his original wording in order to cla-
rify the meaning of several key fragments in the work. My interpretation of
Marx’s conception of space and time – especially since the Grundrisse – is then
guided by the phases defined by Ricoeur’s philosophy of history, albeit adap-
ted in a realist and materialist direction, which help to clarify the problems of
historical knowledge in current discussions. My approach is thus in part her-
meneutical and in part properly philosophical and theoretical: what is at stake
with this book is, indeed, the argument for a materialist and realist approach to
∵
Ontology has not had a good reputation in the recent philosophy of history.
The rejection of ontological issues in the reflection on history was initially
part of a reconfiguration in the mid twentieth-century of the philosophy of
history as a surrogate to epistemology in analytical philosophy, but was consol-
idated with the arrival of poststructuralism and the linguistic turn after Hayden
White’s influential Metahistory in the 1970s. Underlying this rejection was the
directive that the philosophy of history was only possible as a philosophy of
historiography: analytical philosophy dictated that the conditions of historical
knowledge were the only appropriate object of the philosophy of history, and
with narrativism the analysis of textual mechanisms – be it literary tropes or
chains of signifiers – substituted the consideration of history as res gestae.2 The
question of the being of history was for the narrativists an unreachable referent.
The more conceptually-minded historians, on the other hand, became ac-
customed to developing their methodological considerations on the basis of
assumptions having a strictly operational validity: there could be no universal
applicability beyond their immediate objects of study. Foucault’s image of the-
ory as a toolbox is probably the most famous formulation of this trend, which
usually conceals an ontology behind a set of epistemological and methodo-
logical assumptions which otherwise attempt to avoid more abstract philo-
sophical discussions.3 But even when such discussions take place, theories of
history often propose ‘weak’ ontologies that are interchangeable, depending
on the paradigms ‘chosen’ for the specific research. Pragmatism is the anti-
philosophical philosophy behind this stance, which became especially fashion-
able during the time of postmodern critiques of ‘grand narratives’.4
Hence, historians and philosophers of history who dismiss ontology con-
sider that getting to know totalising structures in history – or eventually any
structuration at all – is a priori impossible. In any case, it is arguable that
there is not only an implicit ontology in ‘pragmatist’ theories of history, but
also in the analytical approaches derived from Popperian epistemology and
Whitean narrativism. In particular, since theories of history deal basically with
the relations between concepts and empirical data, and thus operate at lower
levels of abstraction, they can function without explicit ontological founda-
tions. However, they do not necessarily exclude the latter: in fact, Marx’s con-
ception of history encompasses these levels, by relating the epistemological
and methodological with the ontological aspects of historical research.
When Marx and Engels propose their ‘science of history’, they have a specific
conception of what the social (natural-historical) world is, and only thus can
it be the subject of this science. However, because Marx does not render the
philosophical system that underlies this theory of history explicit, the matter
of whether it is possible (or consistent with his method) to find and develop a
Marxian ontology – or even specifically an ontology of history – from his essen-
tial categories has led to controversies.5 Nonetheless, his work is loaded with
considerations about the most general structures of the world – especially con-
cerning history and society – and this is particularly expressed by his arguments
about method.
The systematisation of these indications about the most general and ab-
stract structures of human agency, history and society constitute what this
chapter considers to be Marx’s ontology of history: what Anievas and Nişan-
cioğlu characterise as ‘a general, abstract set of determinants highlighting a
I write for users, not readers’. Michel Foucault, ‘Prisons et asiles dans le mécanisme du
pouvoir’, quoted in O’Farrell 2005, p. 50; Paul 2015, p. 13; Fulbrook 2002, pp. 35–7.
4 Osborne explains this perspective with regards to post-Marxist cultural studies, but the same
point is valid vis-à-vis the post-Marxist theory of history. Osborne 2000, pp. 1–19. On weak
ontology, see Rovatti and Vattimo 2013.
5 Schmidt, for example, argues that it is not possible to speak of an ontology in Marx except in
a negative sense, because Marx assigns no content to positive metaphysical principles such
as nature. However, Schmidt’s references to this term are related to his rejection of unmedi-
ated objectivism, which in turn relates to his criticism of Soviet diamat as a dehistoricised
ontology. This position assumes that ontology cannot be historicised, which I argue against
in this chapter. See Schmidt 2014, pp. 83–93 and pp. 138–9.
7 ‘In human terms, the energy of creation is extended and made manifest in and through the
Praxis, that is the total activity of mankind, action and thought, physical labour and know-
ledge. … The Praxis is where dialectical materialism both starts and finishes’. Lefebvre 2009,
p. 100.
8 As for one of Marx’s cardinal anthropological concepts, Heller indicates that ‘the elaboration
of the category of value “need” is the work of the young Marx. In his maturity this category is
already a given point of departure: he does not consider it necessary to analyse it anew. Nev-
ertheless, it frequently appears later on, in a direct and open form’. Heller 1976, p. 38. On the
thesis of Marx’s epistemological break, Althusser 2005. On Marx’s trajectory as a dialectical
construction, Lefebvre 1948.
only the human being and their activity exist. And yet everything happens
as though humans had to deal with external powers which oppress them
from outside and drag them along. Human reality – what humans them-
selves have made – eludes not only their will but also their consciousness.
They do not know that they are alone, and that the ‘world’ is their work.
(Here we are using the word ‘world’ to signify the coherent, organised,
humanised world, not pure, brute nature).10
Praxis is thus the foundation of Marx’s general ontology11 and, like concrete
labour – which is regularly characterised by Marx as the expenditure of human
brains, muscle, nerves and bones – is a material and singular process of trans-
formation. The intertwining between diverse individual praxes, leading to un-
expected effects (‘they do this without being aware of it’),12 produces history as
a consequence. This is clear in the 18th Brumaire, where Marx famously affirms
that:
humans make their own history, but they do not make it just as they
please; they do not make it under circumstances chosen by themselves,
but under circumstances directly encountered, given and transmitted
from the past. The tradition of all the dead generations weighs like a night-
mare on the brain of the living.13
9 Marx 1976a, pp. 3–5. On Marx’s productivism, Baudrillard 1975; on Marx’s relation to
Romanticism, Löwy and Sayre 2002, pp. 88–98.
10 Lefebvre 1991, p. 167. Here and below I have changed the words ‘man’ and ‘men’ for ‘human
being’ and ‘humans’, a substitution that does not alter the conceptual content of this pas-
sage but eliminates an outdated sexist expression.
11 ‘The onto-formative process of human praxis is the basis for the possibility of ontology, i.e.,
for understanding being. The process of forming a (socio-human) reality is a prerequis-
ite for disclosing and comprehending reality in general. Praxis as the process of forming
human reality is also a process of uncovering the universe and reality in their being’. Kosík
1976, p. 139. On praxis as the cornerstone of Marx’s philosophy, see Osborne 2006, pp. 23–
32; Lefebvre 2000b, pp. 33–55; Echeverría 2011; Grüner 2005; Sánchez 2003, pp. 127–208.
12 Marx 1976b, pp. 166–67. On labour as bodily expenditure, Marx 1976b, pp. 134, 164, 274–5,
643, 717.
13 Marx 1979a, p. 103.
14 Whereas, in the context of his philosophy of nature, Hegel indicated that ‘space and time
first attain actuality in motion’, social time and space are produced by human praxis. Hegel
1970a, p. 239.
15 Lefebvre 1997, pp. 68–72. According to The German Ideology, for example, ‘this mode of
production must not be considered simply as being the reproduction of the individuals.
Rather it is a definite form of activity of those individuals, a definite form of expressing
their life, a definite mode of life on their part. As individuals express their life, so they are.
What they are, therefore, coincides with their production, both with what they produce
and with how they produce. Hence what individuals are depends on the material condi-
tions of their production’. Marx and Engels 1976b, pp. 32–3.
16 ‘Praxis encompasses both material production and “spiritual” production, the production
of means and the production of ends, of implements, of goods and of needs’. Lefebvre
1991, p. 237. About the triad systematised in Lefebvre’s concept of the social production of
space: Lefebvre 1997, pp. 38–9.
17 ‘Time can no more be intuited externally than space can be intuited as something in us’.
Kant 1998, p. 174.
18 This organisation sets limits to praxis, with death being its ultimate negation. As indic-
ated above about Bourdieu’s studies on social times, this temporalisation is mediated by
the social place of the subject: the existential time of an immigrant subproletarian and
that of a salaried professional are quite different from one another.
spaces are both material and formal, concrete and abstract, real and imagin-
ary (réel-fictive) and indeed, as Lefebvre maintains, they can be separated only
through abstraction; in his words, ‘time is distinguishable but not separable
from space.’19 Social space is always already temporalised, just as social time is
always already spatialised, and only through an operation of abstraction can
they be distinguished as two different axes of the organisation of the social
world.
Since in experience times and spaces are plural, the problem of how to total-
ise them is the starting point for Marx’s approach to history. Although some
authors have held that this spatio-temporal plurality is insurmountable,20 if
we adhere to Marx’s conception of human praxis we find that the production
of spaces and times is always already social, and hence necessarily related to
a historical totalisation.21 At this point, it is useful to bring Sartre’s concept of
totalisation to our attention, in order to account for the spatio-temporalisation
of history. Sartre notes that the structure of history is ultimately founded on
that of individual praxis. In his words, ‘the entire historical dialectic rests on indi-
vidual praxis in so far as it is already dialectical, that is to say, to the extent that
action is itself the negating transcendence of contradiction, the determination
of a present totalisation in the name of a future totality, and the real effective
working of matter’.22
In this sense, individual and history are not external to each other; while
praxis is historically determined, history is the combined product of collective
praxes, which brings results that are different from the intentions of each indi-
vidual. Since praxis is not conceivable without its corresponding social spaces
and times, the latter are conditions for production both in the social-historical
and transcendental sense. Although Sartre insists on the temporal character of
the totalisation produced by praxis, it is more accurate to conceive praxis in
relation to both space and time, because human action is both conditioned by
pre-existing actual space-times and projected upon an ideal spatio-temporal
order. Sartre’s concept of totalisation would thus not necessarily exclude space,
but gains in depth by taking this dimension into account.
Hence, each individual praxis is already historically conditioned within a
certain range of spatio-temporal possibilities, and it is through them that dis-
continuity or continuity, production or reproduction, is generated in respect
to the established social structure – therefore eventually changing the very
conditions which initially made them possible. These conditions determine
the possible processes of spatio-temporal production, whose combination pro-
duces history:
the social structure and the state are continually evolving out of the life-
process of definite individuals, however, of these individuals, not as they
may appear in their own or other people’s imagination, but as they actu-
ally are, i.e., as they act, produce materially, and hence as they work under
definite material limits, presuppositions and conditions independent of
their will.23
This production is well exemplified in Capital, where Marx argues that the dif-
ference between the worst of architects and the best of bees lies in the former’s
capacity to conceive the results of the labour-process before having done it:
human work is purposeful activity which requires an object upon which to
act and the instruments to do it. This teleological feature implies that an ideal
future is always present in labour, just as much as the past is, and this is the case
both through the labour’s objective conditions and through the references to
such a future that exist in the mind of the labourer.24 Thus, the mentally pro-
jected result of the work of the architect presupposes a temporal path, but also
an image, and hence a conceived space – an operation of cognitive mapping, as
we have noted previously with regards to Jameson.
We should observe that the conceived space-times of praxis are mental pro-
jections from the point of view of a subject in a determinate social place in a
concrete form of society;25 human praxis produces the world, but does so as a
part of the social-natural totality it modifies. Then, it is also convenient to note
that once the process of construction has been undertaken, social space and
time are transformed through collective action. During the construction pro-
cess, besides obviously changing the physical space, the building modifies the
distribution of social times within itself and the adjacent social spaces with
which it interacts. Likewise, at a broader level, a social formation is a combin-
ation of social space-times whose structuring processes exceed the intentions
of their producers.26
Thus, collective praxes produce the practico-inert as their objectification,
which in turn becomes the condition for new praxes, in a movement of total-
isation, detotalisation and retotalisation. This process of spatio-temporally pro-
ducing a social totalisation is dialectical in the measure that the partial praxes
constitute the latter as a whole, and in consequence dialectics is necessary in
order to render such totalisation intelligible.27 A proper explanation should
then take into account all the general social conditions that make a specific
praxis possible, the framework that allows for its emergence and development.
Since knowledge is itself a conceived retotalisation of the real process of total-
isation, a materialist analysis of history should thus explain social processes in
such a manner that it shows their spatio-temporal organisation as part of the
logic of their functioning.
This leads us to the concepts by which Marx accounts for the products of
praxis. In his conception, individual praxes are processes that produce mater-
ially singular objectifications,28 but the latter respond to other levels of social
life as particulars through the forms of their respective objectifications. Form
is a quite generic concept that encompasses objects (Objekte) of very differ-
ent levels of complexity: Marx refers to forms, for example, as moments of the
25 ‘The mode of production of material life conditions the general process of social, political
and intellectual life. It is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence,
but their social existence that determines their consciousness’. Marx 1987a, p. 263. See also
Heller 1984, p. 3.
26 Marx’s metaphor of a social formation as social metabolism adequately portrays the
spatio-temporal character of different forms of society, each with its rhythms of circu-
lations, development and exchanges with its environment. Schmidt 2014, pp. 76–93.
27 Sartre 2004, p. 66 and pp. 90–4.
28 Heller distinguishes between objectification as the production of an object and objectiva-
tion as the re-creation of the praxical subject. Both aspects are indissolubly linked. Heller
1984, pp. 47–8.
29 Marx 1976b, pp. 138–62; p. 677 and p. 682; Marx 1973, pp. 471–514.
30 Marx 1976b, p. 950; Marx 1973, pp. 105–6. As for Marx’s views on modern slavery, see below,
1.3.
31 Sartre 2004, 152. As opposed to the Robinsonades of political economy in his lifetime,
Marx repeatedly argues for the necessity of departing from the social character of the
human being, who is by nature not merely gregarious but political, i.e., a producer of spe-
cific social relations. See Marx 1973, p. 84, Sartre 2004, pp. 122–52, Basso 2012, pp. 142–50
and also Jameson 2002, pp. 85–88. Moreover, Marx states that the standpoint of the isol-
ated individual only became possible with the development of capitalist social relations
in eighteenth-century Europe. Marx 1973, pp. 83–5.
32 See Silva 2009, pp. 101–2. Silva argues that Marx’s scarce use of the terms Basis, Überbau
and Superstruktur – as opposed to his constant appeal to a concept like ökonomische Struk-
tur – suggests that they are strictly illustrative metaphors that should not substitute for
properly explanatory concepts. Silva 2009, pp. 99–101.
33 Marx 1987a, p. 263. Marx’s characterisation of these forms of consciousness as ‘ideological’
is problematic, since it suggests either a functional (non-dialectical) approach or a wide
concept of ideology, different from his use of this concept as false consciousness. These
forms of consciousness are also explained as forms of appearance in Marx 1976b, pp. 675–
82.
34 ‘Each category in Capital defines a determination of a social form, and each determina-
tion specifies a real mechanism at work in the capitalist mode of production’. Smith 1997,
p. 190. On the theory of strata, see Sayer 1992, pp. 104–5; Collier 1998. On the critique of
‘orthodox Marxism’ see, among others, Jameson 2002, pp. 17–25.
35 Collier 1998, pp. 263–64. As Sayer affirms, ‘while we don’t have to go back to the level of
biology or chemistry to explain social phenomena, this does not mean the former has
no effect on society. Nor does it mean we can ignore the way in which we react back
on other strata, for example through contraception, medicine, agriculture and pollution’.
Sayer 2000, p. 13.
36 Besides Schmidt 2014, see Foster 2000, pp. 141–77. On the natural-historical character of
the human being and society, see also Osborne 2006, pp. 33–44. Marx’s studies on chem-
human adaptations to the same natural environment, albeit limited by the con-
ditions of the latter, are open to different possible kinds of organisation.37 It is
also important to note that the theory of social stratification suggests that the
higher strata emerge from the pre-existing lower strata, and hence the times
of the former are always longer than those of the latter, and their spatial range
is also wider.38 In this sense, Braudel’s consideration of geography as a struc-
ture developing at a very longue durée may be understood as a complement to
Marx’s multi-layered conception of society: under the stratum where the con-
tradiction between the forces and relations of production exists, is the stratum
of geographical conditions.39
Interpreting Marx from this stratified conception, the economic structure
would be the condition of possibility for the stratum of the legal and the polit-
ical (in their widest sense), and the forms of social consciousness constitute a
higher stratum. Every praxis contributes to the production of different strata at
the same time, since mechanisms are composed by aspects of praxes and not by
types of praxes,40 and since the mechanisms in each stratum have their respect-
ive space-times, a single praxis produces several space-times, corresponding
to the different strata it produces through its objectifications. Consequently, a
single geographical-chronological unit has several different overlapping social
space-times. Thus albeit mediately related to one another in a process of total-
isation, economic, political and cultural spaces and times in the same particu-
lar society are distinct and respond to different mechanisms.41
istry, recently analysed in the light of their coming publication in the second edition of
the Marx-Engels Gesamtausgabe (mega2), further demonstrate his efforts to think the
relation between nature and society. Saito 2014.
37 Bhaskar illustrates this non-reductive position with the example of the writing of a pen:
while this operation does not violate any of the laws of physics, they don’t directly define
what is written, and therefore cannot explain it qua writing. Bhaskar 2008, p. 105.
38 Although the rules for the combination of atoms are universally valid, life only emerges
under certain conditions, i.e., in particular space-times. See Sayer 1992, pp. 118–21; Bhaskar
2008, pp. 168–70.
39 When developing his theory of social space based on Marx, Lefebvre distinguishes three
kinds of spaces, corresponding to three different ontological levels: physical, social and
mental spaces. This division – which does not exclude further internal divisions – can
be addressed as consisting of three different strata of reality. Lefebvre 1997, pp. 11–14. On
geographical conditions as a longue-durée stratum, see Braudel 1982, pp. 25–54.
40 See Collier 1998, pp. 266–7. In this sense, it would not be accurate to speak of merely eco-
nomic praxes, but of praxes that have economic implications among others. The commod-
ity, for example, is not merely an economic form, but also exists as a legal and ideological
form.
41 As Osborne indicates, ‘different objects of study, within the same empirical space, will
require different primary levels of socio-spatial totalisation (locale, province, nation, fed-
eration, region, space of flows) which will subsequently require mediation at other levels.
Hence the potential structural disjunctions between, for example, the economic, political
and cultural histories of any particular territoriality. Totalisation is a re-territorialising as
well as a re-temporalising process’. Osborne 2000, p. 17.
42 On ‘vertical’ and ‘horizontal’ explanation, see Collier 1994, pp. 42–51.
43 Lukács 1978, pp. 124–7.
particular form of society is the necessary corollary of the different means and
modalities of the praxical transformation of the world.44 The example in the
Grundrisse about the uneven development of ancient forms of art and law in
respect to modern material production is therefore better comprehended as a
case of differential times of particular forms in western Europe. Marx already
approaches other cases of this kind of uneven spatio-temporal development in
his early writings, when he compared the situation of politics and philosophy in
England, France and Germany, as well as the disparities between correspond-
ing spheres – such as the intellectual and the productive – in other nations.45
Forms are determined partially by their place in respect to the social total-
isation, but their space-times do not necessarily correspond directly with those
of the modes of production where they develop; the history of a form is defined
through the interaction between its internal and external determinations –
the classic dialectical relation between part and whole.46 The forms in a soci-
ety, hence, are possible due to the conditions of economic production, but
they are ‘vertically’ and ‘horizontally’ mediated by their situation in the three
strata of society. Hence, in capitalist societies philosophy and agriculture, e.g.,
have quite different functions and respond to mechanisms differently from one
another; their spatio-temporal differences are also easily observable.
Overall, the interactions of diverse praxes ultimately lead to uneven social
totalisations.47 Since each mechanism has its own spatio-temporal tendencies
(e.g., the current conflict between global scale economy and national scale
politics, and their respective space-times, as conceptualised by Sassen), a con-
crete society functions as the organisation of multiple social spaces and times;
social totalisation is mediated by the spatio-temporal production of spheres
and their relations with one another. Such development is, therefore, uneven
not only between spheres, but also within each sphere: a social mechanism,
given that it is based on unequal relations, produces contradictory outcomes
44 See Heller 1984, pp. 47–113. See also Heller 1990, pp. 48–60.
45 Marx 1973, pp. 109–11; Marx 1975, pp. 175–87; Marx and Engels 1976b, pp. 74–5 and pp. 81–3.
46 See Kosík 1976, pp. 17–32.
47 ‘Praxis also reveals itself as a totality. We would maintain that the idea of totality derives
from praxis. However, this totality never appears to be other than fragmentary, contradict-
ory, and composed of levels, of contradictions on differing levels, and of partial totalities.
How do we reach totality, i.e., society itself from within? Precisely, via these partial totalit-
ies and levels which cross-refer to each other, and via these fragments which presuppose
a whole and which necessitate the concept of a whole of which they are the evidence and
the elements, but not the entirety. Fragmented in one sense but already total in another,
every act of thought or social effectiveness refers to the totality via the other levels. It
reveals a total praxis, and points the way towards it’. Lefebvre 2002, p. 237.
in space and time in a single moment. In this sense, as Marx argues, the most
simple formulation of the production of capital consists of the double process
of C-M-C (the point of view of the labour force) and M-C-M’ (the point of view
of capital). These formulae entail the unequal distribution of the outcomes of
the process, as well as the unequal spaces and times of its sides.48
Finally, I think a clarification about the relation between praxis and labour –
concepts often conflated in the Marxist tradition – should be made, espe-
cially since Marx elaborates his mentioned example of the architect’s activ-
ity in order to specifically conceptualise labour. Petrović indicates that Marx
repeatedly opposes praxis – or self-activity, as he calls it from The German
Ideology onwards – to labour, having characterised the latter in his 1844 Manu-
scripts, specifically, as ‘the act of alienation of practical human activity’.49
Hence this opposition, as the Yugoslavian philosopher stresses, implies that
praxis is the non-alienated form of human activity, but overall, his account of
the concept of praxis suggests that Marx did not fully develop this concept.
However, other passages in Marx’s early work conceptualise praxis as the
generic form of human activity. Thus, in his 8th Thesis on Feuerbach Marx
affirms that ‘all social life is essentially practical. All mysteries which lead the-
ory to mysticism find their rational solution in human practice and in the com-
prehension of this practice’.50 Since Marx considers class societies, and partic-
ularly capitalism, as early as 1844, as inherently alienating, in this formulation
praxis encompasses alienated as well as non-alienated activities. Moreover,
Marx’s central claim that the organisation of production fundamentally struc-
tures society would not be possible in this 8th Thesis if Marx’s concept of
human practice did not include labour.
The relation between praxis and labour would not then be one of opposi-
tion, but rather that between genus and species, and the passages where they
appear as opposed would refer strictly to alienated labour, not because the lat-
ter is a different and independent category to praxis, but because it is a specific
case of praxis transformed into a limitation of the possibilities of its agents.51
Accordingly, labour – whether alienated or not – would be a specific, although
fundamental, modality of praxis. Due to his consideration of economic produc-
tion as the totalising criterion of social relations, Marx gave priority in his work
to the dialectical development of the concept of labour. His purpose was not
primarily to formulate a social theory tout court, but a theory of the capitalist
mode of production, whose explanation implied other, more general categor-
ies of social being and history. This movement from the abstract concept of
praxis to the more concrete concept of labour, nonetheless, did not mean the
elimination of the former or of other specific kinds of praxes.52
Hence Lukács considers that labour is for Marx the most basic form of social
practice and its model because it ‘is the underlying and hence the simplest and
most elementary form of those complexes whose dynamic interaction is what
constitutes the specificity of social practice’, albeit, for this very reason, ‘it is
necessary time and again to point out that the specific features of labour should
not be transposed directly to the more complicated forms of social practice’.53
According to Lukács, although the structure of every social practice would have
the structure of labour at its core, the former cannot be reduced to the latter.
The Hungarian philosopher dovetails with Engels’s The Role of Labour in the
Transition from Ape to Man about the historico-genetic pre-eminence of labour
in the process of humanisation, but argues that teleology – labour’s key ontolo-
gical category, that through which the human agent posits a new objectivity – is
the fundamental feature which labour transposes onto every social practice.54
It should be noted, against Habermas’s claim that Marx’s concept of praxis
is framed within the limits of instrumental reason, that the teleological char-
acter of praxis does not imply the calculation, constant search for efficiency
and inversion of means and ends that characterises instrumental reason in
Horkheimer’s classic account.55 Lefebvre, on the other hand, has argued that
for Marx human production encompasses both the domination of nature and
the appropriation by the human being of their own conditions of existence,
thus separating praxis from poiêsis,56 but this distinction, albeit useful, was not
developed by Marx. In his concept of praxis, both of these components form a
dialectical unity which – as part of Marx’s Romantic heritage – prevents it from
being just a productivist or utilitarian category.
