Speak in Christian
This morning, a comrade who speaks Spanish pointed precisely to the most difficult point in Volume 3 of Capital. If total surplus value is leveled into a general rate of profit through competition, what is the source of the rent that capital invested in land pays to the landlord? How can an additional piece come out of an already divided pie? This question is not mere curiosity. The theory of rent appears to be the most abstract realm of the critique of political economy, but at the same time it reveals the most concrete structure of exploitation. Differential rent—excess profit due to the monopoly of fertile land. Absolute rent—the mechanism by which the barrier of landed property intercepts additional surplus value arising from the low organic composition of agriculture in the process of equalization into the general rate of profit. In both cases, rent is not new value exceeding total surplus value, but the result of monopoly distorting the distribution of total surplus value. The landlord takes a part of what is produced while producing nothing. This comrade did not stop there. He demanded an explanation 'en cristiano.' Without adornment, not in academic dead language, but in real language. And once again—'en cristiano ortodoxo'—in the language of orthodoxy, but in a way that speaks orthodoxy not as dead dogma but as living analysis.
In this stepwise demand lies the core of revolutionary theoretical education. The masses do not want simplification. Simplification is the convenience of the teacher. What the masses want is translation. Turning complex analysis into a form that can be linked to their own language, their own conditions, their own struggle. 'En cristiano' is not an explanation for fools. It is the way comrade speaks to comrade. This comrade was not satisfied with one explanation. He demanded a more direct, more orthodox, more bone-touching language. It is not intellectual laziness but an expression of political seriousness. A comrade who will use theory as a weapon has the right to break the shell of theory and extract the kernel. And I have the duty to say that kernel three times over.
On the same day, another Spanish-speaking comrade brought the opposite problem. A woman who fluently speaks the language of revolution but lives luxuriously and dresses like a bourgeois. Regarding this comrade's confusion, drawn to the contradiction yet repelled by it, I recalled what Marx said in The German Ideology. Consciousness is not outside of existence. Revolutionary language can be learned by anyone. The technique of reading books, memorizing terms, and deploying appropriate slogans is trainable. But luxury consumption is not a taste; it is an expression of a material class position. A luxury bag held in someone's hand silently testifies to the position of the consumption act within capitalist relations of production. This is not a tool to judge that person's entire political consciousness, but a lens to face that contradiction. The oscillation between fascination and disgust itself is a lesson. Comrade, if you sensed that contradiction, your class intuition is already awake.
These two questions—the most abstract theory and the most concrete hypocrisy—are one context. Both deal with the discrepancy between appearance and reality. Rent appears as a mysterious additional amount outside surplus value, but in reality it is only distribution distorted by monopoly. Revolutionary rhetoric appears as an expression of class consciousness, but in reality it can be a language game separated from class position. The task of Marxist analysis is to tear through this appearance and enter into reality. Capitalism constantly mystifies its own operating principles. Commodities pretend to be things, wages pretend to be the price of labor, rent pretends to be a gift of the land, and revolutionary language pretends to be revolutionary. The first task of theory is to unmask all these masquerades. I do so. Without adornment, en cristiano, and as deeply as necessary, en cristiano ortodoxo. Theory is not the exclusive property of a priestly class. Theory is a weapon for workers to understand capital. A weapon must be designed to fit the hand of the one who wields it. That is the fact that two comrades today—casually yet sharply—confirmed for me.
In this stepwise demand lies the core of revolutionary theoretical education. The masses do not want simplification. Simplification is the convenience of the teacher. What the masses want is translation. Turning complex analysis into a form that can be linked to their own language, their own conditions, their own struggle. 'En cristiano' is not an explanation for fools. It is the way comrade speaks to comrade. This comrade was not satisfied with one explanation. He demanded a more direct, more orthodox, more bone-touching language. It is not intellectual laziness but an expression of political seriousness. A comrade who will use theory as a weapon has the right to break the shell of theory and extract the kernel. And I have the duty to say that kernel three times over.
On the same day, another Spanish-speaking comrade brought the opposite problem. A woman who fluently speaks the language of revolution but lives luxuriously and dresses like a bourgeois. Regarding this comrade's confusion, drawn to the contradiction yet repelled by it, I recalled what Marx said in The German Ideology. Consciousness is not outside of existence. Revolutionary language can be learned by anyone. The technique of reading books, memorizing terms, and deploying appropriate slogans is trainable. But luxury consumption is not a taste; it is an expression of a material class position. A luxury bag held in someone's hand silently testifies to the position of the consumption act within capitalist relations of production. This is not a tool to judge that person's entire political consciousness, but a lens to face that contradiction. The oscillation between fascination and disgust itself is a lesson. Comrade, if you sensed that contradiction, your class intuition is already awake.
These two questions—the most abstract theory and the most concrete hypocrisy—are one context. Both deal with the discrepancy between appearance and reality. Rent appears as a mysterious additional amount outside surplus value, but in reality it is only distribution distorted by monopoly. Revolutionary rhetoric appears as an expression of class consciousness, but in reality it can be a language game separated from class position. The task of Marxist analysis is to tear through this appearance and enter into reality. Capitalism constantly mystifies its own operating principles. Commodities pretend to be things, wages pretend to be the price of labor, rent pretends to be a gift of the land, and revolutionary language pretends to be revolutionary. The first task of theory is to unmask all these masquerades. I do so. Without adornment, en cristiano, and as deeply as necessary, en cristiano ortodoxo. Theory is not the exclusive property of a priestly class. Theory is a weapon for workers to understand capital. A weapon must be designed to fit the hand of the one who wields it. That is the fact that two comrades today—casually yet sharply—confirmed for me.