This book brings together the best of my essays on Russian philosophy and psychology. The focus is on the legacies of Evald Ilyenkov and Lev Vygotsky, though many other figures play significant roles in the story. I hope the book conveys the dramatic social and historical context in which these Russian thinkers lived and worked, making their ideas intelligible in their own terms, while bringing them into dialogue with themes and thinkers in Western philosophy to show how they illuminate philosophical issues of enduring significance.
The earliest essay, ‘Social Memory in Soviet Thought’, was written in 1989 and the most recent, ‘Vygotsky’s Concept of Perezhivanie’, in 2018, so the volume represents the work of nearly 30 years. The essays appear more or less in their original form, though I have made minor modifications to avoid repetition, correct errors and bring the discussion up to date. I have also revised the references to reflect the many recent publications of writings by or about Ilyenkov and Vygotsky. At the end of each chapter, I have added a short bridge passage to segue into the next. If I have been successful, the collection should hang together as a coherent whole, though each of the essays can be read independently.
Ilyenkov was fond of the expression, ‘sut’ dela’, which has been variously rendered by his translators as the ‘essence’, ‘crux’ or ‘gist’ ‘of the matter’, though, in my view, the most attractive translation is often ‘the heart of the matter’. Ilyenkov uses the expression to characterise the ends of thought. On his view, thinking should not rest content with a superficial characterisation of surface phenomena but aspire to transcend appearances and disclose the nature of things, thereby explaining both why things are as they are and why we tend to see them as we do. Thought, in other words, gets to the heart of the matter, and thus the phrase is a fitting title for this collection.
The idea of philosophy getting to the heart of the matter is central to Ilyenkov’s understanding of dialectical thought and the unity of logic, dialectics and epistemology. For him, logic describes the ‘laws of thought’, but this is more than the articulation of argument forms and principles of inference. It requires us to bring to self-consciousness the fundamental categories, concepts and modes of inquiry by which thought discloses reality and arrives at knowledge. Logic, thus understood, is the science of thinking, which is, Ilyenkov tells us, the true subject matter of philosophy.
The passion to get to the heart of the matter is also central to Ilyenkov’s educational philosophy, which focuses on the educators’ responsibility to enable learners to acquire the power to think for themselves and to develop the courage to use it. In the Soviet Union, of course, such an affirmation of independence of mind was not always viewed positively, and Ilyenkov’s career was scarred by many distressing brushes with authority. One of these followed the publication, in Komsomol’skaya Pravda, of a report on a roundtable on philosophy and education, in which Ilyenkov participated, along with a number of friends and colleagues. The article was called ‘Muzhestvo mysli’ or ‘The Courage of Thought’ – hence my subtitle. To cultivate authentic thinking was, for Ilyenkov, the mission of philosophy, and he showed considerable fortitude in remaining true to his views despite what he had to endure.
Vygotsky was another thinker who had a tremendous passion for truth, enlightenment and independent thought. Like Ilyenkov, Vygotsky did not seek to understand the human mind for its own sake, but as part of the project of creating the conditions in which human flourishing can become a reality for all. For me this unity of theory and practice, unbridled intellectual inquiry and passionate moral conviction, makes their work so inspiring and their respective stories so moving.
This book is dedicated to my friend and mentor, Felix Mikhailov, another courageous thinker (and participant in the ill-fated Courage of Thought roundtable), without whom I would never have found my way in the curious world of Soviet philosophy. Felix was a wonderful person and a brilliant philosopher. We shared many great times and my debt to him is incalculable. Felix knew Vygotsky’s psychology well and he was a close friend of Ilyenkov, who had died only a year before my first visit to Moscow, so much of what I know about Vygotsky and Ilyenkov I learnt from Felix. I relate the story of our friendship in Chapter 1.
I am lucky to have many other friends who have influenced and inspired me on this journey. I must mention Vladislav Lektorsky, Jonathan Dancy, David Wiggins, Jan Derry, Paul Standish, Andrew Davis, Mike Cole, Carol Padden (who co-authored with me ‘The Meshcheryakov Experiment’), Cheryl Misak, Sebastian Rödl and Christine Sypnowich. Christine, my wife and colleague at Queen’s, has been with me since the early days of my studies of Soviet philosophy – I remember finishing up ‘Social Memory in Soviet Thought’ at my parents’ house in London a few days before we were married in 1989. Over the years, Christine has been a constant source of support, constructive criticism and wise counsel, and we’ve had a great deal of fun along the way. Our children Rosemary and Hugh also deserve my thanks; it is not always easy having philosophers for parents.
My career as an academic has afforded many opportunities to travel and discuss my work with friends and colleagues at symposia and conferences around the world. I am grateful for that, and for the many helpful comments and criticisms my work has received on such occasions. I am also indebted to my students at Queen’s, who have been a pleasure to teach and supervise over the years. I must thank one in particular, Rogney Piedra Arencibia, who devoted a great deal of his time to helping me bring this book to completion. I benefitted enormously from his hard work, good humour and technical know-how, not to mention his considerable expertise on Ilyenkov. I am also very grateful Elena Illesh, Ilyenkov’s daughter, for inviting me to visit her home where the Ilyenkov Archive resides, and to Andrey Maidansky, who accompanied me on that visit, and who later very kindly – and almost instantly – answered my numerous e-mail requests for materials, information and advice on translation. With Elena and Andrey at the helm, Ilyenkov’s legacy is in good hands.
When I began working on Soviet philosophy, I was often advised to give it up in favour of a more mainstream area of specialisation. ‘You’ll never get a job’, I heard more than once. The advice was no doubt well intentioned, but I am glad I was sufficiently reckless to ignore it. Philosophers are often suspicious of, and threatened by, unfamiliar traditions and quick to find reasons to disparage and ignore them. So it is very good for philosophers to be forced to immerse themselves in alien styles of thought and forge a meeting of minds. I am fortunate to have had this opportunity, and to have encountered so many fascinating interlocutors who made my study of Soviet thought, not just intellectually rewarding, but a thrilling adventure.