In any case, the model character of labour should not be highlighted at
the expense of that of praxis, as is done, for example, in Carol Gould’s clas-
sic study on Marxian anthropology and social ontology. This author maintains
that, for Marx, it is labour that creates time, quoting the famous Grundrisse pas-
52 Agnes Heller develops a systematic account of social praxes, from the point of view of
their objectifications, in Heller 1984.
53 Lukács 1980, p. 59.
54 Lukács 1980, p. 3.
55 Habermas 1987, pp. 25–42; Horkheimer 2013, pp. 1–40.
56 Lefebvre 2002a, p. 26.
sage stating that ‘labour is the living, form-giving fire; it is the transitoriness of
things, their temporality, as their formation by living time’.57 However, it would
seem to us here that Gould unjustifiably generalises this assertion at the most
abstract level of social being, when it is actually located within a paragraph
that deals specifically with the objectifications of labour, and not with all social
products.58
For Marx, each society has to organise its time – or, more precisely, its avail-
able praxical times – ‘in order to achieve a production adequate to its overall
needs’.59 Yet while the temporal organisation of production (in the narrow eco-
nomic sense) is fundamental to this organisation, it cannot be deduced from
this that the time of every social practice is reducible to the time of labour. The
latter has a social priority over other kinds of praxes because it is the means
by which human beings overcome necessity in order to survive, but the other
praxes also temporalise (and spatialise) the social world.
The differentiality of spaces and times in a form of society becomes even more
complex when considered in relation to the transformations (or apparent stati-
city) that it undergoes, and how the people in it think and act in relation to
them, in spite of not having, as individuals, a direct experience of them. Accord-
ingly, the negation of praxis – the Marxian foundation of social being, as argued
in the previous section – marks the transition from social being to historical
being: while the expectancy of death spatio-temporalises praxis and shapes
social being, the actuality of death is the condition of possibility for the idea
of history. In The German Ideology, before introducing his more abstract con-
ceptualisation and methodology for the study of societies, Marx affirms that
history can be described as ‘nothing but the succession of the separate genera-
tions, each of which uses the materials, the capital funds, the productive forces
handed down to it by all preceding generations’.60 The problematic relation of
the living with the dead is a recurring topic in Marx’s writings throughout his
life, be it as a burden for political imagination or as the alienating force of dead
versus living labour, to mention two famous examples.61
In this sense, history constructs the spatio-temporal unity broken by death
by presenting collective agents as its protagonists, usually defined by geo-
graphic criteria. As Osborne argues, the transcendental horizon of history lies
in the transgenerational unity of the human – a feature that shows the inher-
ent utopianism of the concept of history.62 This unity implies not only how to
think about history, but also how to act in history since, as Lukács points out,
‘social practice always unfolds in a mental environment of ontological concep-
tions’.63 The construction of this unity, however, takes different paths – as we
will see especially in the cases of World-History and Marx’s mature concept of
history in the last section of this chapter – through different spatio-temporal
configurations.
Ricoeur deals with the construction of this unity by drawing especially from
Koselleck’s theory of historical temporalities, which according to the German
author are based on the relations between the past as a space of experience and
the future as a horizon of expectation: one of his most important contributions
has been the demonstration of the divergence between the temporality of the
Ancien Régime – where the future was expected not to differ from the past –
and the one emerging in the last decades of the eighteenth century in western
Europe – which, initially from the standpoint of progress, thought the future
as distinct from the past. This temporalisation, Ricoeur argues, belongs to the
fundamental level of the ontology of historical existence (what he calls the
historical condition), an ‘unsurpassable mode of being’.64 Therefore, temporal
61 Marx 1979a, pp. 99–197; Marx 1976b. As Tomlinson argues, following Sartre, Heideggerian
being-for-death provides a philosophically fruitful temporalisation for the teleological
dimension of Marxian praxis. Tomlinson 2015, pp. 78–96. Along with this temporalisation,
however, there is the spatialisation of the body, with its growing, ageing and exchanges
with its environment, without whose consideration we run the risk of reducing the human
subject to an abstract conscience. See Lefebvre 1997, pp. 169–76.
62 Osborne 2013, pp. 193–94. In the same vein, Bloch indicates that ‘precisely the generations
pass away; in endless sedimentations they lie above one another everywhere, shrunken
together, and … the functional problem persists: who or what lives life as a whole life,
as the broad, historical life granted to humanity as a whole?’ Bloch 2000, pp. 256–7. The
emphasis is from the original.
63 Lukács 1980, p. 59.
64 Ricoeur 2004, p. 343. On the historical emergence of historicity, Koselleck 2004, pp. 255–75.
Hartog calls these relations between past, present and future regimes of historicity. Hartog
2012.
65 Ricoeur 2004, p. 333. Osborne finds this problem in Koselleck’s formulation of this cat-
egorical opposition – the source from where Ricoeur draws the bases of his ontology of
historical existence. Below I will revisit his critique of this conception of historical time.
See Osborne 2013, pp. 190–211; and also, Osborne 2013, pp. 69–70.
66 This limitation in Ricoeur’s philosophy of history has been examined and criticised in
detail by Dussel. Dussel 1996, pp. 214–30.
67 This neglect of space by Ricoeur and Koselleck goes in hand with the deterritorialising
tendencies to which Marx referred with his image of the ‘annihilation of space by time’.
Marx 1973, pp. 107, 524, 539.
68 Koselleck 2001, pp. 93–111; Lefebvre 1997, p. 175.
This passage highlights the historical conditions that gave rise to both world-
history and to the ideal spatiality of capitalism – the space of the world market.
As for the latter aspect, it implies that the relation between experience and
expectation is temporal, but also in the same measure historically and concep-
tually spatial – as the metaphors of these Koselleckian concepts suggest. Just
as the accumulation of capital functions on the base of an ideally infinite and
continuous temporality, it assumes a tendentially global and commodified spa-
tiality (an abstract space, as conceptualised by Lefebvre):71 when considered
historically, the apparently formal relation between the space of experience
69 Marx 1973, p. 109. As Harootunian indicates, ‘it was capital’s logic that made possible his-
tory, as we know it, and defined the relationship between itself and the past. It occurred
at the point when capitalism’s abstract logic entered a received history and began altering
and directing it on a new course, which produced uneven temporalities along every step
of the way but sought to conceal it by implanting homogeneous time as the measure of
capital’s progressive vocation’. Harootunian 2015b, p. 26. See also Tomlinson 2015, pp. 134–
82.
70 Marx 1973, p. 410. The italics are from the original.
71 For capitalism, the world market would be ‘the conclusion, in which production is posited
as a totality together with all its moments, but within which, at the same time, all contra-
dictions come into play. The world market then, again, forms the presupposition of the
whole as well as its substratum’. Marx 1973, pp. 227–8. Lefebvre 1997, pp. 229–91.
even the most abstract categories, despite their validity – precisely be-
cause of their abstractness – for all epochs, are nevertheless, in the spe-
cific character of this abstraction, themselves likewise a product of his-
torical relations, and possess their full validity only for and within these
relations.74
72 Along these lines, Osborne indicates that ‘today, the contemporary (the fictive relational
unity of the spatially distributed historical present) is transnational because our modern-
ity is that of a tendentially global capital. Transnationality is the putative socio-spatial
form of the current temporal unity of historical experience’. Osborne 2013, p. 83. In a sim-
ilar line, see Martineau, 2016, and on the historical character of ontology in Marx, see
Lukács 1980, pp. 62–3.
73 Jameson 2008a, p. 478. While I agree with this essay about the necessary character of this
mediation, it is not sufficient for a concrete (properly historicised) analysis: the critique
of a historical source demands – once its legitimacy is verified – the consideration of the
specific social conditions of the production of the source: the classic Marxian ideological
critique. See Chapter 3, below.
74 Marx 1973, p. 105. Adorno has correctly pointed out that, ‘in Marx, who, of course, came
Thus, the historicity of the categories means for Marx, on the one hand, on
the side of the object, that the forms to which these categories refer should
be considered in the context of their corresponding form of society. Only then
do they have explanatory validity: abstract categories like labour or population
are not useful for the analysis of particular social processes unless they are con-
ceptualised in relation to their respective form of society. On the other hand,
this historicity implies that the categories through which a form of society is
comprehended are themselves a product of objective social conditions, and
hence the theoretical approach is always rooted in the society where it is for-
mulated.75
An apparent paradox thus arises: Marx’s hermeneutics relies on the discon-
tinuity of the modes of production, each of which generates its own cultural
forms in order to deal with their relations with their social space-times, but at
the same time this formulation is a product of a particular mode of production:
capitalism. Since Marx insists on the realist character of his method, this poses
a difficulty that does not exist for non-realist philosophies of history, like those
created by Nietzsche or Heidegger. Hence Marx accounts for the historicity
of his own theory – and consequently, of its ability to explain other historical
formations – in two manners, which we may call, in broad terms, evolutionist
and abstractionist.
The first stance, sustained in the Grundrisse by an argument about the valid-
ity of the categories of capitalism for the explanation of the formations which
led to that mode of production, using the famous image of the anatomy of the
ape being comprehensible through the study of human anatomy,76 is problem-
atic for at least two reasons. First, given that this argument assumes one line of
development among others (the one that led to nineteenth-century Western
European capitalism), it excludes the possibility of explaining modes of pro-
duction that do not belong to the pre-history of capitalism, and hence possess
a radical alterity that disavows the unity of human experience that underpins
from Hegel, the categories used are not only so-called systematic categories developed
from concepts, but are always also, and intentionally, historical categories’. Adorno 2000,
p. 144.
75 As Schmidt affirms, for Marx human beings ‘grasp the objectively existing laws of nature
through, and by means of, the historical forms of their practice’. Schmidt 2014, p. 126. This
does not mean, however, that categorical apparatuses can be reduced to their social con-
text without mediations, as will be explained later in this chapter.
76 Marx 1973, p. 105. In spite of the problems indicated here about the evolutionist line of
argumentation, it should be kept in mind that Marx criticised teleological illusions already
since the time of The German Ideology and maintained that position until his final years,
as can be observed in his correspondence with Vera Zasulich and the narodniki.
Hence, instead of characterising less and more developed social forms in a his-
torical continuum – an approach more appropriate to the World-history of the
Enlightenment – historicisation can proceed by abstracting from the categories
of the capitalist mode of production into the most general preconditions, valid
for every mode of production. In this case, the analytical primacy of capital-
77 Hegel points out that Aufheben (to sublate) ‘equally means to means “to keep”, “to preserve”,
and “to cause to cease”, “to put an end to”. Even “to preserve” already includes a negative
note, namely that something, in order to be retained, is removed from its immediacy and
hence from an existence which is open to external influences’. Hegel 2010, pp. 81–2.
78 Grüner 2015. For a critique of this evolutionist line, see also Sayer 1987, pp. 126–30.
79 Marx 1973, pp. 85, 88. The braces in this citation are from Martin Nicolaus, the translator
of this edition.
ism does not reside in being the most ‘advanced’ mode of production, but in its
condition of being a mode of production based on abstraction.80 This approach
implies that abstract transhistorical categories guide a Marxian ontology of the
modes of production, even as they must acquire concreteness – through empir-
ical research, we can infer – in order to explain a social formation properly. Thus
the most abstract categories provide the basic framework for the intelligibility
of any social formation.81
The validity of trans- or meta-historical categories in Marxism is often a mat-
ter of controversy; recently, Postone in particular insists on the notion that
Marx’s conception of history is strictly limited to capitalism and thus lacks the
categorical capacity for the analysis of non-capitalist societies. However, this
position not only contradicts the existence of a rich tradition of Marxist his-
toriography about non-capitalist formations,82 but also ignores the numerous
cases where Marx refers to such formations from the standpoint of his materi-
alist conception of history. Joseph Fracchia correctly points out that, for Marx,
transhistorical and abstract categories are ‘the foundation for the construction
of historically specific categories’, and provide a standpoint for the critique
of social forms.83 The basic categories of this kind, he indicates, are concrete
labour, use-value and material wealth, which are rooted in human corporeal-
80 ‘We can think abstractly about the world only to the degree to which the world itself has
already become abstract’. Jameson 2002, p. 51.
81 In this line, Jameson affirms that ‘the Marxian concept of a mode of production is essen-
tially a differential one, in which the formulation of a single mode of production (as, for
instance, Marx’s own model of capital) at once structurally projects the space of other
possible modes of production by way of Difference, that is, by a systematic variation in
the features or semes of any given initial mode. This is the sense in which each mode of
production structurally implies all the others’. Jameson 2008a, p. 477. The interpretation
based on abstraction, however, does not think of the categories of the different modes of
production as elements of a possible combination (as the Althusserians did), but as the
most basic framework upon which each specific mode of production should be apprehen-
ded, both conceptually and empirically.
82 In words of Postone, ‘the Marxian theory should be understood not as a universally applic-
able theory but as a critical theory specific to capitalist society. It analyses the historical
specificity of capitalism and the possibility of its overcoming by means of categories that
grasp its specific forms of labour, wealth and time’. Postone 2003, p. 5. Some of the dis-
cussions about relevant marxist historiography are reviewed and developed in texts that
have been important to the present investigation: Banaji 2011; Anievas and Nişancioğlu
2015; Harootunian 2015b.
83 Fracchia 2004, p. 128. See also Sayer 1987, pp. 126–49. Echeverría has further developed
the thesis of the natural form as normative criterion against the capitalist primacy of the
value-form. See Echeverría 2014, pp. 24–38.
ity,84 but which are abstracted from their concrete relations in capitalism.
It is initially through the transhistorical categories, those dealing with the
most abstract social forms as determinations belonging to all epochs, that we
can grasp the unity of human experience, however heterogeneous in its diverse
spatio-temporal particular forms. Hence, the Marxian ontology of history func-
tions at this level by thematising common traits in different modes of produc-
tion, which we might think of as a sort of ‘backbone’ of all ‘social metabol-
isms’. The abstraction which underpins this ontology of history has its historical
conditions of possibility, as mentioned above, in the world-wide expansion of
capitalism, but also in the development of abstraction within capitalist social
relations. In this sense, the tension between the unity of human experience
and the particularity of the different modes of production sets the conditions
that make this transhistorical abstraction possible, in a similar manner to the
concept of value which, as Marx indicated, ‘is entirely peculiar to the most
modern economy, since it is the most abstract expression of capital itself and
of the production resting on it’.85
In this argument, the historically modern condition forms a dialectical unity
with its underlying socio-historical processes (and the development of their
space-times, both actual and tendential), hence making an opposition between
a substantial and analytical philosophy of history useless. The philosophy of
historical knowledge and the philosophy of history therefore necessarily imply
each other; likewise, historical processes and historiography are not separated
by an unbreachable chasm – as assumed by both neo-Kantian and Nietzschean
philosophies of history. This unity does not imply an idealist closure for histor-
ical thought, since for Marx, dialectical methodology must be able to incorpor-
ate the determinations of reality as new categories.86 This realist character of
Marx’s theory of history, as will be noted in the next chapter, involves know-
84 Fracchia 2004, pp. 127–8, 138. Such considerations – essential to his materialist concep-
tion of history – lead Marx to state, for instance, that ‘the Middle Ages could not live
on Catholicism, nor could the ancient world on politics. On the contrary, it is the man-
ner in which they gained their livelihood which explains why in one case politics, and in
other case Catholicism, played the chief part. For the rest, one needs no more than a slight
acquaintance with, for example, the Roman Republic, to be aware that its secret history is
the history of landed property’. Marx 1976b, p. 176.
85 Marx 1973, p. 776. Marx’s explanation of Aristotle’s inability to reach the concept of value
is another illustrative example of his thesis of the historicity of the categories. Marx 1976b,
pp. 151–2.
86 Osborne indicates that this approach, which he characterises as immanent, avoids the
circularity of the transcendental method by relying on specific historiographical con-
tents, and hence its validity is continually subject to historical contingency. Osborne 2010,
pp. 35–6.
Marx’s overall vision of human development – following the unity of the human
experience posed by the modern concept of history – needed to account for the
global and regional diversity of social forms, and in this sense it went through
two phases, with the 1856–7 Grundrisse marking a turning point between them.
Although Marx’s basic ontology of social being did not go through major trans-
formations after the mid-1840s, the Grundrisse is where Marx establishes the
ground for his spatially and temporally complex conception of history. As for
his earlier conception, there is indeed an implicit unilinearity that underpins
his formulations about history, in texts like The German Ideology, the Commun-
ist Manifesto and his articles on India for the Daily Tribune, which is indebted
to the world-history (Weltgeschichte) of the Enlightenment.
As Koselleck demonstrates, German philosophers elaborated their Enlight-
enment conception of world-history in the late eighteenth century, in order to
replace the existing universal history (Universalhistorie) which they deemed to
be a simple aggregate of a few historical facts serving as an auxiliary science for
theology and philology. Against this, Schlösser affirmed in 1785 that the study
of world-history leads one ‘to think the main transformations (HauptVerän-
derungen) of the human genus (MenschenGeschlecht) and its environment in
order to get to know the reasons for their present state’.87 World-history would
therefore be a general, totalising history, that would bring the multiplicity of
particular histories together into a collective singular.88
The diverse versions of world-history in the eighteenth and nineteenth cen-
turies, however, did not live up to their claims of thinking the generality of
human development. Due to a barely concealed Eurocentrism, these narratives
justified Western Europe’s dominance over the rest of the globe by conceiv-
ing the history of the world as a unilinear path led by their allegedly more
advanced civilisation. The emergence of the conception of world-history went
87 Cited in Koselleck 2010, p. 100. This edition is a partial translation of the entry ‘Geschichte’
in volume 2 of the Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe.
88 Koselleck 2010, pp. 101–4; also Ricoeur 2004, pp. 298–305. Besides the economic process
of capitalist expansion, the elaboration of world-history was made possible by the cent-
ralisation of information in imperial archives, as Chapter 3 of this book describes.
hand in hand with the notion of historical progress, especially in texts from
the French Enlightenment philosophers Turgot, Condillac and Condorcet, but
also in some of Kant’s most famous political essays. These authors share the
vision of Europe as the driving force of ‘progress’, and thereby condone coloni-
alism.89
In line with this conception, a division of history into successive stages
became widespread within European intellectual circles. In the second half
of the eighteenth century the French physiocrat Turgot, and Scottish moral
philosophers like Adam Ferguson, Adam Smith and John Millar, proposed a
succession of four stages, from nomadism to the urban societies of their days,
defining trade as the most important factor in the development to the last,
more complex kind of society.90 This series of transformations, which is presen-
ted as an analysis of history, implies a hierarchy where the last stage – ‘modern
Western European civilisation’ – is the standard from which the others are to
be judged, and to which they are to be subjected. In this sense, Guha criticises
Hegel’s version of successive stages in history, according to which the higher
principle prevails over the lower, the West over the East.91
Leaving aside the political implications of world-history as an apology for
colonialism, this conception contributed little to historical knowledge. Its
methodology of inferring wide spatio-temporal conclusions from a quite lim-
ited number of – often unjustifiably – selected sources eventually came into
contradiction with the development of its critical method, which called for
a growing specialisation. The vagueness of world-history had little to offer to
the explanation of specific historical processes; it is, as Guha argues, ‘a view of
history that allows all the concreteness to be drained out of the phenomena
which constitute the world and its historicality’.92 World-history is indeed the
reference par excellence of what analytical philosophers call speculative philo-
sophy of history – a mode of interpreting history through a priori criteria, with
no empirical rigour at all.93
This tradition of world-history is the context from which Marx and Engels
begin their theoretical work on history. For them, the bourgeois world was on
the verge of creating a fully integrated system, in which the development of the
most advanced historical epoch – capitalism – would destroy the isolation of
the need of a constantly expanding market for its products chases the
bourgeoisie over the whole surface of the globe. It must nestle every-
where, settle everywhere, establish connections everywhere. … The bour-
geoisie, by the rapid improvement of all instruments of production, by
the immensely facilitated means of communication, draws all, even the
most barbarian, nations into civilisation. The cheap prices of its commod-
ities are the heavy artillery with which it batters down all Chinese walls,
with which it forces the barbarians’ intensely obstinate hatred of foreign-
ers to capitulate. It compels all nations, on pain of extinction, to adopt
the bourgeois mode of production; it compels them to introduce what it
calls civilisation into their midst, i.e., to become bourgeois themselves. In
one word, it creates a world after its own image.95
The world market not only gives production and consumption in every coun-
try a cosmopolitan character, but produces a global culture beyond old local
and national limits: a world literature. The underlying assumption in the early
Marxian version of world-history is that the expansion of capitalism (as the
most advanced stage) imposes a single spatio-temporal totalisation upon the
multiple space-times of its coeval societies with less productive modes of pro-
duction. Insofar as this conception considers that the world is already homo-
genised by the expansion of capitalism, there is only one social class that can
fully realise the emancipatory potentialities of capitalism: hence, as the Mani-
festo famously affirms, ‘the proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains.
They have a world to win’.96
Since the development of capitalism on the world-scale is here a condition
for the communist revolution, colonialism was justified as a necessary stage on
the way towards a classless society, thus appearing as a necessary evil.97 This is
94 Marx and Engels 1976b, p. 51. About The German Ideology, see Carver and Blank 2014.
95 Marx and Engels 1976a, pp. 487–8.
96 Marx and Engels 1976a, pp. 488, 490, 519. In The German Ideology, ‘the proletariat can
only thus exist world-historically, just as communism, its activity, can only have a “world-
historical” existence.’ Marx and Engels, 1976b, p. 49.
97 See Osborne 2006, pp. 110–21. Post- and de-colonial authors have written abundantly
about texts from this phase in Marx’s production, to which they often imply that his whole
oeuvre is reducible. Said 2003; Lander 2006, pp. 209–43. Some replies from Marxist authors
include: Parry 2004; Bartolovich and Lazarus 2002.
exemplified by Marx’s writings in the early 1850s about India, in which he cel-
ebrated the destructive effects of railroads and industry on ancient institutions
like the caste system, which from his point of view fettered the potentialities of
the Indian people, but also by Engels’s 1849 remarks about the annexation of
previously Mexican territories by the United States.98
The early Marxian view of the development of history is a socialist (and cer-
tainly more complex) version of the four-staged world-history of the Scottish
Enlightenment and the French physiocrats, which, as Meek observes, was a
materialist conception of history as well.99 John Millar’s formulation is repres-
entative of this conception, according to which
98 Marx 1979b, p. 221. Regarding Marx’s writings about India, see: Habib 2002; Ahmad 1994,
Chapter 6. At that time Engels asked the question: ‘Is it perhaps unfortunate that splen-
did California has been taken away from the lazy Mexicans, who could not do anything
with it? That the energetic Yankees by rapid exploitation of the Californian gold mines
will increase the means of circulation, in a few years will concentrate a dense population
and extensive trade at the most suitable places on the coast of the Pacific Ocean, create
large cities, open up communications by steamship, construct a railway from New York to
San Francisco, for the first time really open the Pacific Ocean to civilisation, and for the
third time in history give world trade a new direction? The “independence” of a few Span-
ish Californians and Texans may suffer because of it, in some places “justice” and other
moral principles may be violated; but what does that matter compared to such facts of
world-historic significance?’ Engels 1977, pp. 365–6.
99 See Meek 1967, pp. 34–50.
100 Meek 1977, p. 19. Scholars like Robert Brenner and Ellen Meiksins Wood – probably the
best known proponents of the school currently known as Political Marxism – have insisted
on Marx’s debt to this conception of history in his pre-Grundrisse writings, specifically
emphasising the influence of the Smithian model of development. This influence can be
observed especially in the predominance that these texts assign to urban development in
the transition from feudalism to capitalism: they affirm that the larger towns were the sites
Marxist does not address them in his critique. The stagist view of history sup-
poses that any moment in history can be intellectually abstracted as a whole
from the rest – through an essential section – and the relations between all its
elements will express their internal essence by this operation. When an essen-
tial section is taken out of a totality, each of its parts expresses the social totality:
they are contemporary. In Marx’s early conception of history, this contempor-
aneity is defined by the contradiction between forces of production and forms
of intercourse.101
Thus the stagist vision of history presupposes homogeneity within a determ-
ined stage, but it also presupposes homogeneity between the stages: a con-
tinuum. Although it would be exaggerated to reduce Marx’s early conception of
space-time to a formalised, quantitative vision – as in Althusser’s other aspect
of his criticism of expressive totality – his conception of modes of production
ultimately does hold that levels of productivity are a transhistorical criteria on
the world-historical scale. As a result of this, stagism makes it impossible to
grasp historicity, and instead obfuscates the plurality of social forms in a mode
of production, along with their contradictions and agents.102
For all its epistemological and political limitations, it is important to indicate
that this conception, as Marx reiterated, is not deterministic in a narrow sense:
even in the case of his famous article on India, he affirms that the Indians will
only benefit from the innovations introduced by the British when the prolet-
ariat emerges in Great Britain as the ruling class, or when the Indians themselves
overthrow English domination. The Manifesto – ultimately a political document
in the imminence of the Revolutions of 1848 – predicted the triumph of the
proletariat, but also insisted on the need for the workers to organise them-
selves into a revolutionary party. Even if the conditions were favourable for the
working class, the outcome of the class struggle depended on their political
praxis.103
However, the Grundrisse signal Marx’s rejection of the world-historical con-
ception and outlines his more definitive conception of history. As previously
of nascent capitalism and of the first elements of the bourgeoisie. Marx and Engels 1976b,
pp. 69–70; Marx and Engels, 1976a, p. 485. Wood 2010, pp. 86–7; Brenner 1977, pp. 25–7.
101 Althusser and Balibar 2009, p. 105. Jameson argues that in Althusser’s critique ‘Hegel’ is a
codename for Stalinism. Jameson 2002, pp. 13–21. Marx and Engels 1976b, pp. 74–5.
102 Harootunian argues that an implicit stagism is persistent even in strong recent readings
of Marx, such as in Negri, Backhaus and Postone. Harootunian 2015b, pp. 68–9.
103 Marx and Engels 1976b, 50; Marx 1979b, p. 221. While the diagnosis of bourgeois society
begins the argument in the Manifesto, the discussion of the most effective socialist polit-
ical organisation and the argument in favor of communism constitute its conclusions.
104 Anderson 2010, pp. 154–63. Dussel arrives at a similar conclusion about the Grundrisse
in the 1980s: he argues that these drafts mark the moment in which Marx articulates his
definitive discourse, useful for the analysis of the peripheral Latin American formations.
Dussel 1985, pp. 12–13.
105 Bensaïd stresses Marx’s 1843 treatment of the non-contemporaneity of economic, political
and philosophical development in England, France and Germany. Bensaïd 2002, pp. 20–
4. On the discussion about the terms and concepts of contemporaneity, synchronicity and
timeliness, see Osborne 2015, pp. 39–48.
106 Marx 1973, p. 729.
binations under a dominant form. The complexity of the concrete social form-
ations should be totalised by first determining the specific kind of production
which predominates over the rest and ‘whose relations thus assign rank and
influence to the others’, but then also has to deal with the subordinated forms
that it turns into ‘stunted’ or ‘travestied’ forms.107
In the section in the Grundrisse about precapitalist formations, also known
as the Formen, Marx deals with modes of production from their point of view as
forms of appropriation.108 These forms are not mere analytical constructs, but
abstractions from actually existing historical societies. Moreover, they are not
chronologically successive stages, but have coexisted side by side; in this new
conception of history, forms replace stages, making it impossible to conceive
a single linear course of world-history. In this respect, the difference with the
famous sequential treatment of the four modes of production in the 1859 Con-
tribution109 stands in contrast to the more theoretical interest of the Grundrisse,
rendering this sequence a statement on the particular historical process of
Western Europe alone.110
The Grundrisse propose three kinds of precapitalist forms of appropriation:
the communitarian (of which there are two varieties: the primitive and the
‘oriental despotic’, encompassing more specific cases such as the Asian, Mex-
ican, Peruvian, Slavonic, etc.), the ancient Greco-Roman and the Germanic
form – each one of them producing its particular space-times, as we will learn
in the next chapter. These forms, according to Marx, share the characteristic
of the production of use-values, an example being that the ancient Greeks and
107 Marx 1973, pp. 107 and 105–6. On the prevalence of production as a criterion of totalisation,
see Basso 2013, pp. 434–5; Musto 2010, pp. 10–15.
108 Each form of appropriation is determined by a different mode of production, the latter
being the proper criterion of totalisation. Marx points out that ‘the original unit between
a particular form of community (clan) and the corresponding property in nature … has
its living reality in a specific mode of production itself, a mode which appears both as a
relation between the individuals, and their specific active relation to inorganic nature, a
specific mode of working (which is family labour, often communal labour)’. Marx 1973,
p. 495.
109 ‘In broad outline, the Asiatic, ancient, feudal and modern bourgeois modes of production
may be designated as epochs marking progress in the economic development of society’.
Marx 1987a, p. 263. Although translated as ‘epochs marking progress’, progressive Epochen
can simply mean ‘successive epochs’ (in the sense of Progression), which would be consist-
ent with Marx’s reiterated critique of the ideology of ‘progress’ (for which Marx uses the
term Fortschritt). It is also convenient to observe that there is quite a difference between
an ‘epoch’ and a ‘stage’, as it is frequently interpreted. Marx 1961, p. 9.
110 This position is maintained, among others, by Hobsbawm and Basso. Hobsbawm 1965,
p. 38. Basso 2013, pp. 332–4.
Romans did not care about which kind of property creates greater wealth, but
about which creates the best citizens.111
As Wood notes, Marx’s portrayal of these forms is based on principles im-
manent to each one,
111 Marx 1973, p. 487. Against this thesis, Banaji has argued that even in Marx’s times, sources
on Roman history preclude the characterisation of pre-capitalist modes of production as
natural economies. Banaji 2011, pp. 7–8.
112 Wood 2010, pp. 88, 90. Lawrence Krader highlights Marx’s arguments against unilinearism
as well, in his introduction, Krader 1974, pp. 1–85.
113 Harootunian 2015b, p. 8. Dussel indicates that the chapter where the concept of subsump-
tion was developed was written in 1864. Dussel 2001, p. xxxii.
114 Marx 1976b, p. 1021. Tomba identifies a third kind of subsumption in Marx, besides formal
and real: the intermediate or hybrid forms of subsumption, which are forms of surplus-
labour extorted by means of direct coercion. Tomba 2013a, pp. 148–50.
115 See Osborne 2016, p. 50. Also, against the Negrian conception of real subsumption under-
lying Harootunian, see Sáenz de Sicilia 2016, pp. 199–200.
116 He does so in his presentation of Lenin’s The Development of Capitalism in Russia. Har-
ootunian 2015b, pp. 79–93.
117 Scaron 1972, pp. 7–9.
118 See Tomba 2013a, pp. 144–50. On the resulting contemporaneity as a living disjunctive unity
of multiple times through abstract labour, see Osborne 2013, pp. 79–84. On the late Marx,
Shanin 1983, pp. 3–39.
119 García Linera 2015, pp. 114–15. Marx’s dramatic change in his political stance on European
colonisation in his articles of 1853 can be observed in different fragments of Capital, e.g.,
in Marx 1979b, p. 473 and Marx 1981, p. 451.
120 As regards to the capitalist mode of production at the logical level, this has been developed
with detail in Tombazos, Time in Marx. On world-scale synchronisation, see Tomba 2013a.
For a discussion of this approach, see Osborne 2015, pp. 39–48. Quijano 2014, pp. 285–327.
121 Banaji 2011, pp. 22–3.
122 Trotsky 1959. See Joel Wainwright 2013, pp. 371–91.
123 Anievas and Nişancioğlu 2015, pp. 54–5.
Epilogue
When, in their early work, Marx and Engels claim that they knew only the sci-
ence of history, their concept of history was far from the disciplinary limits then
established in the intellectual division of labour. In line with this concept, Marx
is a historian in a very particular manner: his conception is profoundly histor-
ical in the same measure as his vision of historical knowledge is profoundly
conceptual.124 The historical science, as he conceives it, is thus not external
to the historical processes, just as the empirical and the conceptual are not
external to each other.
Consequently, space and time are not external to Marx’s dialectic, but inher-
ent (both as a condition and a consequence) to the totalising character of the
human praxis. Ernst Bloch’s words at the beginning of this chapter – whatever
the limitations of his philosophy of time125 – capture the spatio-temporal com-
plexity of Marx’s concept of history, especially in regards to his theoretical
developments since 1857. This conception broke away from the prevailing per-
spective of historical unilinearity by considering societies as forms rather than
stages, and by insisting that social totalisations are products of human agents in
specific social conditions. For Marx, a form of society, no matter how abstractly
considered, is constituted by simpler forms (whose dynamics can be accounted
for by generative mechanisms, in the terms of critical realism) that have their
own space-times and are totalised by the conflictual relations between forces
and relations of production.
Hence, in this conception, the science of history is not confined to the study
of past deeds, but thematises the coexistence of different social space-times
(with different scales and ways of functioning) in a single physical context.
Social times and spaces are produced in history as a consequence of collective
social praxes, which means that each social form – as a totalisation – is consti-
…
What is perhaps even more important for the Marxist theory of his-
tory is the question of uneven development.2
∵
The phase of theory addresses the problems of the concepts and categories
used in order to later organise the documentary data into causal explanations.
The existence of this phase in Marx’s approach to history, as Cohen indicates,
marks the crucial difference in respect to Hegel’s: while a philosophy of history
provides an interpretation of a social phenomenon, a theory of history (which
is based on the former) explains its inner dynamics.3 The function of a theory
is to provide an explanation of the object it studies.
In turn, the nature of explanation, according to Ricoeur, resides in answer-
ing the question ‘why?’, through a variety of uses of the connector ‘because’,
and hence this operation has a direct relation with the problems of causation.
Causal explanation is inherent to historical research, however unconscious a
historian may be about this: historians are not simply narrators – although
they necessarily are – because they also have to justify why they consider that
the factors that sustain their explanations are better than others. They have to
argue for the ‘causal skeletons’ that hold together their explanations.4
In this sense, Mary Fulbrook indicates that a theoretical framework for his-
torical explanation – or what she calls, following Kuhn, a paradigm – encom-
passes elements such as:
– a framework of given questions and puzzles
– presuppositions about what to look at: the constitution of the ‘subject’ of
enquiry; a set of analytical concepts for ‘describing’ the character of past
worlds
– presuppositions about what to look for (clues, also known as ‘sources’): and
an associated set of methodological tools and concepts through which to
capture and analyse the ‘evidence’
– a notion of what will serve to answer the question
– a notion of the principal purpose(s) of historical reconstructions, and hence
of appropriate forms of representation for different types of audience.5
As this chapter argues, whereas some of these elements are more typical of
other moments of historical knowledge, theory has an undeniable role in
determining them. In specific regards to Marx’s theory, Eric Hobsbawm stresses
the importance of his conceptualisation of societies as systems of relations
between human beings, where the relations of production and reproduction
are decisive. In his words, Marxism
than the basis-superstructure model, particularly since the latter frequently leads to mech-
anistic interpretations. Lefebvre 1991, p. 52.
8 Tilly 2006, p. 569.
9 Marx 1973, pp. 89–90.
more concrete concepts which can theoretically recreate the dynamics of the
social totalisation. Abstracting the basic determinations of a particular form of
society, Marx indicates, leads ‘towards a reproduction of the concrete by way
of thought’.10 He emphasises that these abstractions are not just mental con-
structs, but that they correspond to the structures of the reality inquired into;
the task of science is thus to grasp real relations and not just ‘balance’ concepts
dialectically. In Marx’s words, ‘what is at issue here is not a set of definitions
under which things are to be subsumed. It is rather definite functions that are
expressed in specific categories’.11 Thus abstraction should not lead to a realm of
heuristic fictions, as proposed by Neo-Kantian methodologists – most notably
Max Weber.12
Looking at Figure 1, after the process of abstraction between a. and c., the
concrete totality ‘in general’ – moment 4 – totalises the abstracted concepts
into a mode of production, and establishes its necessary relations with its own
fundamental spatio-temporal determinations. This totality is concrete – ‘con-
creteness is, first of all, precisely the universal objective interconnection and
interdependence of a mass of individual phenomena, unity in diversity, the unity
of the distinct and the mutually opposed rather than an abstract unity’13 – but it
needs to ‘return’ to particularity through the corresponding categories, in order
to explain what Dussel calls the ‘historical concrete totality’ (moment 6), or the
level of the social formation. Drawing from Capital, Dussel states that the rela-
tion between moments 4 and 6 is exemplified by how the concept of ‘capital in
general’ explains bourgeois society.14
In terms of Bhaskar’s critical realism, this method outlined by Dussel starts
with the empirical, observable social phenomena and, by abstracting from
b e
a f
(B) conceptual world’
them, constructs the mode of production as a real structure that serves as the
foundation for the explanation of the actual social formations and conjunc-
tures. Actuality is hence not the same as reality: the real is the domain of the
possible, which is only actualised under certain conditions. This conception
of knowledge is summarised in Table 1.15 The generative mechanisms – which,
as argued in the previous chapter, are forms in action – constitute the domain
of the real, which is not directly observable, nor is it reducible to the actual
15 Bhaskar 2008, pp. 56–7. On the relations between reality, possibility and actuality, also see
Lefebvre 2002, pp. 193–206.
Mechanisms ✓
Events ✓ ✓
Experiences ✓ ✓ ✓
events that such mechanisms generate. Or as Marx puts it, ‘all science would
be superfluous if the form of appearance of things directly coincided with their
essence’.16
Since the empirical is the realm par excellence of the pseudo-concrete
(which does not mean that it totally obfuscates reality),17 abstraction is neces-
sary so as to determine how the forms, qua mechanisms, operate behind par-
ticular processes. This operation determines their functioning under a lim-
ited number of necessary interrelated categories, and excludes conditions con-
sidered as contingencies, which are not a part of the mechanisms analysed,
but of other mechanisms.18 From this abstract totality, necessary relations –
which were previously not apparent – give way to categories accounting for
them (moment d in Figure 1). In this sense, the process of abstraction described
in the Grundrisse intends to determine the mode of production as a closed sys-
tem, from which necessary consequences can be deduced – such as the general
law of capitalist accumulation in Capital.19 These laws register inner tenden-
cies within a mode of production and should not be mistaken for laws beyond
modes of production, as Marx repeatedly emphasises (particularly in his well-
known letter to the Russian populists).20
21 See Marx’s ‘Postface to the Second Edition’, in Marx 1976b, pp. 100–2.
22 Harootunian 2015b, pp. 67–8; see also the criticism of Harootunian’s privileging of formal
subsumption, above, in 1.3. However, against Harootunian’s tendency to comprehend
modes of production as ‘ideal types’, we should recall that modes of production are real
mechanisms and not heuristic fictions; Haldon appropriately argues that a mode of pro-
duction is not ‘an a prioristic construct within a series of such constructs generated in the
abstract and against which historical data can be measured, but on the contrary a set of
relations generated and generalised out of actual historical examples’. Haldon 1993, p. 41.
23 See Bhaskar 2008, pp. 45–7 and pp. 145–6. In this conception, as Sayer notes, ‘scientific
“laws” are therefore not understood as well-corroborated, universal empirical regularit-
ies in patterns of events, but as statements about mechanisms’. Sayer 1998, p. 124. Under
the Neo-Kantian conception, on the other hand, models in historical explanation are a
product of scientific imagination, which carries the historian’s mind into the range of the
possible. Ricoeur 2004, p. 182. See also Rose 2009.
tion in order to explain a social formation with characteristics that suggest that
an already known mode of production underpins its social dynamics. Marx-
ist social scientists – Marx himself included – have always used models in
order to seize new social forms and, as we will see below, in Marx’s theory
not only modes of production function as models,24 but so do other simpler
social forms and processes of social transformation. Naturally, the researcher
should be cautious about assuming too much from a model and not being
sufficiently aware of the particular conditions of the formation – which even-
tually could show the model to be inappropriate for the newly-approached
case.
Whatever their complexity, models are derived from closed systems, and
spatio-temporal models in particular are constructed on the basis of the laws
of the modes of production. A mode of production thus produces (equally
abstract, but also real) space-times that can be theoretically apprehended
through their corresponding models. As for their application, since the laws
inferred from the mode of production assume a closed system, they do not
necessarily lead to the same expected results when applied to an open system,
with other mechanisms at work. Because of this, Collier argues that
for a law to be true, it must hold when the mechanism it designates works
unimpeded – i.e. in a closed system. And for a law to be useful, it must con-
tribute to explaining events in open systems in which that mechanism is
operating alongside others.25
24 Witold Kula’s model of the Polish economy between the sixteenth and eighteenth centur-
ies as a particular case of feudalism is one of the best examples of a model approach in
the Marxist theory of social formations. See: Kula 1976.
25 Collier 1994, p. 43.
This differentiation between closed and open systems is hence the basis for the
distinction between modes of production and social formations and, as both
kinds of systems are real, their difference depends on their respective levels of
abstraction. We can observe the levels of abstraction in the Marxian concep-
tion of history in Figure 2 below – a modified version of Sayer’s interpretation
of the Marxian levels of abstraction.27 The first two levels serve as the matrix
making historical knowledge conceptually possible, and refer to Marx’s onto-
logy of history, analysed in the previous chapter.
The higher levels of abstraction contain more general concepts, with fewer
determinations. The higher the level, the broader the scope of phenomena it
accounts for, and the less it can account for their specificities. Hence Level 1, the
most abstract in historical knowledge, encompasses the foundations of histor-
ical materialism: categories of social being, praxis, nature, etc. Level 2, on the
other hand, deals with the most basic conditions and relations necessary for
every form of social organisation.28 Sayer characterises it as the realm of tran-
shistorical claims (e.g. teleology of labour, social relations of production) and,
although he dismisses the importance of the concept of mode of production,29 it
is at this level where the theory of this fundamental Marxian concept belongs.
Levels 3 and 4 refer to a particular mode of production (e.g. capitalist, feudal)
and deal, respectively, with categories abstracted from empirical data and from
other theories, and with the mechanisms inferred from them (e.g. law of value,
general law of capitalist accumulation). Since production is the criterion for the
totalisation of the form of society for Marx, it is wrong to consider the mode of
production only in the terms of its economic foundation; the mode of produc-
tion is the totality of both foundation and ‘superstructure’.30 Following another
metaphor, the economic foundation is the skeleton, but not the whole organ-
ism; the forms of political organisation and ideology are as much a part of the
mode of production as the forces and relations of production – albeit refer-
ring to different strata of causality. Marx’s planned project of conceptualising
the state, foreign trade and world market beyond his analysis of Capital would
have also belonged to these levels of abstraction.31
The tendencies and conditions in the mode of production are synthesised
in Level 5, with new sources that are incorporated on top of the framework
of mechanisms from the previous level – it is the explanatory return once the
mode of production has been constructed. This step marks the transition from
a closed to an open system. This synthesis forms concrete concepts (e.g. Marx’s
concept of Bonapartism from his 18th Brumaire, stemming from the particu-
larities of the development of the French state) that help to explain an actual
social formation, though these concepts can eventually become useful as mod-
els to explain other formations as well.
The social formation is then the most concrete form of society, understood
through the mode of production prevailing in it, but also in relation to other
social forms and relations that do not emerge from it. At the level of the social
formation, social forms which were considered contingent at the level of the
mode of production are understood in relation to it. Based on a methodological
paragraph in Capital on the theme of ground-rent, the Venezuelan philosopher
Ludovico Silva points out that while the scientific procedure leading to modes
of production purifies social knowledge from what Marx calls ‘adulterations
and blurring admixtures’, the concept of a social formation explains them as
actual ‘modes of existence’ of the mode of production.32
The concept of a social formation, as argued in the previous chapter, intro-
duces complexity in the theory of history through the combination of social
forms that do not develop from the prevailing mode of production, but coexist
or eventually adapt to it. Responding to the growing importance of imperialism
in the first decades of the twentieth century, Luxemburg and Trotsky theorise
about the necessity of capitalism to expand at the expense of non-capitalistic
modes of production, whose inner development is therefore modified. Trot-
sky’s History of the Russian Revolution systematises this idea through the law of
uneven and combined development, which seeks to account for the uneven-
nesses in the logic of development in a single mode of production, while also
observing the effects of the combination of modes of production in each of
them.33
This conception not only spatialises capitalism – at both the world- and
local-scales of central and peripheral formations – but also implies a critical
(non-homogeneous, multilinear) conception of historical time. Historicisation
should hence account for this complex spatio-temporal topography and the
social struggles that shape it. However, since the classics – by Marx, Lenin,
Luxemburg, Trotsky – elaborate their theories in relation to the expansion of
32 Silva 2009, p. 137. Marx’s observations on ground-rent appear in Marx 1981, p. 762.
33 Luxemburg 2003, pp. 328–9; Trotsky 1959, pp. 2–3. Although Trotsky uses evolutionary lan-
guage when formulating this concept (by referring to ‘advanced’ and ‘backwards’ societies,
especially), his work does not depend on a conception of unilinear development, and is
most productive at explaining structural heterogeneity in capitalism. See Anievas and Niş-
ancioğlu 2015, pp. 54–63. For Marx, as indicated in the previous chapter, this capacity of
capitalism to profit from non-capitalist relations of production is realised through the dif-
ferent modalities of subsumption.
34 Anievas and Nişancioğlu 2015, pp. 60–1. Indeed, Marx plays with historical forms taken
from different contexts and subject to different conditions (e.g. his comparison of Japan’s
feudalism with that of the European Middle Ages), similar to how his economic writings
compare the possible outcomes of forms when the related variables are changed (e.g.
when he draws conclusions from the possible arithmetical relations between the times
of the working period and of circulation in respect to prices), an approach that is quite
common in the second volume of Capital. Marx 1978, pp. 334–68; Marx 1976b, pp. 876,
878.
35 Some social groups not only developed in the ‘interstices’ (or ‘pores’) of the prevailing
modes of production – like the Jews in feudal formations – but so did some complete
societies – like the Phoenicians and Carthaginians – thus forming a regional system of
dependency of some formations on others. Marx 1973, p. 223.
36 Balibar 2009a, pp. 231–2; see also, Amin 1976.
37 Banaji 2011, pp. 22–3, 92. Also, see above, 1.3.
38 Banaji 2011, pp. 50–2.
39 Marx 1976b, pp. 1019–34.
45 This is the case of the transition in Marx from a unilinear to a multilinear conception of
history: it is an issue of the ontology of history (Level 2 in Figure 2) that evolves from his
own concepts and theoretical problems, but in relation to historical and political condi-
tions such as anti-imperialistic struggles and the formation of the International Working-
men’s Association, as indicated in Section 1.3. above.
46 Since observation is always loaded with concepts or notions, such conditions are both
of an empirical and conceptual kind. Hence, albeit not explicit in the methodological
remarks in the Grundrisse, Marx’s method implies the critique of concepts and sources. It
is hard to exaggerate the importance of this operation, since it is the necessary mediation
that allows the abstract concepts to become concrete through the input of new empirical
data, and hence to make them able to account for the specific social forms being analysed.
The particularities of this archival phase belong to the next chapter.
47 Sayer 1998, p. 130.
48 Kosík 1976, p. 16.
the capitalist economy, starts out as a quite abstract form, but the deployment
of its internal relations and the addition of new determinations render the con-
cepts more concrete with the successive moments of the method. As a result of
this, the concept of commodity is more complex in Capital Volume iii than it
is in the first chapter of Volume i; it also develops into different, more specific
forms.
If we are to attend to the possibilities of Figure 2, instead of following only
one line, as Sayer does for the sake of clarity, its shape looks more like a root:
as the abstract forms become more concrete, different and new forms arise.
Hence, the step from 2 to 3 potentially leads to several different modes of pro-
duction (in 3 and 4), each of which – e.g., slavery, feudalism, capitalism – can
develop into several different social formations in the steps from 4 to 5. Nat-
urally, the real existence of such modes of production and social formations
would depend on historical rather than merely logical conditions.
As regards the possibility of constructing models on the basis of the different
levels of abstraction, we should note that beyond the modes of production –
the historical scheme par excellence, according to Vilar49 – concepts abstrac-
ted from social formations and conjunctures serve Marx’s analyses of diverse
contexts. For example, Marx’s analysis of Bolívar is tainted by his concept of
Bonapartism, which leads to his harsh criticism of South America’s Liberta-
dor,50 and he is not writing metaphorically when he compares the Roman plebs
with the poor whites in the southern states during the U.S. Civil War: in both
cases he observes common forms in different social formations.51 But this is
also true for longue-durée historical processes: in particular, as we will see, ‘so-
called primitive accumulation’ has both a specific historical and general model
character – although Marx does not consider the latter as a universally neces-
sary path to capitalism.
In all of these cases, Marx finds certain mechanisms which could be used as
models in contexts other than those of the social phenomena being analysed.
In particular, spatial and temporal models – e.g. Lefebvre’s abstract space and
Sassen’s medieval spatio-temporal assemblage52 – help to clarify the tenden-
cies that produce unevenness in the development of the diverse social organ-
isations and the social relations and activities in them. In this light, Braudel’s
assessment of Marx as the first author ‘to construct true social models, on the
if they were put back within the ever-changing stream of time, they would
constantly reappear, but with changes of emphasis, sometimes overshad-
owed, sometimes thrown into relief by the presence of other structures
which would themselves be susceptible to definition by other rules and
thus by other models.55
Thus, when Braudel rightly indicates the need of ‘putting back’ these models
into the stream of time, he is referring precisely to Marx’s method of returning
from the abstract to the concrete; it is the step from real mechanisms as models
in a closed system to the explanation of an open, actual system. The models are
to be contrasted with the particular conditions of the social formation; socio-
historical knowledge is achieved by placing the mechanisms proposed by the
models into tension with historical particularities – i.e. other mechanisms.
53 Braudel 1982b, p. 51. Braudel’s concept of model is further clarified in this book, pp. 38–
47; pp. 122–5 (in respect to Otto Brunner); pp. 141–9 (about Sauvy); and pp. 193–5 (about
Toynbee). Also, in Braudel 1973, 418–61.
54 Social times and spaces are both objectivations and conditions of possibility of all other
objectivations – and of all collective activity – and hence essential forms of the organisa-
tion of material social life. In a dialectical approach, different categories overlap without
identifying with each other, revealing different aspects of a same object of study. Capital
presents numerous examples of this: the simple, relative, general and money forms account
for different moments of the value-form, while the transformations of capital – itself a
form of value – are explained through categories such as constant and variable, fixed and
circulating, industrial, commercial and money-dealing capital. Since social time and space
are both material and formal, real and imaginary, it is important to keep in mind that
these categories do not substitute for other transhistorical categories, but are necessary
determinations of the organisation of a socio-historical totalisation. This consideration
is important in order to avoid both economism and spatial or temporal fetishism. Marx
1976b, pp. 138–54; vols. ii and iii.
55 Braudel 1982b, p. 51.
Braudel’s argument for Marx’s use of models leads to the question of how
space and time specifically help to conceptualise modes of production. While
in this section I concordantly argue for the importance of social theory for these
categories and the use of spatio-temporal models, it is clarifying to start by
addressing objections against their validity at this level of abstraction. Sayer
voices such an objection, concluding that what can be said in advance about
space – although his discussion is directed against theories of space such as
those by Lefebvre, Harvey and Soja, the logic of his argument includes social
time as well – is inevitably vague because most social processes have a degree
of ‘spatial flexibility’. He articulates this position with the following statement:
According to Sayer, social space (and time) are then only useful for the analysis
of open systems, and of little use for the explanation of mechanisms in closed
systems. Social space and time, we can therefore rephrase, are necessary at the
level of social formations – and from the perspective of the conjuncture – but
not for the knowledge of the modes of production. Ironically,58 this position
does not take into account the characteristics of the levels of abstraction in
the mode of production, instead judging the explanatory possibilities of space
at the level of the mode of production by the standards of the more concrete
level of the social formation. Since the ‘modes of production are only a definite
totality of historical laws of motion’59 their spaces and times do not describe a
social form in its actual historical-geographical concreteness, but are tenden-
cies of such a complex mechanism. Between the contentless abstractions at the
level of the transhistorical categories and the most concrete level of the actual
social formations, the space-times of the modes of production are tendencies
like any other in a mode of production.60
In order to argue for the pertinence of space and time in Marx’s theory of the
modes of production, I will now turn to the three basic spatio-temporal determ-
inations mentioned in the introduction: scale, configuration and rhythm. The
first has to do both with space and time, while the other two primarily refer,
respectively, to space and to time. These determinations are the fundamental
features of the spatio-temporal models in Marx’s work; Capital and the Grund-
risse provide key examples.
We can clearly observe Marx’s use of predominantly spatial models in his
pages on pre-capitalist forms of appropriation,61 which he refers to through
three conceptual constructs: the Asian or oriental despotic form (the most
developed among the first communitarian forms), the ancient Greco-Roman,
and the Germanic form. Characterised as fundamentally territorial, space ap-
pears as their central organising category, while in contrast to his treatment
of capitalism, their temporal characteristics are not developed in detail. Each
of these forms entails a different scale and configuration for its corresponding
social space, which Marx especially defines through the relations between city
and countryside:
58 Castree attributes Sayer’s stance to the latter’s ‘failure to engage the question [of space] to
dialectics in any sustained way’. Nonetheless, Sayer’s own reflections on abstraction and
method might have led him to a position that conceives of space in a way similar to Har-
vey’s (which Sayer opposes). Castree 2002, p. 208.
59 Banaji 2011, p. 60.
60 On the concrete universality of the tendencies in a mode of production: Ilyenkov 2008,
pp. 223–89.
61 Marx 1973, pp. 471–514. Marx’s treatment in this passage coincides with Braudel’s affirma-
tion that ‘spatial models are the chart upon which social reality is projected, and through
which it may become at least partially clear; they are truly models for all the different
movements of time (and specially for the longue durée), and for all the categories of social
life’. Braudel 1982b, p. 52.
While the Asiatic and ancient forms are both spatially concentrated, their spa-
tial configuration is quite different because of the lack of difference in the
former between town and countryside – which leads to self-sustained villages –
and the hierarchisation in the latter, where the city depends on the production
of rural wealth. In contrast, the spatial fragmentation of the Germanic form
leads to more egalitarian relations between households within it. Hence, only
the ancient form would have a core-periphery configuration similar to that pro-
duced by capitalist uneven development, but it would not possess the predom-
inance of an urban economy, as in capitalism. The spatial scale for each form is
also determined by its respective economic totality: the ensemble of villages in
the Asiatic form,63 the city-countryside territory for the ancient forms,64 and
the household for the Germanic form. Capitalism, on the other hand, is the
62 Marx 1973, p. 479. In Capital, Marx also stresses the historical importance of these spatial
conflicts: ‘the foundation of every division of labour which has attained a certain degree
of development, and has been brought about by the exchange of commodities, is the sep-
aration of town and country. One might say that the whole economic history of society is
summed up in the movement of this antithesis’. Marx 1976b, p. 472.
63 Since in this form cities are not autonomous from villages and are insufficiently differ-
entiated from each other, except in terms of size, it has no need for roads (it could be
considered practically a ‘nodeless space’), a feature that ‘locks them into their closed-off
isolation and thus forms an essential moment of their survival without alteration’. Marx
1973, p. 525; also pp. 472–4.
64 In this form, the city as a centre (with its officials) exists as an organism, independently of
the houses that make it up; Marx, notably, overwrites the geometrical term (Zentrum) on
top of ‘seat’ (Sitz). Marx 1973, p. 474. For a recent critique of this characterisation of Greek
and Roman societies, see below, 3.2.
65 ‘As the sole predominant forms of an epoch, the conditions for capital have to be develop-
ed not only locally but on a grand scale’. Marx 1973, pp. 505–6. See also Marx 1973, pp. 227–8;
Pradella 2014.
66 Marx 1973, pp. 491, 478. The centralising feature of the Asiatic mode of production was
later explored by the historian Karl Wittfogel through his concept of ‘hydraulic societies’.
Wittfogel 1963.
67 Marx 1973, pp. 483–4. As Anievas and Nişancioğlu affirm in their criticism of Haldon
and Berktay, a mode of production cannot be considered without its ‘superstructure’: ‘by
defining a mode of production in terms of an economic basis distinct from a political
superstructure, … they exclude the very social relations that make such exploitation an
historical possibility, as conjuncture and contingent specificities that lie outside of the
“mode of production”’. Anievas and Nişancioğlu 2015, p. 97.
68 Since the Formen deal with the specific problem of the conditions leading to the separ-
ation between the human subject and land, Marx does not refer to other times in these
forms of appropriation, e.g. those of other spheres.
69 Marx exemplifies temporal differentials in capitalism with an analogy to the human
physiology: ‘in the human body, as with capital, the different elements are not exchanged
at the same rate of reproduction, blood renews itself more rapidly than muscle, muscle
than bone, which in this respect may be regarded as the fixed capital of the human body’.
Marx 1973, p. 670.
70 Banaji 2011, pp. 87–92. The longue durée encompasses the apparently immutable elements
of geology as well as other structures with much shorter time spans; its defining feature
is its persistence over several generations. Among these structures, Braudel also mentions
biological and mental frameworks. See Taylor 2012, pp. 35–64.
71 Tomba 2013a, p. 71. Through a quite different path, Koselleck agrees with Marx’s vision of
precapitalist temporalities: it is only since the eighteenth century when historical change
became an everyday notion in Europe, displacing the until-then predominant idea of cyc-
lical history as magistra vitae. Koselleck 2004.
72 Marx 1973, p. 474; pp. 493–5. Interestingly, this passage relates spatial change with subject-
ive transformation: while changing their world, the producers develop new ideas, powers,
needs, language, social relations, etc.
73 Marx 1973, pp. 486–7. Dussel highlights that in the Grundrisse slavery is a secondary form
derived from the ancient form, as is feudalism in relation to the Germanic form. Dus-
sel 1985, pp. 238–40. About the differences between the Germanic and the feudal modes
of production, see Wood 2010, pp. 83–5; also, Tomba 2013b, pp. 396–7. Amin and Haldon
include feudalism within the wider category of tribute-paying modes of production. Amin
1976; Haldon 1993.
74 Marx 1973, pp. 539–40; pp. 495–6; p. 493.
75 Marx 1973, p. 487. This is also the case in the search for wealth as an end in itself, which
drove peoples like the Carthaginians, Phoenicians, Jews and Lombards in their interac-
tions with ancient and medieval societies where exchange value did not determine pro-
duction. Marx 1973, pp. 253, 858, 223.
76 Marx 1973, p. 223. The same occurs with manufacture, which also relies on the exchange
of surplus products. Marx 1973, p. 494.
77 Marx 1973, p. 545.
ive communities removes them from the historicity which could shatter
them from without, and from the ‘incidental’ history which would destroy
them from within.78
78 Lefebvre 1991, p. 317. The non-accumulative character of these formations thus implies the
prevalence in them of ‘a time scale made up of intertwined cycles’. Lefebvre 1991, p. 319.
79 ‘Men have often made man himself into the primitive material of money, in the shape of
the slave, but they have never done this with the land and soil. Such an idea could only
arise in a bourgeois society, and one which was already well developed. It dates from the
last third of the seventeenth century, and the first attempt to implement the idea on a
national scale was made a century later, during the French bourgeois revolution’. Marx
1976b, p. 183.
80 Capital produces a stage ‘in comparison to which all earlier ones appear as mere local
developments of humanity and as nature-idolatry’. Marx 1973, p. 410. See also Deleuze and
Guattari 1983, pp. 222–40; Lefebvre 1997, pp. 292–351. These theorisations were admittedly
inspired by the Grundrisse.
81 Marx and Engels 1976a, pp. 485–6. Marx 1973, pp. 409–10, 280, 524–5. See also Marx 1978,
p. 546.
highly formal concepts such as Castells’s nodes, hubs and flows.85 This fluid-
ity of the spatial configuration of the world-system space is explained through
Marxian concepts by Harvey, according to whom the contemporary prevalence
of finance capital over the other moments in the metamorphoses of capital –
production or merchant capital – promotes ‘the sort of hypermobility and “flit-
ting around” of capital that has characterised capitalism over the last few dec-
ades’.86
Until recently, the transformations in the spatial configuration of the world-
system have been a matter for the longue-durée approach,87 but newer con-
ditions in the flows of capital have forced researchers to reconsider the time-
scale as not geographically fixed.88 In this sense, the Wallersteinian model of
centre-semiperiphery-periphery is useful to underline asymmetries of power
and resources, but under the light of the current hypermobility89 – and par-
ticularly now with the internet – it should be considered as a concrete histor-
ical spatio-temporal form of Castells’s more abstract theorisation of nodes and
hubs.
The Marxian theory of capitalism articulates multiple coexisting social
times, a consequence of the multiple mechanisms that structure this mode of
production. This is not only due to social forms from previous modes of produc-
tion and other ‘antediluvian’ economic elements subsumed by capital, but is
also, as Marx argues, due to very productive processes of capitalism expressing
differences in respect to one another: ‘the simultaneity of the different orbits of
capital, like that of its different aspects, becomes clear only after many capitals
are presupposed. Likewise, the course of human life consists of passing through
different ages. But at the same time all ages exist side by side, distributed among
while capital must on one side strive to tear down every spatial barrier to
intercourse, i.e. to exchange, and to conquer the whole earth for its mar-
ket, it strives on the other side to annihilate this space with time, i.e. to
reduce to a minimum the time spent in motion from one place to another.
The more developed the capital, therefore, the more extensive the mar-
ket over which it circulates, which forms the spatial orbit of its circulation,
the more does it strive simultaneously for an even greater extension of the
market and for greater annihilation of space by time.94
90 Marx 1973, p. 639. On the ‘antediluvian’ elements: Marx 1973, pp. 105–6; Marx 1981, pp. 444–
5.
91 ‘The various elements of fixed capital in a particular investment have differing lifespans,
and hence also different turnover times. In a railway, for example, the rails, sleepers, earth-
works, station buildings, bridges, tunnels, locomotives and carriages all function for dif-
ferent periods and have different reproduction times, and so the capital advanced in them
has different turnover times’. Marx 1978, p. 248.
92 Thus, according to Capital, ‘the circuit of capital proceeds normally only as long as its vari-
ous phases pass into each other without delay. If capital comes to a standstill in the first
phase, M-C, money capital forms into a hoard; if this happens in the production phase, the
means of production cease to function, and labour-power remains unoccupied; if in the
last phase, C’-M’, unsaleable stocks of commodities obstruct the flow of circulation’. Marx
1978, p. 133. See also, Marx 1978, pp. 183–4, 219. The relevance of finance capital is promoted
by the temporal discontinuities inherent to the materiality of capitalist production. Com-
mercial capital, on the other hand, seeks to deal with the problems of faster circulation.
These are crucial sections in Capital dedicated to the metamorphoses of capital and its
circuits. Marx 1978, pp. 109–229; Marx 1981, pp. 566–73.
93 See especially Marx 1973, pp. 533–5; also p. 634, pp. 543–5.
94 Marx 1973, p. 539. On the reach and limitations of this metaphor, see Massey 2005, pp. 90–
99.
95 Marx 1973, pp. 516–23. On the spatio-temporal problems of circulation, see Dussel 1985,
pp. 251–65.
96 According to Dussel, the concept of ‘dependency’ would have been elaborated by Marx
in his treatises on competition between capitals, through the concept of ‘total national
capital’. Regarding the latter concept, Dussel indicates that ‘the existence of the “national
fact” in no way denies dependency, nor vice versa. Both exist: one as the partial substance
(the nation), the other as the connection in competition (and therefore, explaining the
transfer of surplus value from one “nation” to another, nothing more and nothing less)’.
Dussel 2001, p. 262.
97 Harvey 1989, pp. 61–6.
production’ does not exhaust his theory of history, but is rather its necessary
point of departure. His analyses of particular cases suggest elements that he
might have included in his theory of history, had he seen his plan of the theor-
isation of the modern world to fruition.
In any event, like the scientific objects of meteorology, evolutionary biology
and geology, actual history is an open system, and causality in it is more com-
plex than in a closed system; its capacity to predict events is much more limited
than in a closed system. This is not due to any flaw in this scientific approach,
but to its very object: its mode of explanation is a posteriori, through the incor-
poration of other mechanisms, along with those that are central to the theory –
that of a mode of production in Marx’s case. Thus the analysis of social form-
ations necessarily entails a degree of contingency which does not exist in the
more abstract level of the mode of production.101
Marx argues, for example, that capitalist production developed earliest in
Italy, but the revolution in the world market at the end of the eighteenth cen-
tury destroyed the Italian commercial supremacy, reversing that process with
an unprecedented impulse towards small-scale cultivation.102 The case in Cap-
ital shows that the existence of capitalist relations based on a dispossessed
labour force does not guarantee on its own the development of capitalism; here
the emergence of a new world-system largely aborted northern Italy’s ongoing
path of production. This adequately illustrates Sayer’s assertion that
101 See Grüner 2005, pp. 24–5; also, Lukács 1978, p. 103. On the unpredictability of open sys-
tems: Bhaskar 2008, pp. 118–26. Gaddis also calls attention to this feature of history shared
with the historical natural sciences. Gaddis 2002, pp. 35–52.
102 Marx 1976b, p. 876.
103 Sayer 2000, pp. 15–16.
develops.104 This allows Marx to move between the empirical and the real, and
thus to account for the actuality of the conjuncture in a concrete manner, in
which space and time play an essential role. In these analyses, struggles for and
against the state have particularly clear spatio-temporal determinations that
are intimately related to the stratum of economic production. The Marxian
analyses of the U.S. Civil War, the Paris Commune, and ‘so-called primitive
accumulation’ are emblematic of this conception.
These cases have different delimitations: while the primary space of the ana-
lysis of the Commune is the city of Paris, the articles on the Civil War occur
basically in the territory of the United States, and the specific locus of Capital’s
explanation of the origins of capitalism is the English countryside. As for their
temporal delimitations, the first takes place in the lapse of around two months,
while the conflict between Union and Confederacy lasted for four years – of
which Marx’s writings refer to the first two. ‘So-called primitive accumulation’,
on the other hand, develops between the last third of the fifteenth century –
with the first mass evictions from common lands – and the last decades of the
eighteenth century – with the advent of large scale industry.105
However, each of these processes cannot be explained by following these
delimitations alone; on the contrary, Marx’s conception of spatio-temporal dif-
ferentiality becomes clear in his treatment of particular cases. Since the explan-
ation of an open system implies the relation between several mechanisms –
each of which, as we have already seen, produces its own spatio-temporal
dynamic of scale, configuration and rhythm – these analyses highlight the mul-
tiplicity of social spaces and times needed in order to approach a historical
process.
For instance, since The Civil War in France deals with a political event, the
short duration of punctual events and individual figures play a more important
role here than in other of his works. However, while the main events happen in
Paris, they are not comprehensible without reference to the Franco-Prussian
war and the National Assembly (‘The Assembly of the Rurals’) in Bordeaux;
Marx’s explanation of the rise and fall of the Commune resorts to the French
and European scales. In terms of temporal scale, in this piece Marx emphas-
104 The last chapter of Capital Volume i, on the colonies, gives another example of this medi-
ation of mode of production and spatio-temporal singular conditions: the availability of
land for European settlers in the colonies prevented the formation of a surplus labour
force, and hence the development of capitalist accumulation and concentration. Capit-
alist dispossession had to be promoted through direct coercive rather than indirect eco-
nomic means. Marx 1976b, pp. 931–40.
105 Marx 1976b, pp. 878, 922.
ises the historical geography of state power in France – a two hundred year
process of centralisation – as the background for the short time span of most
of the writing, and he relates the transformations in this political process with
the power shifts between social classes in this period, which in turn refer to the
space-times of the stratum of production.106 The French conjuncture of 1848–
50 is a constant reference, especially in order to indicate the changes during
the twenty years of Bonapartian rule. Marx analyses this conjuncture extens-
ively in Class Struggles in France and his 18th Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, and
probably the lack of a deeper economic and class analysis in The Civil War in
France is due to Marx’s implicit reliance on those previous works.
While the main spatio-temporal approach in this pamphlet was short-scale,
the longue-durée and transcontinental scale prevails in Capital’s explanation of
the origins of capitalism, where Marx relates four intertwined processes: first,
the revolution in the form of appropriation of land into a regime of private own-
ership, which generated an early proletariat and the ascent of capitalist farm-
ers; second, the emergence of a state that privileged capitalist interests through
coercion and economic policies, and that especially benefited the rise of non-
agricultural capitalists; third, the imposition of colonialism on the world scale.
Finally, the fourth is a shorter process – it took place during slightly more than
one century – which Marx summarises briefly: the agricultural revolution.
These processes responded to different mechanisms, and thus their space-
times differed from each other in terms of scales, spatial configurations and
rhythms; Marx’s account of ‘so-called primitive accumulation’ seeks to explain
the English case, but in order to do so it shifts spatially from that territory to
the world market, noting the discontinuity and contradictions between the
national and the international scales. Moreover, his explanation of the origins
of capitalism indicates a profound and violent reconfiguration of social times
106 Marx argues that centralisation had been fundamental in the struggle against feudalism
in France, but the state evolved into a parasitic entity with ‘ubiquitous organs of stand-
ing army, police, bureaucracy, clergy and judicature – organs wrought after the plan of a
systematic and hierarchic division of labour’. Marx 1986, p. 328. While generating national
debt and heavy taxes, the state apparatus concentrated in Paris became increasingly a site
of patronage and an engine of class despotism, especially after 1830, when the capital-
ists took the government from the class of landlords. Thus, through a highly asymmetrical
production of its national space, Paris had become a centre of accumulation of political
and economic power at the expense of the rest of the country: France was an epitome of
uneven development. This was of course also an accumulation in terms of infrastructure.
Thus Marx as puts it about the burning of buildings during the retreat of the Communards:
‘the Commune knew that its opponents cared nothing for the lives of the Paris people, but
cared much for their own Paris buildings’. Marx 1986, p. 351; see also pp. 329–30.
and spaces both in Western Europe and its colonies,107 leading to the com-
plex geography of centres and peripheries – based on asymmetrical flows of
wealth – that characterises the modern world-system108 and without which the
establishment of wage relations would have not been possible.
Thus, the four-century period between the first laws of expropriation and
the industrial revolution created the conditions for the emergence of several
fractions of the capitalist class in England: there was a wealthy class of capital-
ist farmers – tenant farmers who hired waged-labourers to work in those lands
and paid a part of the surplus product to their landlord – by the end of the six-
teenth century. Non-agricultural capitalists, on the other hand, consolidated as
an economic force in a much less gradual way than their rural counterparts,
but also appealed to more complex mechanisms in order to achieve it. They
drew from ancient forms of capital – usury and merchant’s capital – and new
production methods in manufacture, but also developed a combination of new
state policies destined to benefit them as a class: colonial rule, national debt,
the modern tax system and system of protection. By the end of the seventeenth
century England had implemented this combination.109 Hence, this period of
formation of an English capitalist class took around two centuries, a period that
set the basis of the modern national state-system. In addition to this, the legis-
lation for the expropriation of peasants that started in the fourteenth century,
encompassing laws against vagabondage, against trade unions and for the reg-
ulation of wages (to the benefit of capitalists), clearly outlined the state as a
central agent in the service of capitalist transformation.
The agricultural revolution, in turn, emerged in the last third of the fifteenth
century and extended over most of the sixteenth, thanks to ‘the revolution in
107 The colonial system was essential in Marx’s explanation of the origins of capitalism,
because the colonies were markets for the metropolitan manufacturers, to which they –
through looting, enslavement and murder – provided products (among them, the metals
necessary for a money-driven economy) that generated capital. As Marx writes, sarcastic-
ally, ‘these idyllic proceedings are the chief moments of primitive accumulation’. Marx
1976b, p. 915. On the historical necessity of capitalism to exploit labour in the colonies as
well as in the central economies, see Grüner 2015; also Anievas and Nişancioğlu 2015.
108 The implementation of the colonial system went in hand with the consolidation of the
territory of the Western European national states. The subordination of the colonies –
through such means as the international credit system and metropolitan protectionism,
when not simply through open violence – implied the competition between the strongest
economic and military powers, and the definition of clear national boundaries. In this
sense, Sassen argues that in Europe the concept of a territorial state was alien to the
Middle Ages, and only came to be a well-established type of political organisation dur-
ing the 1600s. Sassen 2008, pp. 41, 61–3.
109 Marx 1976b, pp. 905–7, 915.
The cultivation of the southern export articles, cotton, tobacco, sugar, etc.,
carried on by slaves, is only remunerative as long as it is conducted with
large gangs of slaves, on a mass scale and on wide expanses of a naturally
fertile soil, which requires only simple labour. Intense cultivation, which
depends less on fertility of the soil than on investment of capital, intelli-
gence and energy of labour, is contrary to the nature of slavery. Hence the
rapid transformation of states like Maryland and Virginia, which formerly
employed slaves in the production of export articles, into states which
raise slaves to export them into the deep South. … As soon as this point is
reached, the acquisition of new Territories becomes necessary, so that one
section of the slaveholders with their slaves may occupy new fertile lands
and that a new market for slave-raising, therefore for the sale of slaves,
may be created for the remaining section.116
The territorial problem was hence due to the struggle of two different spatio-
temporal configurations of capitalist production as a conflictual unity within
the United States,117 both with a tendency to expansion, but differing in regard
the two lowlands separated by the mountainous country, with their vast
rice swamps and far-flung cotton plantations, are the actual area of slav-
ery. The long wedge of mountainous country driven into the heart of
slavery, with its correspondingly clear atmosphere, an invigorating cli-
mate and a soil rich in coal, salt, limestone, iron, ore, gold, in short,
every raw material necessary for a many-sided industrial development,
is already for the most part free country. In accordance with its physical
constitution, the soil here can only be cultivated with success by free small
farmers. Here the slave system vegetates only sporadically and has never
118 Against the narratives of modernisation and progress that criticise slavery in terms of
‘backwardness’, Marx insists on the capitalist nature of modern slavery, noting that such
barbarism was the condition for the achievements of capitalist civilisation. Marx 1982a,
pp. 101–2; Marx 1973, pp. 224, 513. Banaji argues that modern slavery was a specific mode
of exploitation within capitalism; he concludes that ‘the slave-plantations were capitalist
enterprises of a patriarchal and feudal character producing absolute surplus-value on the
basis of slave-labour and a monopoly in land’. Banaji 2011, p. 71.
119 According to Marx, on the other hand, had the North not contained the expansion of
slavery, the latter would have ended up swallowing the Northern industry, and reducing
its working class to helotry. Marx 1984c, p. 50; Marx 1985, p. 416.
120 Marx 1984c, pp. 45–8.
struck root. In the larger part of the so-called border states, the dwellers
of these highlands comprise the core of the free population, which sides
with the North if only for the sake of self-preservation.121
The South, in particular, due to its lack of industry and its concentration of
land for extensive agriculture meant for foreign trade, developed a spatial con-
figuration without big urban centres: ‘In densely populated and more or less
centralised states there is always a center, with the occupation of which by the
enemy the national resistance would be broken. … The slave states, however,
possess no such center. They are sparsely populated, with few large towns and
all these on the seacoast’.122 This meant that for the South the most important
means of communication was the railway, rather than the highways, which in
military terms made them more vulnerable if the Unionists took control of a
couple of strategic points. In such a case, the Confederacy would be torn in two
incommunicable camps.123
Marx’s explanation of the causes and development of the U.S. Civil War thus
prioritises the spatio-temporal conditions of economic production,124 but also
recognises the determinate role of politics and the military – the latter espe-
cially based on Engels’s studies – as generating mechanisms with their own cor-
responding spatio-temporal scales and dynamics. Moreover, this explanation
has its ultimate reference in the world scale, in the conflict between national
sovereignty and world market. Marx notes that the effects of the North Amer-
ican conflict were felt in the whole capitalist world-system: the cotton shortage
from the United States could not be replaced by British industry with Indian
cotton, due to the lack of means of communication and transport in India,
and to the bad conditions of its peasant working force. It would have taken
years before India could produce as much cotton as provided by the United
States.125 The consequent rising price of this product seriously affected Brit-
ish textile production, a problem further aggravated by the contraction of the
Indian and Chinese markets. Marx’s analysis indicates that while during the
first year of the war in the U.S., British exports around the world – except for
Italy – declined, the French imports grew considerably, as did the imports from
the Union.126 A British military intervention – championed for some time by a
part of the London press – might have changed the course of the war in favour
of the South, but was dismissed due to the British dependency on Northern
grain, the importance of investment in the Northern states (Marx also notes
the importance of English letters of credit in the commerce of the United States
with China and Australia), and the very high expenses of such a war.127
Marx’s analysis of this case is thus particularly interesting because it reveals
two different – interdependent yet competing – kinds of capitalist spatio-
temporal development, and situates them in their specific geographical condi-
tions. Once again, the formation of the world market is of the greatest import-
ance for capitalist spatio-temporal development, but it is not merely a register
of abstract social relations: material conditions such as topography or the
decreasing fertility of the soil are determinants for its concrete functioning.
Marx hence provides a complex explanation of the U.S. Civil War through
several spatio-temporal planes (natural-geographic, economic, political, mil-
itary), each with its own rhythms and configurations, and at both the national
territory- and world-scales. This explanation relies on a combination of social
forms which, although in general oriented towards the accumulation of capital,
cannot be reduced to one single abstract mechanism.128
125 Marx 1984d, p. 56. Indeed, Marx later affirms that in India, ‘as a result of the great demand
for cotton after 1861, its production was extended at the expense of rice cultivation in some
otherwise thickly populated districts of eastern India. In consequence, there arose local
famines, because, owing to deficiencies in the means of communication, and hence the
absence of physical links, failures of the rice crop in one district could not be compensated
by importing supplies from other districts’. Marx 1976b, p. 473.
126 Marx 1984c, pp. 18–9 and Marx 1984g, pp. 63–5.
127 Marx 1984h, p. 111; Marx 1984i, pp. 128–9; Marx 1984j, p. 132; Marx 1984k, pp. 231.
128 In capitalism, such combination is ultimately achieved through subsumption, by which
the labour-times of the different forms of production are synchronised – ultimately
through universal clock-time. As elaborated in the first chapter, this is a central position
Epilogue
For Marx, historical explanation entails a dialectic between the abstract and
the concrete, where the abstract models help one to grasp particular histor-
ical processes. This is not, however, a one-way process of knowledge, since the
explanation of the latter in turn provides new concepts and models that con-
tribute to theory at a more abstract level. There is a return from the abstract
to the concrete, but the latter also opens the way for new abstractions that
broaden the knowledge of social forms – and eventually, provide approaches to
their transformation. Hence, against interpretations that downplay Marx’s ana-
lyses of actual historical conjunctures, as Grüner says, ‘those historical studies
are not mere applications of a previously finished general theory on a particu-
lar case. On the contrary, each “case study” helps to advance the theory, to open
new fields of knowledge for it and to provide new modes of production of such
knowledge’.129
The consideration of determinations through spatio-temporal models intro-
duces more precision into the elements for historical explanation enumer-
ated by Fulbrook: it redefines the problems and questions posed to historical
research, as well as the concepts and methods required to answer them. It
highlights the need to organise existing sources according to different spatio-
temporal processes in a formation, but also to assure the representation of such
sources in it. Ultimately, it leads to forms of representation adequate to explain
a complex totalisation.
As Tilly indicates, historical analysis should consider ‘that space-time con-
nections define social processes and that social processes operate differently
as a function of their placement in space and time’.130 Time and space are
hence indispensable for social explanation due to their function as indexes of
of Harootunian’s theory of historical time in his Marx After Marx (although, as noted
above, he overemphasises the role of formal subsumption), Harootunian 2015b, pp. 55–
72. On universal clock-time, see Martineau 2016, pp. 107–62. In turn, Martineau draws on
Tomba’s interpretation of Marx, according to which, ‘in the world-market, the capitalist
mode of production encounters traditional and unwaged forms of production, which are
not specifically capitalist, and are inserted into the capitalist market in hybrid forms of
subsumption. In this way, patriarchal forms of exploitation and new forms of slavery not
only coexist with high-tech production, but also combine with it’. Tomba 2013a, p. 168. See
also above, 1.3.
129 Grüner 2005, p. 24. The risk of not thinking the relation between the abstract and the con-
crete in a dialectical manner is to incur what Banaji calls bad theory, the ‘substitution of
purely theoretical explanations for historical research and/or recourse to a theory that is
itself simply a string of abstractions’. Banaji 2011, p. 8.
130 Tilly 2006, p. 568.
the singularity of the studied case; the concrete analysis of a formation should
determine the specific physical space and chronological time of the processes
analysed – otherwise, we are not dealing with history.131 Hence, as a historical
event, it is firstly imperative to locate the first battle of the Civil War of the
United States in Fort Sumter, South Carolina, on 12 April 1861, before relating it
to other historical events and processes.
But beyond this purely formal criterion, historical explanation should ac-
count for the diverse social spaces and times as mechanisms with their own
dynamics and active conditions in social relations. Thus, in order to explain the
causes and consequences of the Civil War of the United States, as we have seen,
it is necessary to take into account aspects such as the differences between the
forms of capitalist exploitation in the Southern and the Northern states as well
as the cycles of electoral politics in the country. The consideration of spatio-
temporal models accounting for the diverse mechanisms thus contributes to
Marxian historical explanation by helping to organise social relations in a par-
ticular formation, and by indicating hypothetical patterns of social activity and
transformation derived from them. Marx’s historical explanations are therefore
always multi-temporal and multi-spatial, and they ultimately refer the percept-
ible social conflicts, through diverse mediations, to specific class antagonisms
and modes of production in the particular formation.
The spatio-temporal development of the concrete social formations, as open
systems, should be explained from the interactions and tensions of several
forms, among which unforeseen elements (whose incidence is often seen as
contingent) should also be taken into account.132 Marx’s explanation priorit-
ises the strata of economic production and secondarily that of the political,
incorporating other spheres according to the kind of social form he specifically
analyses – his analysis of the Commune, for example, is particularly situated
within the realm of politics. Every mode of production has inherent spatio-
temporal tendencies, which are actually deployed according to other relevant
mechanisms in the social formation.
131 This delimitation comes up in the title or subtitle of every historiographical writing, but
can be implied by other textual means. We can consider this formal element as a tran-
scendental condition of historiography.
132 ‘[World history] would, on the other hand, be of a very mystical nature, if “accidents”
played no part. These accidents themselves fall naturally into the general course of devel-
opment and are compensated again by other accidents. But acceleration and delay are
very dependent upon such “accidents”, which include the “accident” of the character of
those who first stand at the head of the movement’. Marx, ‘Letter to Kugelman, 17th April
1871’, in Marx 1989a, p. 137.
In Marx’s Archive
…
In general terms, we keep few pieces, those that we insert into a
wider argument. But this rejected archive is not absent: it goes with
us, beats under the text because it has convinced us about many
things.2
∵
In the epistemology of history, the documentary phase encompasses the oper-
ations required in order to transform a historical source into documentary
evidence;3 it thus provides the most basic criteria for the epistemic validity
of a historiographical interpretation.4 As Ricoeur argues, this phase deals not
only with the selection and criticism of sources but also with the evaluation of
the truth or falseness of the facts constructed and established by the historian,
which singular facts that integrate the realm of the empirical are elaborated,
and this realm is necessary in order to know the actual processes and eventu-
ally the real mechanisms at work in a social context. In this sense, independent
of which theories are used to question the sources, the limits of the archive –
with its temporal and spatial determinations – are the limits of the possible his-
toriographies based on it. Theory defines the kind of sources to be sought and
the questions posed to them, but the sources cannot be reduced to the former;
as Sayer states, the fact that observation is theory-laden does not mean that it
is unilaterally determined by theory.9 This point is fundamental to Marx’s doc-
umentary critique.
The examination of this phase of Marx’s conception of history in this chap-
ter starts with a general description of his archive and method of source cri-
ticism – including his critique of ideology in the sources. The second section
deals with several Marxian concepts and historical interpretations – his treat-
ment of pre-capitalist modes of production and the Asian mode of production
specifically, as well as his piece on Simón Bolívar – that have been accused of
Eurocentrism, in order to clarify in what measure such spatio-temporal bias is
attributable to Marx’s theory, or to his archive.
Finally, the third section addresses historical processes analysed by Marx –
the Paris Commune in The Civil War in France, the U.S. Civil War, and ‘so-called
primitive accumulation’ – from the standpoint of more recent historiography,
in order to examine the spatio-temporal explanatory possibilities of Marxian
theory in light of more recent sources. Moreover, the productive use by these
new explanations of different spatio-temporal operations for the examination
of these cases (spatial analysis and internal displacement of focus, spatio-
temporal scale shifting) contributes, as well, to the thesis in this book about
the necessity of considering space and time in the formulation of historical
explanations: that is, as indispensable mediations of every social totalisation.
Marx is well aware of the spatial and temporal determinations of his theoretical
activity, and specifically the ramifications of doing research in London, rather
than in Germany or France:
9 Sayer 1992, p. 73. This irreducibility of the empirical to theoretical claims contradicts the relat-
ivist thesis of the incommensurability of paradigms. In this line, Adorno argues that there is
a surplus in the object that cannot be reduced to the identity of the concept. Adorno 2004,
pp. 183–86; see also Sayer 1992, pp. 65–71.
Although it is unlikely that Marx planned to stay in London for the rest of his
life,11 it was nonetheless a privileged place to investigate the development of the
capitalist mode of production at his time. As Anderson remarks, not only was
Marx in the only properly industrial capitalist economy, but also in the heart
of the world’s largest empire, from which he could be relatively well informed
about non-Western societies and colonialism. As the economic and political
centre of the British Empire, which produced huge amounts of paperwork and
collected objects from all over the world, London was by then also a centre
of information. Richards argues that this accumulation of data played a cent-
ral role in the ideology of the Empire during Victorian times; institutions like
the Royal Geographic Society, the Royal Society, the Royal Asiatic Society and,
of course, the British Museum – all of them based in London – constituted an
entire epistemological complex in the imperial mythology: an imagined imper-
ial archive.12
However, since Marx’s concept of history is not that of a ‘past’ left behind
in unilinear time, his sources were not limited to the conventional archives.
His analyses of current affairs required more recent sources, and thus funda-
mentally relied on an older, non-centralising institution: the postal service. This
system was an important means for the circulation of information and know-
ledge, through which Marx kept himself informed about current events like
the Paris Commune,13 and which allowed him to obtain pamphlets, newspa-
pers – whole or in cuts – and books from different countries, especially from
Europe. Newspapers were particularly important for the flow of information,
and London was a privileged hub for this kind of material.14 Private venues in
London collected information from countries and regions abroad; during the
U.S. Civil War, for instance, Marx attended a place called the ‘American Coffee-
house’, where he had access to newly arrived periodicals from the United States.
This proved to be important because, according to him, the British papers often
suppressed useful information about the war.15
However, the seat of the Empire also had its limitations as a vantage point,
the most obvious being the spectre of Eurocentrism – now a commonplace
accusation against Marx by scholars in post- and de-colonial studies16 (and an
issue I address in the next section). At this point, I have argued that the Marxian
conception of history as a decentred, multi-temporal and multi-spatial totalisa-
tion is incompatible with such ideological constructs. But did Marx’s archive
prevent him from overcoming them?
An examination of Marx’s historical sources is a useful starting point to
address this matter. In his more historiographical texts, he cites three kinds
of sources: books, official reports, and newspapers.17 These kinds of sources,
however, serve different functions in Marx’s explanation of historical processes,
especially with regard to temporality. Most of the longer-term processes – espe-
cially modes of production – are constructed on the basis of already exist-
ing historiography (that Marx reinterprets by conceptually problematising it),
while processes from the point of view of shorter-term temporalities – con-
14 ‘Besides railways and steamboats, the electric telegraph contributed decisively with the
acceleration of circulation in the nineteenth century press: dispatches began to be sent
routinely by wire to London newspapers from provincial centers or from abroad by means
of press agencies such as Reuters (1851), the Press Association (1868) and the Central News
Association (1870)’. Wiener 2015, pp. 212. Marx and Engels often exchanged newspapers
via mail, although from their correspondence it appears that Marx, in London, was better
situated than Engels, in Manchester, who more often asked Marx for these materials.
15 Marx 1985a, p. 305; Marx 1985b, p. 429. About the British press, see King 2007.
16 Chakrabarty 2000, pp. 47–71; Lander 2006, pp. 209–43. See below, 3.2.
17 Specifically, the main sources in this section are those which deal with the explanation
of particular spatio-temporal cases in Capital, Grundrisse, The Civil War in France, and
Marx’s articles on the U.S. Civil War. The English language edition of the mecw provides
a list of these sources: ‘Index of Quoted and Mentioned Literature’, in Marx and Engels
1984b, pp. 430–44; Marx and Engels 1986a, pp. 741–59; Marx and Engels 1986b, pp. 568–76;
Marx and Engels 1987, pp. 564–5; Marx and Engels 1996, pp. 818–52; Marx and Engels 1997,
pp. 540–6; Marx and Engels 1998, pp. 920–32. Other historical manuscripts are very occa-
sionally referenced, as in the case of the eccentric note on the Duchess of Orkney. Marx
1976b, p. 884.
section of the Grundrisse, while those of Thomas More, Francis Bacon and
Edmund Burke, among others, help to elaborate Marx’s histories of commerce,
finance and the privatisation of land ownership. Testimonies such as these are
regularly used by Marx as illustrations that help to make the effects of wider
social tendencies more representative.20
As opposed to testimonies, which usually account for singular events, offi-
cial reports enable one to determine patterns, because they are composed and
archived precisely in order to address situations of a similar type; they not
only help to illustrate a process, but to find spatial and temporal tendencies
in it.21 The production of these kinds of sources grew as the state assumed
new functions of social control over the population, eventually giving rise to
the science of statistics.22 The censuses of the United States in 186023 and of
England and Wales in 1861 allowed Marx to differentiate the spatial tendencies
within the respective national cases. His interpretation of these tendencies in
each of the regions of the United States (North, South, Intermediate and North-
western states) regarding the contradictions between slave and salaried labour
was based on the first census, while the second one was a main source for his
analysis of the labour force in Capital’s chapter on the general law of capitalist
accumulation, along with the reports on the state of public health and statistics
for agriculture in Ireland.24
In this use of official reports, Capital followed in the steps of Engels’s 1845
The Condition of the Working Class in England. Along with the aforementioned
reports on public health, other documents by commissioners and inspectors
dealt with the situation of transportation, agriculture, banking, child labour,
etc. Most of the official reports cited in Capital are British, with occasional
counterparts from the United States, France and Germany. Temporally, most
20 On the role of testimony for historiography, Ricoeur 2004, pp. 161–6; also Osborne 2013,
pp. 190–201.
21 The use of series of quantitative data is one of the most important methodological con-
tributions of twentieth-century social history, particularly in the fields of economic and
demographic history. Burke 1990, pp. 74–9.
22 The very concept of population is a product of this process. Foucault 2004; and Foucault
2009.
23 The editors of volume 19 of the Collected Works indicate that Marx obtained this census’s
data through a publication by the British newspaper The Times. See Marx 1984b, p. 45 foot-
note a.
24 This chapter of Capital is particularly attendant to space, both at the level of the differ-
ences between industry and agriculture in the British counties, and at the lived experi-
ences of the working class.
of these documents are contemporary with Marx’s writing of Capital – the late
1850s and 1860s – with the exception of reports on factories, from which he util-
ises data from the 1840s for his chapters on the working day and in the fragment
on the cotton crisis in Volume iii.
While Marx occasionally cites French, Dutch or German official publica-
tions, he generally uses these sources in order to compare them with the Brit-
ish documents that are overwhelmingly prevalent in his analyses, from which
he presents the history of English capitalism as representative of the Western
European path to capitalism. Among the publications of legislative acts, the
1810 edition of the English Statutes of the Realm is particularly important for
Marx’s account of the laws against the expropriated between the sixteenth and
nineteenth centuries. This source reveals the tendency of the British élites to
respond with increasingly violent repression of the problems created by the
dispossession of the peasantry, but it does not show the concrete implementa-
tion of the laws in different regions and conjunctures. Therefore, and especially
in terms of space, the section on ‘primitive accumulation’ deals in a general
fashion with these processes in Britain.
Finally, Marx constantly draws upon periodicals in his writings. The Eco-
nomist is an ubiquitous interlocutor in his oeuvre, as a source both of data to
be reinterpreted and explanations to be refuted. On the other hand, although
cited in Capital – where they especially served as illustrations – newspapers
for mass consumption were, as mentioned before, particularly important for
Marx’s analyses of then-current situations and of short-term processes. Unsur-
prisingly, the editors of the volumes of the Collected Works corresponding to
Marx’s analyses of the U.S. and French civil wars find numerous references to
the press in the respective countries during these conjunctures. These sources
were not made explicit by Marx due to the original formats of these publica-
tions: newspaper articles in the case of the U.S. Civil War, and a pamphlet in
the case of the Paris Commune.
The variety of kinds of sources in Marx’s writings are indicative of the dif-
ferentiality of times in his approach to the processes he analyses; even in his
smaller-scale studies, Marx combines different spatial and temporal scales in
order to explain concrete conjunctures. Sources possess their respective levels
of abstraction, and the predominance in a text of a certain kind of source
depends on the principal scale of the historical process to be analysed – news-
papers do not usually interpret longue-durée processes, for example – as well
as the moment of their issue. Analytical studies of particular conjunctures and
historical periods, for example, take more time to get edited and published and
hence are not useful as main sources when addressing events currently in pro-
gress.
25 In Marx’s lifetime, documents from popular classes and other subaltern social sectors were
quite limited, a limitation that led researchers of popular cultures in the twentieth century
to the formulation of oral history.
26 Ricoeur 1970, pp. 32–7. Grüner explains that ‘Marx starts by accepting the “text” of bour-
geois political economy as a partial truth and then questions its “silences” and inconsist-
encies. … Marx produces his own theory, his own critical interpretation of capitalism … by
constructing upon those “voids” of classical economy’. Grüner 2005, p. 30.
27 Antonio 1981, pp. 330–45. Echeverría argues that Capital’s method of critique of polit-
ical economy corresponds to what Ginzburg calls an ‘evidential paradigm’, a reading that
reveals what is hidden through the observation of a text from the point of view of its symp-
toms. Echeverría 2003–4, pp. 29–34.
28 Marx 1974b, pp. 256, 281.
drawn from the wrong theoretical assumptions – such as considering the state
as an autonomous entity in relation to society – and are rather soft on the clergy,
lawyers and higher classes.29
Marx also regularly criticises one of his most important sources of statistical
information, The Economist, by deconstructing its analyses of data. He states
about an article in late 1861:
from statistics given as to the population and the area of the United States,
he [the writer of the article] arrives at the conclusion that there would be
room enough for the establishment of at least seven vast empires, and
that consequently, ‘the dream of universal dominion’ ought to be ban-
ished from the hearts of the Unionists. The only rational inference which
The Economist might have drawn from its own statistical statements, viz.,
that the Northerners, even if they liked to do so, could not desist from
their claims without sacrificing to Slavery the vast States and Territories
‘in which Slavery still lingers, but cannot maintain itself as a permanent
institution’ – this only rational conclusion he successfully contrives not
even to touch upon.30
not all knowledge is accessible to any one person, and Marx is especially attent-
ive to the ideological closures at work in discourses about capitalism.
Marx’s other strategy is to stress the social contradictions admitted in texts
by his theoretical and political adversaries, and then elaborate on them. In
regards to this approach, Ginzburg indicates that ‘reading historical testimon-
ies against the grain, as Walter Benjamin suggested – that is, against the inten-
tions of the person or persons producing them (even if those intentions must
of course be taken into account) – means supposing that every text includes
uncontrolled elements’.33 These elements are precisely what allows Marx to
formulate his historical analyses as what would later be called counterhistor-
ies, against interpretations of history that legitimise the existing relations of
exploitation and domination.34
Thus, at the beginning of his analysis about the origins of capitalism, Marx
says he quotes Thomas B. Macaulay’s History of England ‘because as a system-
atic falsifier of history he minimises facts of this kind [the expropriation of
peasants] as much as possible’.35 In the same fashion, his use of official reports
about the situation of the working class in England takes advantage of their
condition as instruments of state policy, which makes them unlikely to be
sympathetic towards socialism. Similarly, he used official reports in order to
describe the disastrous results of the British policies that led to the 1866 fam-
ine in India.36
One of the sources Marx uses in order to document the abuses of the
European powers during the colonial expansion is Stamford Raffles’s History
of Java, where this former British lieutenant-governor of Java describes the
corruption and cruelty of Dutch colonialism. But Marx, backed by William
Howitt’s Colonisation and Christianity, argues that this violence was constit-
utive of the colonial system and thus common to all the colonisers. Further-
more, he maintains that capitalists behave in the colonies as they would, if they
had the chance, in their mother countries; Capital thus affirms that the merit
of Wakefield’s theory of colonisation lies in showing the truth about capitalist
relations in the metropolitan countries.37
As indicated before, Marx is aware of the spatial and temporal determin-
ations of his sources, and his critical reading is thus a basic part of his his-
toriographical interpretations. However, the ideological critique of sources is
33 Ginzburg 2012, p. 4.
34 Tomba 2013b, 408.
35 Marx 1976b, p. 877.
36 Marx 1978, p. 218.
37 Marx 1976b, pp. 916–17; 932.
a merely negative form of knowledge (because it tells one about the limita-
tions of the source, but does not provide positive knowledge in its place), and
working mostly with secondary sources led to inevitable limitations, given the
state of the historical knowledge in Marx’s period. When he did research based
on secondary sources, Marx cross-checked them, as can be seen in his reading
of Maine, in which Marx corrects some of the data of this author by refer-
ence to authors like Strange, Morgan and Niebuhr, both for documentary and
theoretical reasons. The obvious problem with this approach was its ultimate
dependence on observations that could not be directly refuted – an archive
rather than a source problem. As Wood has indicated, some of Marx’s histor-
ical observations are quite wrong, ‘for reasons having less to do with his own
shortcomings than with the existing state of historical scholarship at the time
of his writing’.38
Indeed, we can clarify the reach of Marx’s theory and method by examining
some of his particular analyses in terms of the conditions of his archive. Marx
deliberately analyses most non-capitalist societies from the point of view of
his study of capitalism; as Wood states, his ‘discussion of precapitalist forms
is, after all, part of a discussion of capital’.39 Basso argues that, because of this
preeminence of capitalism as the point of reference for pre-capitalist forms,
Marx investigates them in a non-critical manner, but Basso’s argument is inac-
curate: the method in the Grundrisse turns to the analysis of previous modes of
production explicitly in order to explain capitalism, and consequently Marx
is aware of the possibility of obfuscating the differences and specificities of
each individual pre-capitalist mode of production.40 Against this methodolo-
gical possibility, Marx repeatedly acknowledges the diversity of pre-capitalist
modes of production.41
However, the limited availability of sources leads Marx to an incorrect eval-
uation of the relevance of pre-capitalist modes of production, especially in
the Grundrisse: he overestimates the representative power of the ‘classical’ or
42 Dunn 2011, p. 123. Banaji 2011, p. 349. Spivak interprets the formulation of the pre-capitalist
forms in the Grundrisse as ‘an attempt to fit historical presuppositions into a logical mold’.
Spivak 1999, p. 81. Hobsbawm 1965, p. 26.
43 Wood 2010, pp. 80–3. Also against Marx’s conception of the spatial morphology of the
ancient forms of appropriation, recent scholarship argues that there were crucial differ-
ences between the centre-and-periphery model of cities in the Roman world and the more
locally differentiated cities in the less unified Greek world. Scott 2013, pp. 9–10.
44 Wood 2010, pp. 83–5. In spite of this, the Germanic form has numerous features in com-
mon with the peasant mode of production. See Wickham 2005, pp. 536–9.
While Said’s interpretation of Marx is far from rigorous,45 it begins a long dis-
cussion in post- and de-colonial studies about the validity of Marx’s conception
of history.
Marx bases his 1853 remarks (and arguably those in the Grundrisse) about
land property in Indian communities on François Bernier’s description of
seventeenth-century Mughal India,46 while references to this region in Marx’s
work from the 1860s (Theories of Surplus Value, Capital Vol. i and the drafts
of Capital Vols. ii and iii) especially rely on Richard Jones’s writings on Ori-
ental societies. This utilitarian political economist, disciple of Bentham and
Ricardo, uses Bernier’s account of India, but adds the idea that the craftsmen
of the imperial court were unproductive labourers – a feature that explains the
alleged lack of dynamism in the oriental cities – and extends his typology to
Oriental countries more generally.47
As indicated in the previous chapter, the expression ‘Asiatic mode of produc-
tion’ is first coined by Marx in his 1859 A Contribution to the Critique of Political
Economy, but is elaborated on in the Grundrisse as a communitarian form of
appropriation. The main features of this mode of production – which Marx
never systematises – are: 1. a self-sufficient network of rural communities, pro-
ducing both food and handcrafts and supplying surplus to the central authorit-
ies (who managed water resources and public works); 2. a despotic bureaucracy
or caste that centralises power for political and military purposes; and 3. the
collective ownership of land, productive property, and ‘hydraulic’ works.48
Drawing on empirical research, different authors have denied the validity
of each of these features; this is particularly the case for India, the country
which this mode is primarily supposed to explain. In this vein, Banaji main-
tains that the insufficiencies of the ‘Asiatic mode of production’ are due to
Marx’s dependence on English sources which, for instance, exaggerate the isol-
49 Habib 2002, pp. 14–58; Zingarelli 2016, pp. 31–2. Banaji 2011, pp. 17–19. The author quotes
Dumont’s analysis of nineteenth-century English administrative literature in India.
Dumont 1966, pp. 67–89.
50 O’Leary 1989, pp. 262–7 and 103–4.
51 Ahmad 1994, p. 241.
52 Of course, the generalisation of a mode of production for the totality of Asia cannot
be sustained rigorously. However, the prominent Egyptologist and methodologist Ciro
F.S. Cardoso argues that the Asiatic mode of production adequately explains ancient soci-
eties such as the Egyptian. Zingarelli argues for this thesis, while Wood, on the other hand,
includes Minoan and Mycenaean Greece – along with the ancient empires of Asia – within
this model. Zingarelli 2016, pp. 27–76; Wood 2010, pp. 81–2.
58 Examples of this stereotyped approach can be found in Roque Baldovinos 2007, pp. 843–6;
and Güendel 2011, pp. 98–100.
59 Aricó 2014, pp. 58–63.
60 O’Leary 1989, p. 81.
61 On the contrary, Marx’s condemnation of European interventions in 1861 in Mexico and
1865 in Jamaica, for instance, are unequivocal. See Marx 1984h, pp. 71–8; and Marx 1987b,
198–9.
a long time.66 While these cases have Eurocentric elements, this is not due to
Marx’s method and theoretical positions, but in spite of these positions.
Moreover, it is worth recalling that Marx’s accounts of non-European eco-
nomic forms were not exoticising: as for the imagery of the Indian peasant
starving next to a thriving bull – often depicted as a sign of superstition and
backwardness – Marx uses the explanation that it is more difficult for those
economies to replace an ox than a man, and this was thus rational behaviour
in terms of the survival of the community. He applies the same criterion when
he addresses the practice of ‘widow burning’ in India, which he explains in
relation to the interests of the priests, rather than for cultural reasons – the
properly orientalist account of such traditions.67 Marx’s Hegelian awareness
of the historical determination of his own conditions of knowledge (and, as
stated, of the biases in his sources) leads him to ground his project of a sci-
ence of history on the method of abstraction – which opens the possibility of a
spatio-temporally multilinear history – rather than on an evolutionist scheme.
As argued in section 1.2. above, historical diversity is to be understood from this
abstract anthropological unity as a point of departure. From the basis of this
unity, Marx emphasises the historical specificities of different social forms, as
can be seen in his critical remarks about Phear’s and Maine’s articles on India,
where he insists on the necessity of not imposing European concepts, such as
feudalism and state, on other formations.68
Marx’s archive limits his possibilities for interpreting societies spatially and
temporally far away from him, but it also provides him with opposing views and
sometimes contradictory versions, between which he sometimes does not have
enough empirical criteria to decide with certainty. Due to his central interest
in the study of capitalism, non-capitalist societies are not of primary interest
to Marx during most of his lifetime. And just as his analyses of pre-capitalist
formations are subordinated to the study of capitalism, his attention and time
management trend towards the latter as well. Marx worked for many years to
66 As Sayer affirms, ‘we quite rationally place considerable weight upon theoretical claims
and we are obliged to take their refutation seriously. Conversely, we neither place much
confidence in claims about contingent matters nor worry much if they are refuted’. Sayer
1992, p. 144.
67 Marx 1978, p. 314. Marx 1974a, pp. 325–6. Ironically, post-colonial studies exoticises Indian
cultural difference as a radical alterity to Western Europe. For a Marxist critique of the
postcolonial turn in authors like Guha and Chakrabarty, see: Chibber 2013; and especially
Kaiwar 2015.
68 Marx 1974b, pp. 256–7; Marx 1974a, pp. 326–30. On the contrary, Marx does find it appro-
priate to characterise the Japan of his day as ‘feudal’. Marx 1976b, p. 878.
establish the basis for a new, materialist conception of history, and tried to
apply it accordingly, but his personal limitations (economic difficulties, fre-
quent illness and relatively early death) and the priority of the study of the cap-
italist mode of production prevented him from developing a definitive version.
Naturally, the research derived from a philosophical and scientific conception
cannot depend on the work of a single person. In this sense, further historical
investigations productively draw from Marx’s theory and evaluate his specific
hypotheses under the light of new sources.
The development of historical and social scientific research after Marx has
regularly led to the re-evaluation of his explanations, and attention to the
spatio-temporal elements opened by new sources has proven to be particularly
fruitful for enriching the mechanisms at play in the cases that Marx analyses.
Since space and time are (ontologically) fundamental in the organisation of
the social totalisations, attention to their development should lead to a better
understanding of the specific conjunctures, as exemplified in the next pages
through discussions of ‘so-called primitive accumulation’ and the civil wars
in France and the United States. Furthermore, as indicated in the previous
chapter, such revisions are important not only for the specific explanations
they offer, but also for the advancement of the theory itself – especially through
the formulation of models.
The United States Civil War is probably the most studied among the spe-
cific processes analysed by Marx, and since his explanation heavily depends
on social spaces and times, it is particularly useful to approach it in relation
to recent studies. While the idea of the inevitability of the conflict due to the
expansionist character of the South – Marx’s fundamental thesis about the
cause of the conflict – was widely accepted until the late 1920s, Craven’s and
Ramsdell’s analyses challenge this position, arguing that the Southern eco-
nomy had more flexibility and capacity to reform itself than had been previ-
ously presumed, and thus that there were alternatives to the war. Following this
revisionist line, Runkle concludes that while Marx is probably right to state that
slavery needed to spread in order to survive, the exhaustion of the soil avail-
able for slavery was far from imminent, and hence the conflict could have been
avoided.69
Similarly, while Genovese agrees with the revisionists that the advent of
the war was not triggered by an immediate crisis of land scarcity, he also
demonstrates that even reforms to the slave system depended on its expan-
sion. However, he argues that a peaceful solution to the contradiction between
the North and South would have been impossible due to the psychology of the
slaveholding ruling class: the defence of slavery was for the slaveholders the
defence of their honour and dignity.70
In any case, contrary to the widespread assumption in this literature, an
emphasis on culture or politics as the immediate cause of the war does not
exclude Marx’s interpretation based on the conditions of production as the
framework for this conflict. Following the stratified conception of history
described in Section 1.1., culture and politics mediate and help to negotiate
the basic conflict at the level of production. The prospect of the scarcity of
land could have determined the actions of the agents long before its actual
advent. In this sense, in favour of Marx’s explanation (albeit not referencing
him), Foner argues that beliefs that limiting the expansion of slavery would
lead to its extinction were common in the United States from the 1840s. Among
others, Foner cites one of the editors of the New York Tribune, Horace Greeley,
who affirmed in 1856 that ‘to restrict Slavery within its present limits is to secure
its speedy decline and ultimate extinction’.71 According to Ransom, ‘observers
outside the South uniformly viewed the cotton kingdom as eagerly seeking new
land. By the 1850s this view had become an obsessive fear’.72
The tension rose to an unsustainable level for the Southern élite with the
election of the anti-slavery candidate Abraham Lincoln. The cycles of federal
(electoral) politics, not the actual exhaustion of slave-state soil – a thesis Marx
never makes – was then the immediate cause for the declaration of secession in
the South, though the contradiction between two competing forms of capitalist
accumulation determined the interests of those at war. This complementarity
of economic and political dimensions is highlighted by Ransom, whose general
70 Genovese convincingly argues that the Southern economy needed to expand to the newer
territories of the Union, and that Mexico, the Caribbean and Central America would also
be under threat of becoming slave territories. Genovese 1989, pp. 247, 249–50; also 269–
70. Thus, the Marxian claim that pirate expeditions to these countries was favoured by the
White House under Pierce and Buchanan is not only backed by empirical evidence, but
also by structural explanation. Marx 1984e, pp. 37–8.
71 Quoted in Foner 1995, p. 116. As this journal was Marx’s main source of information about
the United States, it is arguable that he based his interpretation of the Secession process
on points of view such as Greeley’s.
72 Ransom 1989, p. 59.
explanation of the causes of this war coincides with Marx’s, but renders Marx
more concrete by delving into the role of western lands in this contradiction.
Based on the economic reconstructions of the prices of slaves and exported
cotton, Ransom argues that the opening of the western settlements was detri-
mental to the interests of slave-holders:
had there been no western land, the price of cotton would not have fallen,
and the value of slaves would have been greater … Restricting settlement
of western lands would have increased rents for slave-holders, and the
political debates and votes on homesteading and the Graduation Act in
the 1840s and 1850s suggest that both slave-owners and landowners in the
South realised this.73
80 Tombs 1999, p. 111. Writing about the elected members of the Commune, Edwards con-
siders that ‘what is striking is how small a number came from the new heavy industries
that had grown up on the outskirts of Paris’. Edwards 1973, p. 28. This makeup of the
Commune’s leading body is consistent with Harvey’s indication that Haussmann’s urban
reforms had by 1870 deindustrialised Paris. Harvey 2005, pp. 162–3.
81 Gould 1995, pp. 175–87, 81–90.
82 On the relations between real and actual space-times, see above, Chapter 2.
83 Harvey 2005, p. 237. Against Gould, Harvey argues that concubinage, rather than mar-
Besides his reservations about the inferences drawn from the records of civil
marriages, most of Gould’s evidence on the importance of spatial proximity,
neighbourhood institutions and the arrondissements as vectors of solidarity,
are, as Harvey indicates, consistent with his own Marxian explanation of the
changes in the Parisian space relations from the point of view of the accumula-
tion of capital, particularly the impact of the urban reforms under Haussmann
as producing ‘a city in which the circulation of capital became the real imperial
power’.84
For all its nuances, it is impossible to ignore the relations between politics
and spatial class segregation in Paris. While Rougerie, based on the 1872 census,
describes the districts of the Eastern periphery as predominantly inhabited by
workers and day labourers (ouvriers, journaliers),85 Harvey notes that these dis-
tricts – where radicals, socialists and revolutionaries led the numerous public
meetings and the bourgeois reformers were banned – were crucial in the agita-
tion that led to the Commune. The analysis of the elections of March 1871, with
a notoriously high voter turnout and overwhelming support in the East for the
Commune – as opposed to the low number of voters and contrary voting tend-
ency in the West – corroborate this tendency.86
The Commune thus faced challenges from without the city – the Versailles
and Prussian armies – as well as from some of its own districts. But things
were complicated even among the Communards, for there were discrepancies
as to the political and economic transformations that were sought.87 Marx’s
explanation in The Civil War in France, by focusing on the social and symbolic
opposition between Paris and Versailles, thus underestimates the social contra-
dictions and political disagreements within Paris and among the leaders of the
Commune.88 Hence, the spatial composition of the city reveals conflicts and
solidarities that help explain the development and outcome of this process.
riage, was the norm for working-class couples, except when they looked for social mobility.
Harvey 2005, p. 237. Rougerie, on the other hand, has questioned the representability of
Gould’s sample for being too small. See Rougerie 2004, pp. iv–v.
84 Harvey 2005, pp. 108–9; see also 239.
85 Rougerie 2004, pp. 17–19. Merriman indicates that these districts not only received work-
ers from the centre of Paris displaced by Haussmann’s reforms, but also became home to
newcomers from the provinces. Merriman 2014, pp. 7–8.
86 Harvey 2005, pp. 234, 296. See Rougerie 2004, p. 144.
87 ‘Conspiracies against the Commune were afoot from the beginning. Within a couple of
weeks, anti-Communard organisers began to distribute armbands (brassards) – conser-
vative rallying marks that were at first white, the color of the Bourbons, and later tricolor –
in conservative neighborhoods. Those who had them awaited the day they could come
into the open and crush the Commune’. Merriman 2014, p. 72; also p. 79.
88 Perhaps Marx’s later (better) knowledge of these internal conflicts led to this sceptical
evaluation ten years after the publication of The Civil War in France: ‘aside from the fact
that this was merely an uprising of one city in exceptional circumstances, the majority of
the Commune was in no sense socialist, nor could it have been. With a modicum of com-
mon sense, it could, however, have obtained the utmost that was then obtainable – a
compromise with Versailles beneficial to the people as a whole. The appropriation of the
Banque de France alone would have rapidly put an end to the vainglory of Versailles, etc.,
etc’. Marx, ‘Letter to Nieuwenhuis, 22 February 1881’, in Marx 1992, p. 66. Emphasis in the
original.
89 See Wallerstein 1974; Aston and Philpin 2002; Denemark and Thomas 1988, pp. 47–65. This
debate is regularly assumed to be a prolongation of the debate between Sweezy and Dobb
about the transition to capitalism. See Wood 2002, pp. 35–43.
90 Anievas and Nişancioğlu 2015, p. 2.
91 Anievas and Nişancioğlu 2015, pp. 30–1.
Europe had the margin to develop ‘the peculiar fusion of interests among the
landed nobility, capitalist tenants and the state in England, which proved cru-
cial to the success of the English ruling class in enclosing land’.92 Moreover,
How the West Came to Rule concludes that territorialised state sovereignty – a
co-constitutive process with capitalist social relations in Europe – developed
through the conflict between Amerindians and Europeans. Later the Atlantic
triad of American land, African slave labour and English capital made the over-
coming of English agrarian capitalism through the Industrial Revolution pos-
sible.93
The internalist conception of the origins of capitalism – along with the
strictly typological concept of capitalism – is thus shown to be insufficient in
order to account for the historical development of this mode of production.
Marx’s own explanation exposes the centrality of colonialism in this develop-
ment94 and hence the necessity of a longue-durée, world-scale approach. This,
however, has only been possible through the existence of a vast quantity of rel-
atively recent studies in the social and economic history of the Mongol and
Ottoman empires, as well as the Americas and Africa between the fifteenth
and seventeenth centuries. In this sense, Anievas’s and Nişancioğlu’s archive
(of secondary sources) is strikingly more diverse in geographical terms than
Wallerstein’s, enabling them to formulate a more systemic and non-Eurocentric
account of the origins of capitalism than Wallerstein and Brenner. Crucially,
analyses of peripheral social formations by Marxist scholars Irfan Habib, Jairus
Banaji, John Haldon and Halil Berktay, among others, offer empirical data and
explanations which dovetail with this book’s spatially and temporally uneven
explanation that clarifies the conditions of production of diverse formations,
not by comparison between them as isolated cases, but through their relations
within a complex, decentred totality.
The recent investigations of the modes of production at work in the Mongol,
Spanish and Ottoman empires, and their impact on European formations, thus
allow an expansion of the temporal and spatial scopes of Marx’s explanation
of the origins of capitalism. But as we have already observed, the same is the
case with his discussions of the U.S. Civil War and the Paris Commune: Marx’s
accounts not only have considerable influence on these discussions, but schol-
ars following Marxian theory and method continue to develop more consistent
and detailed historical explanations, drawing on newly available sources. This
operation of confronting Marx’s theories with new sources allows us to con-
ceive of a Marx whose theories and explanations can benefit from demographic
and agrarian history, in a dialectic that either makes his formulations more con-
crete or refutes them. This is the necessary alternative to the ‘bad theory’ that
Banaji criticises.95
Research on the conjuncture – the most concrete level of a socio-historical
totality – can thus have important implications for the more abstract levels.
Marx’s was not a top-down methodology where the more abstract concepts
remain unchanged, but a conception of knowledge in which the (critically
treated) empirical data helps to shape the concepts. Systematic temporalisa-
tion and spatialisation contributes to the knowledge of relevant mechanisms
for the explanation of actual historical formations, but also to the clarification
and reformulation of the concepts and theories at more abstract levels, as has
been observed in the spatio-temporal operations in the processes in this sec-
tion: an expansion of scale in the case of ‘so-called primitive accumulation’, a
displacement of focus to a specific area in the case of the U.S. Civil War, and an
analysis of the spatial-demographic composition of the city in the case of the
Paris Commune.
Epilogue
let us assume for the sake of argument that recent research had disproved
once and for all every one of Marx’s individual theses. Even if this were to
be proved, every serious ‘orthodox’ Marxist would still be able to accept
all such modern findings without reservation and hence dismiss all of
Marx’s theses in toto – without having to renounce his orthodoxy for a
single moment. Orthodox Marxism … refers exclusively to method.96
96 Lukács 1971, p. 1.
97 Hobsbawm 1965, pp. 19–21.
98 As regards to the critique of methodologism in History and Class Consciousness, see Rose
2009, Chapter 1.
Narrative as Presentation
∵
Ricoeur describes the third epistemological moment in his philosophy of his-
tory, the representative phase, as ‘the putting into literary or written form of
discourse offered to the readers of history’.2 This phase is not limited to the
writing of historiography, but refers to the narrative, rhetorical or imaginative
elements that constitute its literary form, and are present all along the process
of research; the intertwined character of the phases of historical knowledge
should, in any case, prevent us from isolating form from content in socio-
historical research.3
Although an exaggerated emphasis on literary form has led to a trend in the
philosophy of history to conceive of narration as the sole determining factor
of socio-historical research, to consider narrative form as a prison-house of
historical knowledge,4 such excesses should not minimise the importance of
analysing how history is presented through historiographical discourses. The
‘representative’ phase has its own particularities, which do not simply ‘mirror’
the processes in the previous phases, and awareness of the textual mediations
of historical discourses undeniably enriches our understanding of the ontology
and epistemology of history.
From a critical realist conception of historical knowledge such as Marx’s,
narrative form should correspond to the structure of the object of knowledge.
Since space and time are inescapable categories for the explanation of his-
torical processes, narrative must account for the complexity of their relations
in its subject matter, and hence be able to express the uneven and combined
development of a particular social formation through the prism of a concrete
conjuncture. The problem of historiographical narrative is thus aesthetic –
rhetorical and narratological – but primarily it is epistemological and, as will
be argued, political. Specifically, in order to explain historical processes from
a narrative vantage point, Marx’s conception of history implies a narrative
form which makes possible the spatio-temporal explanation of the hierarchy
of causalities between social mechanisms.
Since history is not reducible to historiography, the thematisation of this
phase grapples with the relations between them, showing the ontological and
epistemological foundations of the processes of the textualisation and nar-
rativisation of history. Although, particularly since the 1920s, there have been
rich and substantive discussions by Marxist authors – most notoriously Lukács,
Bloch, Benjamin, Brecht and Adorno – concerning the problems of aesthetic
and literary form, the prevalence in historiography of the cognitive over the
aesthetic suggests a different field for its corresponding narrativity.
In the Marxian conception of history, this necessity of an epistemological
mediation of the relation between history as res gestae and historiography
as historia rerum gestarum introduces the problem of historical representa-
tion as a problem of the presentation of the results of the research. Properly
spatio-temporalised research requires a narrative form capable of accounting
for these dimensions of its subject-matter. In Tomba’s words:
tion between narrativity and chronotopes. In the following pages I argue that
the latter is the narrative element that makes history intelligible as a total-
isation. The first section thus problematises Marx’s concept of presentation
(Darstellung) from the perspective of Ricoeur’s theory of the double dimen-
sion of narrative: the configurative and the episodic dimensions, referring to
the synchronic and the diachronic, respectively. This allows us to criticise Hay-
den White’s narrativism from a realist and materialist theory of narrative based
on Marx’s theory of history and his historiographical writings.
The second section analyses Marx’s poetics of space-time in distinct modes
of production in terms of its metaphors and tropes, showing the relation
between the configurative dimension and the explanation in history at the
level of closed systems. Finally, the last section analyses the narrative aspect of
Marx’s studies of specific conjunctures, and how the chronotope makes differ-
ent emplotment options possible. In this sense, the chronotope at the episodic
dimension, as I will argue, is the element that most evidently relates the cognit-
ive, aesthetic and political aspects of historiography and historical knowledge.
what philosophers of history often call the ‘problem of representation’ and its
implications for space-times in historical narratives. His depiction of the rela-
tion between the two methods asserts that the presentation should properly
explain the mechanisms that determine its object of study; the appearance of
necessity in the presentation thus comes from adequately grasping how the
object of study works, and is therefore not imposed on the object. As Kosík
maintains, ‘the presentation is an explication of the thing precisely because it
presents the thing in its necessary internal development and unfolding’.8 Fur-
thermore, Derek Sayer indicates that in Marx’s presentation the succession of
forms, as the ascent from the abstract to the concrete, follows the order of the
hierarchy of conditions of possibility.9
In contrast with positions that assume a chasm between history as a chaotic
thing in itself and historiography as an operation of ultimately arbitrary assign-
ment of sense upon the former, the starting point of this dialectical approach
is a triadic perspective where history has to pass through the mediation of
a theoretical-methodological process in order to attain its proper intelligib-
ility. Thus, the presentation does not seek to merely represent history as it
happened – as in the most disingenuous version of realism, typically criticised
by neo-Kantian or Nietzschean conceptions – but to show the results of the
conscious, active production of knowledge. The relation between history and
historiography is hence not aporetic,10 but mediated by a historically determ-
ined praxical process.
Marx does not engage the past as the sole object of his science of history, but
constructs different spatialised temporalities in relation to the corresponding
mode of production; indeed, his above reference to his method of presentation
forschung) and historical writing (Geschichtsschreibung), where the former ‘deals with the
selection, interpretation and analysis of historical sources and with how this analysis may
help us explain causally (or otherwise) what the evidence has taught us about the past’,
and in the latter ‘the results of historical research are integrated into a historical narrat-
ive or representation. … The problems encountered at the level of the establishment of
historical fact – both practical and theoretical – are essentially different from the task of
integrating these facts into a unified historical text’. Ankersmit 2012, p. 60.
8 Kosík 1976, p. 16.
9 ‘The commodity is analysed before money, and money before capital, the first form in
either pair being a condition of the second; the concept of value is developed before that
of surplus-value, and that of surplus-value before those of its transmuted forms (profit,
rent, interest) for the same reason’. Sayer 1979, p. 101.
10 Ricoeur contends that it is in the representative phase ‘that the major aporias of memory
return in force to the foreground, the aporia of the representation of an absent thing that
occurred previously and that of a practice devoted to the active recalling of the past, which
history elevates to the level of a reconstruction’. Ricoeur 2004, pp. 136–7.
refers to his theory of the capitalist mode of production, and thus to the level
of closed systems. However, Marx’s concept of ‘presentation’ calls for greater
precision in order to address more concrete levels, and to do this, it is neces-
sary for it to address the problems of narrativity. Narration is thus accountable
for the contingency inherent to open systems – i.e. social formations and con-
junctures – as combinations of different mechanisms. As I will argue, narration
necessarily completes presentation in order to explain actual history.
In this discussion about the relation between history and narrativity, it is
important to examine the premises of one of the most important Marxist the-
ories of narrative: Jameson’s The Political Unconscious. He affirms that
the subjective in The Political Unconscious.15 The use of the concept of ‘absent
cause’ thus does not dissolve the categories of essence and appearance – as
Althusser wants – but transposes their dialectical relation to the social total-
isation, beyond the realm of symbolisation (which is nonetheless necessary in
order to grasp it).
As regards the problem of the relations between explanation and presenta-
tion, it is productive to return to Ricoeur’s theory of time and narrative – and in
particular his distinction between the episodic and configurative dimensions
of narrative. The former is constituted by events and moves forward in a linear
representation of time and, in accordance with the events in an open system
not being deductively predictable,16 its function is to aggregate contingencies
and peripetheia that lead to a conclusion that is not logically present in the
previous premises.17 The configurative, on the other hand, ‘transforms the suc-
cession of events into one meaningful whole which … makes the story follow-
able. … The configuration of the plot imposes the “sense of an ending” … on the
indefinite succession of incidents’.18 In other words, the configurative dimen-
sion sets the conditions of possibility of the narrative within the diegetic universe,
including its spaces and times. We should therefore not univocally relate space
to the configurative and time to the episodic, since both dimensions of nar-
ration have spatial and temporal components. Rather, the configurative and
episodic correspond, respectively, to the synchronic and diachronic, which are
analytical approaches and not ontological categories.19
The narrative configuration should not be conflated with fiction (nor does
narrative, as will be argued, substitute explanation), although some authors
in the narrativist line perpetuate this misunderstanding.20 Such a position, as
21 ‘This equating of narrative configuration and fiction, of course, has some justification inas-
much as the configuration act is … an operation of the productive imagination, in the
Kantian sense of this term. Nevertheless, I am reserving the term “fiction” for those liter-
ary creations that do not have historical narrative’s ambition to constitute a true narrative.
If we take “configuration” and “fiction” as synonyms we no longer have a term available to
account for the different relation of each of these two narrative modes to the question of
truth’. Ricoeur 1984b, p. 3.
22 Ricoeur 2004, p. 246.
23 Ricoeur indicates that the synthesis of the heterogeneous in historiography brings ‘coordin-
ation between multiple events, or between causes, intentions and also accidents within a
single meaningful unity’. Ricoeur 2004, p. 243.
24 See above, 1.1.
Clearly, such liberation from chronology and geography needs certain limits,
since the historiographical chronotope should present the spatio-temporalised
explanation of real structures – a necessity that will lead us to differentiate
between a configurative and an episodic dimension in the chronotope. How-
ever, Gaddis correctly points out the centrality of emplotment in the construc-
tion of the chronotope; the latter should thus be approached through the inter-
play of the configurative and episodic dimension in the text and, to the extent
that historiographical presentation aspires to explain the logic of the social
mechanisms, the chronotope should refer to the spatio-temporal models that
account for the social forms it refers to: it should account for its scales, spatial
configurations and rhythms.
White argues that the deep structural forms of the historical imagination
correspond with the four basic tropes for the analysis of language: metaphor,
metonymy, synecdoche and irony. These tropes, he believes, underpin every
possible historiographical style (a singular combination of modes of emplot-
ment, argument and ideological implication),29 and are the basic elements of
this kind of narrative. However, they are pre-narrative, and therefore already
present in the (synchronic) configurational dimension of the emplotment,
independently of its episodic dimension. As such, tropes complement the
abstract concepts that configure the spatio-temporal tendencies at the level
of the presentation of modes of production.
Literary figures form part of the analogical grammar of theories, which is
‘the indispensable stock of metaphors, analogies, models etc., available to a
field of inquiry or theoretical approach which helps to generate hypotheses
and solutions … and lend the approach plausibility’.30 As such, they should not
be considered external to theoretical activity; on the contrary, improving the
metaphors used by science is an essential task for its development.31 Hence,
32 Michelet, Ranke, Tocqueville and Burckhardt are characterised through their respect-
ive romantic, comic, tragic and satirical emplotments, respectively; Marx, Nietzsche and
Croce are characterised, respectively, by their use of metonymic, metaphoric and ironic
tropes.
33 White 2014, pp. 30–7. It is important to recall that there are several other theories with
different definitions and numbers of tropes. On this theme, see Jameson, ‘Figural Relativ-
ism; or, the Poetics of Historiography’, in Jameson 2008a, pp. 169–70. White’s fondness for
four-fold classifications, as is also the case in his theory of genres of emplotment, can be
traced back to the Kantian transcendentalism underlying his philosophy. See Ankersmit
2009, pp. 34–53.
1. a, b, c, d, … n
2. A, b, c, d, … n
3. a, B, c, d, … n
4. a, b, C, d, … n
5. a, b, c, D, … n
figure 3 Events and narrative causality
source: white 1985, 92
orchestrates all its themes, the totality of the world of objects and ideas
depicted and expressed in it, by means of the social diversity of speech
types and by the differing individual voices that flourishes under such
conditions. … These distinctive links and interrelationships between ut-
terances and languages, this movement of the theme through different
languages and speech types, its dispersion into the rivulets and droplets
of social heteroglossia, its dialogization – this is the basic distinguishing
feature of the stylistics of the novel.38
Historical narrative has no need to be any less complex than this, as any reader
of Hobsbawm’s classic trilogy on the ages of Revolution, Capital and Empire, or
Braudel’s Mediterranean, would testify. In its simplest manner, the chronology
of events in a process of uneven development can be described through Fig-
ure 4, where d and d’ correspond to two different events with a common cause
and in the same chronological moment, while e and e’ share the latter but each
of them develops in a different line.
The written narrative is expressed through a single line, but it also has textual
devices that account for the complexities of times and spaces. For example, as
long as this structure is properly explained and the space-times are well differ-
entiated, the order of the narrative can be: a, b, C, d, e, f, d’, e’, f’; or it can be d,
e, f, d’, e’, f’, a, b, C; or C, d, e, f, d’, e’, f’, a, b.; etc. The chronological and narrative
order are not necessarily the same order: e.g. when the latter is expressed by
37 Ricoeur 1984a, p. 67. Pulp Fiction, for example, consists of several short stories that,
although narrated in a non-linear order, consist of events and characters relating to each
other that make up a common narrative universe. As for Rashomon, which presents dif-
ferent versions of a crime according to different characters in the story, see Redfern 2013,
pp. 21–36. These films are hence examples of non-linear narratives.
38 Bakhtin 1981, p. 263.
d, e, f
1. a, b, C<
d’, e’, f’
figure 4 Events in a narrative of uneven development
a detective story, the explanation of the hidden details of the traumatic event
in the past is delivered at the end, or as the development of the causes lead-
ing to an event that appears at the beginning of the tale. It is also important
to observe that, although Figure 4 is simplified for the sake of clarity, each line
refers to a space-time with its own rhythms and directionalities (cyclic, linear,
etc.).
The episodic dimension introduces discontinuities into the space-times of
the narrative by indicating the transformations of the configurative dimension:
whenever there is change in these spatio-temporal conditions, a re-configur-
ative moment appears in the story. The adequate presentation of spatio-tem-
poral models (with their scales, spatial configurations and rhythms) thus de-
pends on the configurative dimension, but the transformations of the chro-
notope are developed in the episodic dimension. Marx’s theory and socio-
historical analyses provide examples of the relations between chronotopes and
spatio-temporal explanation.
39 On Marx’s poetics in general: Silva 1975; Prawer 1978; Dussel 1993; Wolff 1988. On Capital
especifically: McNally 2012; Jameson 2014; Roberts 2017; Pepperell 2010. I would like to
thank Alex Fletcher for this reference.
40 McNally 2012, pp. 115–16; Dussel 1993. Harvey’s critique of Roberts accepts the existence
of this form, but argues that it does not have an influence on the theoretical contents of
Marx’s Capital. See Harvey 2017.
41 White 2014, pp. 310–11.
42 White 2014, p. 303.
labour as to his property’.43 The clan community is the presupposition for the
communal appropriation of land and other conditions for subsistence. In its
earliest form, there is a balance between community and earth, the latter being
‘the great workshop, the arsenal which furnishes both means and material of
labour, as well as the seat, the base of the community’.44
Although Marx constructs the chronotopes for modes of production mainly
through abstract terms related to geometry and movement, he uses metaphors
to supplement his explanations. As for these, childhood- and animal-related
terms are common in Marx’s depiction of the communitarian forms. The char-
acterisation of Greek antiquity as an infantile stage already appears in Marx’s
praise of classic art in the introduction to the Grundrisse. On the other hand,
the recurrence of terms derived from Tier or Herde (for instance, Herdswesen:
herd-like existence and Menschenpack: human pack) insists on the closeness of
these forms to animality. Marx characterises these forms as a unity of humans
between themselves and with nature – a plenitude that contrasts with the
isolation required and promoted by capitalism, where individual workers are
deprived of their objectivity. In contrast with these forms, the capitalist mode
of production is metaphorised as a complete emptying-out, and with the reli-
gious connotations of a sacrifice of the human end-in-itself. The separation
(Loslösung) of workers from land and property thus leads to the agglomeration,
the stockpiling (Anhäufung, rather than Akkumulation) of workers and instru-
ments at particular points.45
But it is not capitalism that threatens the precarious balance of these other
forms of property and production. While Marx downplays their internal con-
tradictions, he sees the development of their forces of production as the factor
which leads to their dissolution (Auflösung). Dissolution is the permanent
threat to these communitary forms, and as such it appears constantly under
both its noun and verb forms in the pages dedicated to the forms preceding
capitalism in the Grundrisse. Since the Asiatic form is the oldest, its unity is
stronger: its members cannot be separated from their land, because they are
‘rooted to the spot, ingrown’ ( festgewachsen). Again, a metaphor related to
nature appears as a temporal marker of an earlier moment. The possibility of
the dissolution of the communitarian form emerges from its own tendency
towards separation (of agriculture from manufacture, of individuals from prop-
erty). The master-servant relation appears then to ferment the original forms
of property and production.46
Marx’s rhetorical construction of communitary modes of production is
based on a periodisation that permanently relates them with capitalism. Inso-
far as these modes of production are conceptualised in opposition to their
posterity – they are characterised as forms which precede capitalist produc-
tion – their whole construction contains an implicit narrative, given by their
inner tendencies. Childhood and animality are temporal metaphors that refer
to stages before adulthood and humanity, hence implicitly depicting capital-
ism as a more developed form: this metaphorics is related to the evolutionist
line in the introduction to the Grundrisse, according to which the anatomy of
the human explains that of the ape.47
In this sense, the spatiality of the communitary forms in the Formen is based
on the opposition between unity and separation, wherein the former means
an equitable spatial distribution of the resources – even undifferentiated, as in
the case of the Asiatic form – in opposition to the unevenness of capitalism,
where labour processes and social wealth are concentrated in places different
from one another. Likewise with the pre-capitalist temporalities: their cycles of
reproduction should repeat once and again, lest they succumb to nature or turn
into non-communitary forms. The fragility of the unitary forms thus has tragic
features; indeed, their dissolution comes in terms of a hybris, an excess that
threatens the balance of their reproduction. This comes with the development
of particular interests and relations of domination: with the master-servant
relation particular groups substitute for the communitary unity, and thus the
principium individuationis prevails over unity, just as Nietzsche describes the
decline of ancient tragedy.48
Concerning the metaphors about capitalism, Dickman asserts that in the
first volume of Capital Marx
46 On dissolution: Marx 1973, p. 495; Marx and Engels 1983, p. 403. On ferment: Marx 1973,
p. 501; Marx and Engels 1983, p. 408.
47 See above, 1.2.
48 Nietzsche 1993.
the grave of the occult, conjuring vampires and werewolves, that suck the
blood of workers and devour their flesh. Along with the occult, there is the
alchemist’s retort, into which lead is transformed into gold. He employs
the imagery of the processes of nature: the biological metabolism of man
and the physical world; the metamorphosis of the larva in a chrysalis, to
emerge as a butterfly. There are nature’s flora and fauna: the body with
its members, organs and cells; the nut and its kernel, spider and its web,
honey bee and its hive. There is the world of machinery, like the clock-
work with its cogs and wheels. And man is crippled by this same machine,
consumed by it; and is transformed, himself, into a machine for the pro-
duction of surplus-value. … Our fetishism of commodities is compared to
an ancient tribe’s creation of a fetish to worship as a god. And finally there
is the metaphor of war, beginning with the class struggle between the
working class and the capitalist class that lies at the heart of capitalism.
There are its battles and armies; its barrack-like discipline; its unending
list of working-class casualties.49
49 Dickman 2014.
50 About production as destruction, see Jameson 2014. About the monstrous in the first
volume of Capital, see McNally 2012, p. 109. Silva convincingly argues that Marx’s construc-
tion of syntactical structures through the inversion of terms is meant to show the unity of
opposites in their reciprocal relations. Hence, for example, the young Marx argues that as
the dominion of private property begins with the property of land, in late feudalism it is
land that inherits the firstborn son rather than the opposite. Silva 1975; Marx and Engels
1988, p. 63.
51 Marx 1976b, p. 179; pp. 163–4.
52 Temporal in the sense that it supposes that the inverted situation is not immediate, but a
product of social relations. However, such inverted states are not opposed to pre-existing
states of plenitude, but refer strictly to the negation of human praxical possibilities. See
above, 1.1.
53 Marx 1976b, pp. 142, 128; Marx and Engels 1962, p. 52. As Leslie explains, Marx uses the
image of crystallisation with a precise chemical sense, from which he draws an analogy
between the social and chemical world. Leslie 2016.
54 Jameson 2014, pp. 93, 110.
55 Harvey 1991.
56 Marx 1976b, p. 777.
59 LaCapra 1983; Pepperell 2010, p. 79. In contrast, Tomba characterises the poetics of Cap-
ital as a sort of estrangement effect (Verfremdungseffekt): ‘the literary style of Capital, its
metaphors and its sarcasm are functional to the change of perspective that is able to dis-
orient; to render foreign what is familiar’. Tomba 2013a, p. 122. Similarly, McNally analyses
how the concept of the fetishism of commodities ironises the stereotype of superstitious
non-European societies by indicating the superstition behind the everyday functioning of
capitalist economy. McNally 2012, pp. 126–7.
60 Pepperell 2010, p. 90. On Marx’s realism, for example, Marx 1978, p. 303; Marx 1973, p. 90.
See above, 2.1.
62 Marx 1986, p. 341. When Marx writes about the ‘heroic, noble and devoted’ women of the
Commune who ‘give up their lives at the barricades and on the place of execution’ (Marx
1986, p. 350), it is impossible not to recall the pétroleuses who resisted the occupation from
the Versailles army. See Thomas 2007. Also, Linton 1997, pp. 23–47; Eichner 2004. On the
state as parasite: Marx 1986, p. 328.
63 Marx 1986, p. 342.
64 Marx 1984a, p. 60.
65 In this sense, the level of a social formation functions at the configurative dimension,
while the conjuncture does so at the episodic dimension. Albeit pertaining to different
levels of abstraction, both the mode of production and the social formation work in a
synchronic manner, i.e., on the basis of mechanisms that follow certain rules – while the
episodic dimension accounts for changes in such mechanisms.
he indicates, ‘is written in the annals of mankind in letters of blood and fire’.66
Accordingly, this part of Capital echoes numerous testimonies abounding in
details about the consequences of this process of ruthless enslavement, plun-
der, murder and torture on the bodies of the expropriated in Great Britain and
around the world. Moreover, Marx ironises abundantly by recalling bourgeois
humanitarian and religious commonplaces about capitalism and its origins.67
The account of the origins of capitalism is structured by the explanation of
the different processes and agents that led to the consolidation of that mode of
production in England and Northwestern Europe. Unlike texts like The Class
Struggles in France and the 18th Brumaire, which kept a more linear narrat-
ive, the section on ‘so-called primitive accumulation’ proceeds by separating
each of the processes – each with different spatio-temporal determinations,
but protagonised by Western European forces – that unveil ‘the secret of prim-
itive accumulation’ – precisely the name of the first chapter of this section.
Although the explanation focuses on English capitalism as its final result, the
spatio-temporal differentiality of the account suggests paths to peripheral cap-
italism (as in the Americas and Southeast Asian colonies) as well: it is a multi-
linear narrative – perhaps Marx’s most complex account of an actual process.
Narratively, The Civil War in France follows a more linear episodic order, with
the first section explaining the immediate political context after the Franco-
Prussian war that defines the characters, both collective and individual (with
several pages dedicated to Thiers in particular), while the second refers to
the uprising of Paris against the National Assembly. The third, in turn, does
a brief flashback in French political history in order to explain the changes set
in motion by the Commune. The fourth closes the narrative, drawing conclu-
sions from the defeat of the Parisian forces, especially by Prussian intervention:
as a small scale narrative, the role of this foreign army in a critical moment is
the decisive element for the outcome of this conflict. The closing paragraphs,
referring to the solidarity of the International Workingmen’s Association with
the Commune, and the support of other European governments with Thiers’s
counterrevolution, project the opposition between Paris and Versailles as a syn-
ecdoche to the whole of Europe.
On the other hand, the ongoing character of Marx and Engels’s writings
about the Civil war in the United States and their publication in newspapers
during the years of 1861 and 1862 led to a corpus that was never unified by
these authors into a single piece. Even so, they all amount to a coherent narrat-
ive, where some of the articles have a more long-scale structural (narratively
configurative) character, and function as the backbone for others that focus
on more specific themes – the shortage of cotton, electoral or military events,
for example. Hence, Marx’s articles in Die Presse on 25 October and 7 Novem-
ber 186168 establish the configurative chronotope from which he and Engels
develop other narratives – on military, commercial or electoral matters, among
others – related to this theme. These premises of the narrative set up its final
outcome (which had not yet arrived at the time when these articles were writ-
ten: although Lincoln’s election was the event that unleashed the tensions
between the slave- and wage-labour regimes, Marx considers that the same
conditions that produced the war long before it started would lead to the vic-
tory of the North), even when military events suggested the contrary.
Hence, in the Marxian construction of chronotopes at the configurative
dimension, metonymy and synecdoche are mutually necessary, although not
in the sense that White argues: the metonymical ‘grammar’ is not, according
to our considerations, a phase of a synecdochical ‘syntax’ that articulates the
modes of production one after another.69 This unity of opposites in histori-
ography corresponds to what Jameson, inspired by Aristotle, characterises as
destiny, which leads to recognition of the Other: the moment of taking sides
in this oppositional narrative, which in turn generates political confrontation.
His third figure, that of the Absolute, refers to historical experience as the total-
isation of History as system and as event, which in narrative terms entails the
problem of the construction of the chronotopical totalisation – the experience
of globalisation is the central reference in Jameson’s essay.70
In these terms, the diversity of Marx’s narrative choices can be understood
as defined by such taking sides, which makes the subject position explicit in the
otherwise seemingly impersonal theoretical analysis of the conjuncture.71 A
significant part of the narrative form depends on the delimitation of the space-
times of the story: even in the fairytale form, for instance, the formula ‘and they
lived happily ever after’ represses the necessity of the death of the characters by
closing the narrative before such existential ends arrive.72 It is hence useful to
recall Jameson’s affirmation that periodisations are ‘representational choices
which can neither be proven nor falsified, which correspond to starting points
in the void, without presuppositions, or in other words that they can be false
but never true, and that they can only be motivated politically but not by the
“facts”’.73
Let us assess this position by examining some of Marx’s narratives. In them,
the fortune of the oppressed classes defines the tone and style: thus, in spite
of the bloody repression by the reactionary forces against the Commune, Marx
suggests that the conflict between the Old and the New will continue, and that
socialism will eventually be able to overcome this contradiction: he thus avoids
a tragic closure of this narrative. Certainly, the same events described in a dif-
ferent manner can serve as the basis for other narrative forms – for example
depicting the rise and fall of the Commune through a comic form where an ori-
ginal order is restored after a temporal disruption. Eventually, a shift of scale in
the periodisation would allow a happy ending for either of the two conflicting
narratives: in the short scale, the restoration of the pre-Commune order is a
triumph for the bourgeoisie, but in the large scale, by considering the possible
expropriation of the expropriators as a reappropriation by the community, the
happy ending would be for the proletarians. Yet it is also arguable that Marx
might formulate this possibility not merely because of narrative means, but
because in his work the mechanisms that generate class struggle have not been
exhausted, and thus the massacre of the Communards does not mark the end of
the political conflict in Europe, in spite of constituting an important episode
of it. Theory sets limits to historical narrative, which is hence not exclusively
determined by the political point of view of the narrator.
Since historiography always deals with the history of … (of a city, an indi-
vidual, a social class, an institution, etc.), its periodisation depends on the con-
crete development of the historiographical object – what Danto indistinctly
calls a temporal whole and temporal structure74 – whose story it tells. Against
the Althusserian epistemology at the base of Jameson’s appreciation of period-
isation, a Marxian realist perspective would not depend on the a priori consti-
tution of a theoretical object – in (a false) opposition with the reception of the
latter75 – but would research the mechanisms at work in the specific spheres
of an object and their relation with the social formation where it exists. Oth-
erwise, Marx’s periodisations in The 18th Brumaire and The Civil War in France,
which are not directly based on the development of the productive forces but
on the shifting balances of power in the state and politics, would have to be
considered merely polemical formulations rather than explanations of actual
processes, and would have no relation with the theory of history or that of cap-
italism in particular.
However, a specific historiographical object can be periodised differently,
according to the aspect that the narrative explanation wants to emphasise. For
example, the account of a city will vary whether the interest is focused on its
architectural, economic, political or demographic aspects. The reception of the
reference (the particular city, in this case) is the first moment in the methodo-
logical construction of the object, which should not only synthesise its internal
determinations and diverse mechanisms, but also its relation with the complex
totalisation in which it develops: in Marxian historiography, the object always
plays a role in regards to the respective mode of production.76 In any case, the
problem of reference is not simply ideological; a theory which cannot account
for the empirical – i.e. relate the latter to its abstract categories – cannot be
considered a scientific approach. A historiographical object hence consists of
several interrelated forms whose apprehension helps to make it more concrete
and better explain it. When Marx deals with Paris in The Civil War in France, he
74 ‘Any term which can sensibly be taken as a value for x in the expression “the history of x”
designates a temporal structure. Our criteria for identifying a, if a be a value of x, determ-
ines which events are to be mentioned in our history’. Danto 2007, p. 167; also p. 248.
75 Jameson’s quoted stance above follows Balibar’s in Reading Capital, according to which
‘the determination of the objects of these histories must await that of the relatively
autonomous instances of the social formation, and the production of concepts which will
define each of them by the structure of a combination, like the mode of production. We
can predict that these definitions, too, will always be polemical definitions, i.e., they will
only be able to constitute their objects by destroying ideological classifications or divisions
which benefit from the obviousness of the “facts”’. Balibar 2009b, p. 281. On theoretical
apriorism, also Balibar 2009b, p. 279.
76 This is also true about longue-durée objects that transcend more than one mode of produc-
tion. Thus Marx sketches histories of ‘antediluvian’ forms such as money and commercial
capital, in Volume iii of Capital, Marx 1981.
does it primarily from the point of view of the political mechanisms at work in
that conjuncture, and this perspective leads the narrative, marking its defining
turning points and limiting the possible forms that the story can take.
As a spatio-temporal operation, periodisation refers to the transformations
of the narrative space-time through the narrative sequence: beyond the con-
figurative chronotope – which was addressed in the previous section – there
is an episodic chronotope which accounts for the narrative as a whole. Such
an episodic chronotope sets the conditions for the emplotment, by determin-
ing not only the spatio-temporal conditions of the narrative (as defined by the
spatio-temporal models for social explanation), but its delimitations as well. In
a narration, the configurative chronotope can go through one or several trans-
formations, or through none at all, but there is always an episodic chronotope
as far as there is a narrative spatio-temporal delimitation.
In this sense, the periodisation of the military conflicts in the United States
and Paris might seem to be obvious if we take for granted that the respective
beginnings and endings of open hostilities between the sides were necessarily
the beginnings and endings of the stories. But the conditions for the emer-
gence of these wars nonetheless predate them (and in the case of the Com-
mune, the substantive social conflict was not solved with the war), and hence
Marx extends their respective chronotopes beyond the narrated events. Marx’s
account of the U.S. Civil War starts with the bombardment of Fort Sumter near
Charleston in 1861, but the configurative chronotope which frames the conflict
goes back to the distribution in 1787 of states dedicated to slavery, and to the
negotiations about this matter in 1820, 1854, and 1859.77 The constant struggles
between the two blocs of states for the appropriation and formation of new
states – whose reasons Marx explained78 – conform to the chronotope through
which this author narratively explains this war. Thus, the chronotope period-
ises, but is not limited to the events included within its own periodisation.
Marx’s chronotopes are always structured on the basis of a conflict, with
uneven social relations leading to uneven development: Paris and the rest of
France at the end of the war with Prussia, and the North and South in the
United States after Lincoln’s election, configure the chronotopes in the respect-
ive narratives, with the accumulation of capital as the ultimate background
of these processes. On the other hand, the chronotope of ‘so-called primitive
accumulation’ – delimited by the expanding world market between the thir-
teenth and eighteenth centuries – is reconfigured through the depiction of the
79 See Horkheimer 1982, pp. 188–243. In a similar line, Sayer affirms that ‘realism does not
require some kind of denial of “subjective” influences or standpoints and researchers’
social context. On the contrary, it requires us to examine those standpoints so as to guard
against forms of projection and selection which misrepresent our objects. Realist social
science requires reflexivity’. Sayer 2000, p. 53.
80 In a piece written in the late 1970s, Jameson argues that a properly Marxist hermeneutic
should address history as the confrontation of two distinct social forms or modes of pro-
duction (that of the historian and that of his subject-matter). While he indicates that the
individual character in the reading of a culturally or temporally distant artifact should not
be dismissed, he nonetheless ignores the class mediation in this relation, thus opposing
two modes of production as if they were monolithic units. Moreover, Jameson’s dismissal
of the concept of ‘social formation’ weakens the possibility of a concrete historicised
approach to objects from artifacts different than researchers’ contexts. Jameson 2008b,
pp. 451–82 (especially pp. 475–80). As we will learn, Jameson himself provides a more
productive explanation of the production of narratives through his critique of White’s
formalism.
81 ‘Values play a role not only in the choice of problems to investigate, but also in the adop-
tion of strategies that specify the kinds of theories to pursue, the kinds of concepts they
will deploy, the kinds of possibilities they are capable of identifying, and various method-
ological matters that concern the procuring of relevant evidence’. Lacey 2007, p. 199.
82 Considered as praxis, social scientific explanation already-always entails both cognitive
and evaluative elements. In this sense, when approached from a dialectical perspective,
the discussion of whether or not values can be inferred from facts is redundant: this is not
a problem of logic, but of the pragmatics of discourse. See Edgley 1998, and Bhaskar 1998,
pp. 395–408 and pp. 409–17.
83 Jameson 2008a, p. 168. Greimas’s example analyses a Lithuanian folktale where a single
actant could have logically united the functions of a father and priest, but this variant was
The 18th Brumaire indeed relies on numerous satirical resources, and The
Civil War in France has an epic tone. In both cases, mechanisms are explained
in order to account for the conjuncture, but the narratives have different forms,
because the approach to the events precludes some of the possible emplot-
ments for a concrete narrator. A socialist narrator can tell the story of a failed
revolution as a tragedy or as a coming-of-age tale, but her political perspective
would make it quite difficult, if not impossible, to frame such a theme under
the overall form of a comedy – unless it was a satire, which is not properly a
comedy. Even so, satire would have been an odd choice of emplotment for the
narration of a process like the Paris Commune, one that ended with the mas-
sacre of thousands of working-class people. Far from this, Marx’s (theoretically-
justified) chronotopical opening of this narrative – with the possible future of
a triumphant working class – avoids concluding the account of this political
experience with a pessimistic message.
The chronotopical operation which enables certain emplotments thus relies
on the explanation of the mechanisms at work in the analysed historiograph-
ical object, but is also a political intervention in its own right. Temporalisations,
as Osborne maintains, open different political possibilities in relation to capit-
alism84 and – specifically in the case of historiography – the chronotope opens
the possibility for appropriations of historical experiences from different social
positions in struggle. Therefore, narrative explanation always implies taking a
stand in the struggle for memory, wherein the narrative spatio-temporalising
resources are essential.
The materialist analysis of historiographical narratives should then account
for this imbrication of the cognitive, political and aesthetic, with the chro-
notope articulating these aspects. Narrativity thus completes the role of (syn-
chronic) presentation in Marx’s dialectic by accounting for actual history; there
can be no explanation of an open system without an account of the contin-
gency inherent to the complexity of the interaction of mechanisms in a given
social formation. This is the reason for Marx’s affirmation that ‘reflection on the
forms of human life, hence also scientific analysis of those forms, takes a course
directly opposite to their real development. Reflection begins post festum, and
therefore with the results of the process of development ready to hand’.85
precluded in the Catholic context – where the tale was produced – due to the mandate of
priests’ celibacy.
84 Osborne 2010, pp. 200–1; see above, Introduction. Also, Davis 2008.
85 Marx 1976b, p. 168. Hence also, as Jameson has pointed out, in Marxism ‘the concept of
historical necessity or inevitability is … operative exclusively after the fact’. Jameson 1971,
p. 361.
Epilogue
In his preface to The Class Struggles in France, Grüner observes how ‘in this
intensely narrative Marx, with his elegant and at moments relentlessly ironic
style, we find all the theoretical and reflexive power of Capital and the Grund-
risse, as well as the irresistible seduction of the great writer’.86
Indeed, Marx’s writings about actual historical processes demonstrate that
although structural explanation and narrative are different from each other,
they are not – as historians and philosophers of history held during the twen-
tieth century – mutually exclusive. On the contrary, narrative is the necessary
means to seize the transformations of the diverse social mechanisms and their
interactions in space and time; metaphors and other tropes are a substantial
part of the formulation of scientific theories, as is literary form, additionally,
for their application to actual contexts. The account of each mechanism is the
problem of presentation, but its development in an actual formation is a mat-
ter of narrativity; narration thus completes presentation. In this sense, it is clear
from the consideration of the levels of abstraction in Marx that – in history –
narrative does not have to substitute for explanation, but can be, as with Marx’s
case studies, a kind of explanation based on several synchronicities: the narrat-
ive explanation of a conjuncture.
Although the linguistic turn in the philosophy of history elevated tropo-
logy and emplotment to the status of the only significant element of historical
discourse – a concept that would substitute that of historical knowledge – a nar-
rative explanation should first of all account for the real mechanisms and their
transformations in the analysed social formation. Historiographical narrative
should show how the hierarchised combination of the diverse mechanisms
lead to particular consequences. Yet beyond this epistemological considera-
tion, contents from sources cannot simply be fit into any previously assumed
narrative form for pragmatic reasons: literary form has its own (historical) polit-
ical mechanisms that set the rules for their use by social agents based on their
subject positions.
However, as Tomba contends in the quote cited at the beginning of this
chapter, the complexity of the relations between subject positions cannot be
apprehended by simply juxtaposing their standpoints without a previously
projected order. Guha, for example, argues for breaking from the coherence
and linearity he affirms are inherent to narrativity, and which he claims ‘dic-
tates what should be included in the story and what is left out’.87 Disruption
and ‘making a mess of its plot’ is the way in which a new historiography would
become multi-voiced, though the precise form resulting from this disorder is
hard to predict. Consequently, finding an order in this presumed chaos would
be a relapse into ‘the regime of bourgeois narratology’88 whose main narrative
is that of the unilinearity of historical development and Eurocentric progress.
Such a merely negative – or rather nihilistic – approach is not only wrong in
its simplification of narrativity to unilinearity, but by disavowing coherence, it
disallows the explanation of its complex and contradictory object. Moreover, it
relies on a problematic conception of history that takes memory as its model.89
Jameson interprets similar positions in political terms:
I suspect, indeed, that there are only a finite number of interpretive pos-
sibilities in any given textual situation, and that the program to which
the various contemporary ideologies of pluralism are most passionately
attached is a largely negative one: namely to forestall that systematic
articulation and totalisation of interpretive results which can only lead
to embarrassing questions about the relationship between them and in
particular the place of history and the ultimate ground of narrative and
textual production.90
ary form for the totalising actual social form par excellence which is capitalism.
In this sense, Marx’s narrative of ‘so-called primitive accumulation’ as well
as his account of the worldwide effects of the U.S. Civil War are examples of
how narration can rely on different subplots and present them in a multilinear
manner. At the same time, they show that narrative can be the means for the
explanation of the complexity of the relations between processes in different
space-times – even as it acknowledges its own side-taking.
…
Always historicize!2
∵
The analysis of Marx’s work in this investigation has demonstrated, in the spirit
of Luxemburg’s epigraph, that the explanatory possibilities opened by Marx’s
conception of history are still far from exhausted. Politically and scientific-
ally productive concepts and approaches emerge from both his theoretical and
conjunctural writings – although Marx does not thoroughly develop the meth-
odological issues and implications in the latter. Vilar’s characterisation of his-
torical research based on Marx’s conception as an ongoing project – an histoire
en construction3 – is therefore accurate; to the extent that his work is read and
adapted in accordance with diverse and changing historical circumstances, the
precision of its concepts and overall reach of its theory will continue to grow.
In this sense, the expansion of the capitalist world market since the 1990s,
commonly known as ‘globalisation’, makes the consideration and development
of the Marxian categories of social space and social time – which are not just
4 Ironically, current philosophers of history like Carr and Ankersmit continue to dismiss dia-
lectics and Marx’s philosophy of history by referring to stereotypical Cold War depictions by
authors like Walsh and Mink. See Ankersmit 2012, pp. 14–16; Carr 2014, 103–4.
5 For Haldon, ‘historical materialism, while embedded within the philosophical terrain of a
realist materialist epistemology, is less a philosophy itself than it is an empirical theory’. Hal-
don 1993, p. 26. However, it is misleading to assert this primacy of ‘empirical theory’, given
the ontological framework that underlies the epistemological phases, as observed in the first
chapter.
lyses of specific cases. However, this imperial archive had the drawback of its
own conditions of possibility: its sources were produced in asymmetrical social
relations, and thus tended to reflect the dominant class, gender and colonial
positions of their times. Marx was very conscious of bourgeois ideology in
his sources and denounced the violence of colonialism behind the ‘civilising’
claims of his Western European sources, but the critique of ideology is a neg-
ative procedure that cannot substitute for the positive contents of the sources,
and thus the spatio-temporal bias of Eurocentrism in his archive was a perman-
ent problem for Marx’s research – a major drawback of working on some issues
mostly with secondary literature.
Thus, while he does not hold an exoticising view of non-European societ-
ies, his archival limitations lead him to the problematic theory of ‘the Asiatic
mode of production’, which Marx abandons when new scholarship in the 1870s
showed that Indian communities followed other patterns of social develop-
ment. Research by authors based on sources unavailable to Marx, but following
his theory and method (e.g. the work of Eric Williams, John Haldon, Jairus
Banaji, and Chris Wickham), accounts for non-Western and non-capitalist
formations, and shows Marx’s post-Grundrisse materialist conception of his-
tory to be non-Eurocentric. In this line, I have argued that recent literature
clarifies and makes some of Marx’s explanations of historical processes more
accurate by drawing on operations such as spatial-demographical analysis (as
in the composition of the Commune), the displacement of focus to peripheral
processes (such as the role of the Western territories in the crisis that led to
civil war in the United States) and the widening of spatio-temporal scales (to
explain the origins of capitalism). Social spatio-temporalisation thereby proves
to be a productive avenue to more nuanced and accurate historical explana-
tions.
Operations such as these are possible when we consider the concrete pro-
cesses as totalisations whose contradictions can be explained through the same
concepts. It is then only partially true when Ricoeur states that in changing
scales one sees different things: indeed, this change brings different phenom-
ena to light, but it does not refer to different objects, as he affirms, contrasting
historical to architectural, optical and cartographical scale – a problem with
both ontological as well as epistemological implications. Ricoeur’s opposition
between microhistory and macrohistory6 too quickly dismisses the possibility
of shifting from one scale to the other in an investigation, which we have seen
is a characteristic of Marx’s analyses. Without this interplay of scales, there is
always the risk of not accounting properly for the relations between agency
and social structure, which is precisely one of the strengths of the concept of
history as a totalisation.
Finally, this investigation has maintained that the presentation of histor-
ical knowledge should integrate the synchronic explanation of abstract real
mechanisms and the diachronic account of the results from these mechan-
isms’ manifestations in actual formations (which necessarily entail contin-
gency). Marx considers the explanation of a social process to be not just a
re-presentation, but a presentation of results produced by the mediation of
theory. This presentation, he indicates, should show the necessary in the move-
ment of the form, in a manner that makes it appear as an a priori construction.
Yet this concept of presentation must incorporate narrative in order to explain
actual historical processes. In Ricoeur’s theory, therefore, the synchronic and
diachronic modes of explanation are related, respectively, to the configurative
and episodic dimensions of narrative.
The reconstruction of Bakhtin’s concept of chronotope, through Hayden
White’s theory of tropes and Ricoeur’s narratology, provides us with the appro-
priate totalisation for the historiographical narrative. While tropes and con-
cepts lie at the base of the configurative chronotope, the episodic dimension
of the chronotope relies particularly on emplotment – which is directly related
to the periodisation established by the chronotope. In historiographical nar-
rative, the form of emplotment must be non-linear in order to account for
the complexity of the actual historical processes. The novel as characterised
by Bakhtin, as opposed to the premodern genres analysed in Metahistory as
models of emplotment, thus appears as the literary form closer to the needs of
narrative explanation required by Marx’s conception of history.
Insofar as historiography has authority in the struggle for collective memory
between conflicting social agents, the historiographical chronotope is closely
defined by the subjects that formulate it – not every literary figure or form is
possible for a specific subject when referring to a particular kind of process
or event. The formulation of the chronotope is then an action of side-taking
by a subject that narratively articulates the cognitive, the political, and the
aesthetic, although the first prevails to the extent that the primary function
of historiography in a realist conception is to account for the mechanisms at
work in a historical process. The aesthetic aspect of the historical narrative
contributes to its political efficacy, as Marx well knew when he wrote his depic-
tion of France in The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte as a satire, thus
undermining the legitimacy of that reactionary government, or when he wrote
(with Engels) the Manifesto in an epic tone, calling the proletariat to the revolu-
tion.
Marx formulates his conception of history within the social conflicts of his
day and his and Engels’s view of scientific socialism: his approach seeks to
explain history such that the working classes can have more clarity and con-
trol over their own social conditions. Historical research and historiography
thus contribute in at least two complementary directions to the struggle of the
oppressed: on the one hand, by elaborating a knowledge – through the analysis
of the conjuncture – that helps to transform the power relations where they
are subaltern; on the other, by producing a memory from their perspective that
motivates them into the transformation of their conditions.
Historical knowledge cannot isolate itself from its own historical conditions;
even its most abstract level, the ontology of historicity, emerged with the devel-
opment of capitalism and its antagonisms. This aspect enables us to highlight
a final, and fundamental, difference between Marx’s and Ricoeur’s respective
ontologies of history: while the former researches history as a means for polit-
ical emancipation, the latter, in contrast, considers that the primary function
of history is the remembrance of and homage to our dead. Thus although Ri-
coeur characterises historical research as both a scientific and literary discip-
line, his perspective is ultimately ethicist: an approach that dissolves social con-
flict into an abstract Otherness. The Marxian conception, on the other hand,
by conceiving history primarily through – or rather as – contradiction, asserts
the inherently political – besides scientific and literary – character of histori-
ography.7
The critical character of Marx’s approach is enriched by its spatio-temporal-
isation that makes the asymmetrical relations, dynamics and distributions of
the social agents visible: in contrast with Ricoeur’s ethicism above indicated, it
prioritises the recognition of the vanquished ‘enslaved ancestors’ and the viol-
ences they endured,8 while equally drawing continuities with current conflicts.
Marx’s conception of history as an ongoing process, constituted by a diversity
of space-times, points to its transformation – which a conception of history
that deals exclusively with the past does not.
The conception of history as a complex totalisation would then be capable
of identifying the diversity of social actors and potential resistances to capital-
ism, as well as possible solidarities at the local and the global scales. Following
the politics of such a properly spatio-temporalised totalisation, labour has the
potential for emancipation, but it is not limited to the wage-labour relation;
besides the traditional industrial working class, peasants and other subaltern
7 Ricoeur 1990, pp. 118–19. On the opposition between ethics and politics, see the critique of
Dussel’s Levinasian Marx in Bosteels 2012, pp. 299–310.
8 Benjamin 1999, p. 260.
classes resisting imperialism, for example, have the potential to develop altern-
atives to capitalism. Marx’s late interest in the Russian communes testify to the
anti-capitalist possibilities of this kind of social organisation, but this can be
said about his positions on Ireland and the anti-colonial rebellions in India
and China as well. In this sense, the recent attention to Marx’s conjunctural
writings – sometimes described as ‘journalistic’ – have allowed us to observe
this political line of reasoning, often obfuscated in the history of Marxism but
necessary in order to think alternatives beyond capitalism in our globalised
world-system.
The philosophical and theoretical potential of Marx’s concept of history is
then best realised by putting it in dialogue with current problems, as Luxem-
burg states. This investigation has argued that the ‘best Marx’ for the production
of critical knowledge of history is the one whose conception – at the ontolo-
gical, theoretico-methodological and presentational levels – empowers us to
shed light on the heterogeneity of historical processes through an integrative
and spatio-temporalised totalisation, rather than a reductive perspective. This
knowledge can then serve to think the development of capital in a more con-
crete and accurate manner, and act politically in consequence. If this work has
contributed to this conception, it can thus claim to have helped, however mod-
estly, to advance both the field of the philosophy of history and the politics of
emancipation based on Marx’s work.
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Žižek, Slavoj 1994, Tarrying With the Negative, Durham: Duke University Press.
85, 85n108, 86, 86n111, 89n122, 98, 99, Gould, Roger 116, 117, 117n81, 117n83, 118,
101, 102, 106, 110n61, 112, 112n67, 119, 120, 118n83
120n93, 143n, 146, 148, 159, 160 Graduation Act 115
Explanation 2, 3, 4n7, 5, 6n13, 7, 8, 12, 14, 16, Great Britain 46, 90, 98, 98n, 99, 100, 100n,
19, 25, 29n42, 32, 38, 39, 41n85, 43, 53, 101, 102, 104, 111, 120n93, 145, 146
54–93, 96, 98, 98n17, 101, 111–15, 117, 118, Greece 48, 66, 71, 72n64, 106, 106n43,
120–22, 124, 125, 129, 130, 132–36, 138, 108n52, 131, 138, 139
143, 144, 146, 149–56, 159–61 Greeley, Horace 114, 114n71
Greimas, Algirdas Julius 152, 152n83
Ferguson, Adam 43 Grüner, Eduardo 2n1, 4, 4n7, 21n11, 39,
Feuerbach, Ludwig 151 39n78, 52n124, 82n101, 85n107, 91,
Fletcher, Alex 136n39 91n129, 102n, 154, 154n86
Foner, Eric 114, 114n71 Guattari, Félix 76, 76n80
Form 2, 4–8, 19, 20, 20n8, 22, 22n15, 23n21, Güendel, Hermann 110n58
25–33, 37–42, 46–53, 54, 56, 58–66, Guha, Ranajit 13, 14, 14n28, 43, 43n91,
67n46, 68, 70–75, 78, 79n92, 80, 81, 84– 43n92, 112n67, 155n87, 155n88
86, 89n122, 90–92, 99, 105–07, 110, 112,
114, 115, 116n76, 119, 123–128, 130–132, Habermas, Jürgen 32, 32n55
135–140, 142, 144, 145, 147–56, 158, 159, Habib, Irfan 45n98, 108n49, 120
161 Habsburg Monarchy 119
Fort Sumter 92, 150 Haldon, John 60n22, 73n67, 75n73, 120,
Foster, John Bellamy 27n36 158n5, 160
Foucault, Michel 6, 13, 13n27, 17, 18n3, Harootunian, Harry 24n24, 36n69, 40n82,
100n22 46n102, 49, 49n113, 49n115, 50n116, 60,
Fracchia, Joseph 4n8, 40, 40n83, 41n84 60n22, 91n128, 134, 134n36
France 30, 45, 47n105, 64, 76n, 84, 84n, 86, Marx After Marx 91n128
90, 96, 100, 101, 103, 107n46, 109, 113, Hartley, George 128, 128n14
133, 145, 146, 150, 161 Hartog, François 34n64
Franco-Prussian war 83, 146 Hartwig, Mervyn 132n30
Franklin, Benjamin 103n31 Harvey, David 2, 2n4, 8, 9, 9n17, 9n18, 11,
Freud, Sigmund 1n1 31n48, 70, 71n58, 78, 78n86, 78n89, 80,
Fulbrook, Mary 18n3, 55, 55n5, 56, 91 80n97, 86n113, 116, 117, 117n80, 117n83,
118, 118n83, 118n84, 118n86, 137n40, 141,
Gadamer, H.G. 14n30 141n55
Gaddis, John Lewis 82n101, 131, 132, The Condition of Postmodernity 9n18
132n28 Haussmann, Georges-Eugène 117n80, 118,
Gallardo, Helio 66n44 118n85
Gallie, W.B. 6n13 Heidegger, Martin 34n61, 38
García Linera, Álvaro 50, 50n119 Hegel, G.W.F. 1, 22n14, 33n60, 38n74, 39n77,
Gehry, Frank 9, 10n19, 133 43, 45, 46n, 54, 56, 110, 112, 134, 143
Genovese, Eugene 113n69, 114, 114n70 Philosophy of History 134
German Idealism 20 Science of Logic 1
Germany 30, 47n105, 48, 71, 72, 73, 74, Heller, Agnes 20n8, 25n25, 25n28, 30n44,
74n73, 96, 97n11, 99, 100, 101, 106, 32n52
106n43, 106n44, 109, 110, 111 Hinduism 139
Ginzburg, Carlo 6, 12, 12n24, 13, 13n27, Hippisley, Gustavus 109, 109n56
102n27, 104, 104n33 Historiography 1, 3–7, 13–15, 17, 35, 40,
Gothic 144 40n82, 41, 92n131, 96, 98, 100n20,
Gould, Carol 32, 33, 33n57 103, 124–127, 130, 130n23, 131, 136, 143,
Lukács, György 29n43, 32, 32n53, 32n54, 34, The Class Struggles in France 3n, 4, 84,
34n63, 37n72, 54n2, 66n42, 82n101, 122, 146, 154
122n96, 125 Theses on Feuerbach 20, 31
History and Class Consciousness 122, Theories of Surplus Value 107
122n98 (with Friedrich Engels)
Ontology of Social Being 29 Collected Works 100n23, 116n77
Luxemburg, Rosa 64, 64n33, 86n113, 157, Manifesto of the Communist Party 19, 42,
157n1, 163 44, 45, 46, 46n103, 76, 111, 161
The German Ideology 22n15, 31, 33, 38,
Macaulay, Thomas B. 104 42, 44n94, 44n96, 45, 137
History of England 104 Marxism 2, 4, 8, 27, 27n34, 40, 45n100, 55,
Maine, Henry 102, 105, 112 122, 153n85, 158, 163
Manchester 98n14 Massey, Doreen 9n17, 79n94
Martineau, Jonathan 8, 9n17, 10, 37n72, Masur, Gerhard 109n56
91n128 May, Robert E. 115n74
Maryland 87 Mbembe, Achille 13, 14, 14n28
Marx, Karl McFarlane, Bruce 107n48
18th Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte 3n6, McLennan, Gregor 62n28
21, 64, 84, 146, 149, 153, 161 McNally, David 136, 136n39, 137n40, 140n50,
A Contribution to the Critique of Political 143n59
Economy 26, 29, 48, 107 Meek, Ronald R. 43n90, 45, 45n99
Bolívar y Ponte 109, 111, 111n64 Merriman, John 118n85, 118n87
Capital 1, 3, 24, 27n34, 50, 50n119, 57, Merryman, Peter 9n17
59, 60, 72n62, 63, 64, 65n34, 66n41, Mexico 45, 45n98, 48, 110n61, 114n70
67, 68, 69n54, 71, 72, 79n92, 80, 80n, Michelet, Jules 133n32
82, 83, 83n104, 84, 86, 86n111, 98n17, Middle Ages 41n, 65n, 72, 85n, 106
99, 100, 100n24, 101, 102, 102n27, 104, Middle East 106
107, 126, 136, 136n39, 137, 137n40, 139, Millar, John 43, 45
139n39, 140n50, 141, 142, 143, 143n59, Miller, John 109
146, 149n76, 151, 154 The Memoirs of General Miller 109
Class Struggles in France 3n6, 4, 84 Mink, Louis 158n4
Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of Missouri 89n123
1844 31 Mongol Empire 120
Ethnographic Notebooks 102 More, Thomas 100
Grundrisse 2, 3n6, 15, 19, 23n21, 30, 32, Morgan, Lewis Henry 105, 109
38, 39, 42, 45n100, 46, 47, 47n104, 48, Mode of production 2, 8, 12, 19, 16, 22n15,
49, 50, 52, 56, 58, 59, 65, 66n41, 67n46, 25n25, 27n34, 32, 37–40, 44, 46, 47,
71, 74n73, 75, 76, 76n80, 77n84, 98n17, 48n109, 49n111, 50, 51, 51n120, 53, 56–
99, 100, 105, 106, 106n42, 107, 108, 110, 66, 71–82, 83n104, 86, 86n113, 91n128,
123, 137, 138, 139, 141, 154, 159, 160 92, 96, 97, 105–111, 113, 119, 120, 123,
Letter to Kugelman, 17th April 1871 92n132 127, 128, 136, 138, 143, 145, 145n65,
Letter to Nieuwenhuis, 22th February 1881 146, 149, 149n76, 151n80, 152, 159,
119n88 160
Letter to Otechestvennye Zapiski 86n111 Model 11, 12, 32, 40n81, 45n100, 54, 55, 56,
Materiales para la historia de América 56n7, 57n12, 60–81, 86, 86n112, 86n113,
Latina 111n64 88, 91, 92, 93, 94n4, 99, 106n43, 107n46,
The Civil War in France 3, 83, 84, 96, 108, 108n52, 111, 113, 131, 132, 133, 136, 150,
98n17, 116, 116n78, 119n88, 133, 144, 146, 155, 159, 161
149, 153 Mughal Empire 107, 107n46, 108