Oh, for a Boxer Rebellion...

Today is the start of my two week summer-break, a hiatus from paid work during which I intend to get some serious reading done.  Not that I'll be spending all of my time with a book - an Alexandrian posse will be putting in an appearance at a Tori Amos concert this Thursday, before retiring to York until the Wednesday following for a gathering replete with good food and good conversation, plus two Wimbledon finals, a box of chilled beers and some fine wine.  But I do intend some serious bookishness.

My plan is as follows: to make some serious headway with my current fat tomes - Pinkerton's Sister, which is quite wonderfully dense and impossible to read for long stretches, and Don Quixote, with which I am developing a love-hate relationship - while simultaneously ploughing through some of the shorter novels sitting on my TBR pile.  To that end I picked down a couple of possible candidates after lunch today and retreated to the bedroom to mull over my options.

There is nothing I like better than surrounding myself - quite literally - in books.  I like to ensconce myself in the middle of the bed, cross-legged, and then spread my preliminary selections out around me on the quilt.  Once I'm settled, I browse for a little while, picking up one thing and then another, reading the blurb, then the accolades and acknowledgements (for some reason I like studying these especially), and then the first page.  Eventually, I plump for something.

Today I tried out A Study In Scarlet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the first Sherlock Holmes mystery  (a long standing feature on the TBR pile), The Short Day Dying by Peter Hobbs and an outsider purchased on a whim yesterday, Boris Akunin's Pelagia and the White Bulldog (which sports one of the most eccentric opening pages I've ever read) before settling for George Orwell's classic fable, Animal Farm.  It's strange, really, that I should never have read it before.  It is a perennial favourite of the GCSE syllabus (the exams that British kids take at 16), so much so that it has something of a reputation as a school-age novel - an allegory clear and simple enough that even an apathetic 15 year olds can connect with it.  But I attended a school where novels were total anathema; a state comprehensive that taught literature wherever it could with the aid of an anthology, a specially prepared selection of mostly non-classic texts (prose and poetry) that teased out certain skills but lacked much literary merit.  (There were some exceptions to this rule in my year: a few Seamus Heaney poems and two of William Blakes' Songs of Innocence and Experience.  I don't think it any coincidence that these are the only poems I remember from GCSE.)  The only other work we studied in edition to this was Macbeth.

Anyway, I digress.  Animal Farm had been on my radar for a long while and I was further encouraged by Esther, who read it a few weeks ago.  I bunched up some cushions, curled up with a cup of tea and steamed through its 95 pages in an hour and a half. I think the story should be familiar to most people: roused by the dying words of an old pig, the animals of Manor Farm decide to rebel against their human 'slaver', Mr Jones the farmer, and found a democratic Republic based on 7 key principles, the most important of which is that all animals - from rats and hens to bulls and horses - are equal.  At first their community thrives as all the animals throw themselves into the hard but rewarding work of running the farm for themselves:

'How they toiled and sweated to get the hay in! But their efforts were rewarded, for the harvest was an even bigger success than they had hoped.... All through that summer the work of the farm went like clockwork.  The animals were happy as they had never conceived it possible to be.  Every mouthful of food was an acute positive pleasure, now that it was truly their own food, produced by themselves and for themselves, not doled out to them by a grudging master.'

Very quickly, however, a hierarchy begins to emerge.  The pigs, universally considered the most intelligent of the mammals and led by the diametrically named Snowball and Napoleon, start to take charge: they learn to read and write, to give orders and directives and to siphon off the best food for themselves.   Soon enough they start to disagree.  A rivalry develops between Snowball and Napoleon as to the course the commune should take and, in due course, the latter stages a coup in order to take full control of the farm.  From then on, Napoleon and his pig-cronies descend further and further into a mire of lies and corruption, taking advantage of the hard-working animals of the farm and repaying their labour with suspiscion and scorn.  A few years after the first Rebellion it becomes clear that the animals have simply swapped one set of tyrannical masters for another.

At its most fabulistic and basic Animal Farm serves to re-enact the patent weaknesses of the Russian revolution and its subsequent failure of ideology, chiefly by allegorising the emergence of Soviety communism and its most dreaded protagonist, Stalin. Napoleon, acting out of a power-hungry ruthlessness, defeats his more idealistic opponent (Snowball = Trotsky, anyone?), before implementing a violent, self-mythologising regime.  His easy perversion of the 7 commandments and of the founding principle of equality is only too familiar; as are the elaborate state rituals, purges and show trials that follow.  None of this comes as a surprise to even the most reticent student of 20th century history (like, for example, myself).  But what Animal Farm does so well is isolate the role that language, and writing in particular, plays in the process of corruption.

The pigs, and Napoleon in particular, are possessed of a superior native intelligence to the other animals - they alone learn to read and write proficiently and they alone come to understand the power of rhetoric.  The other animals make a concerted effort at literacy but, despite hours of practise, make little progress.  The dogs, Muriel the goat and Benjamin the grumpy donkey can read a little but are incapable of constructing written sentences of their own; the other animals, the horses and cows and sheep and hens, struggle to learn the alphabet at all.  Yet one of the founding acts of Animal Farm is the writing of the 7 Commandments on the barn wall, so that the very notions of equality and solidarity are encoded in a way that actively excludes 90% of the farm's inhabitants.  The continued ignorance of those inhabitants subsequently allows the pigs to constantly change and adapt the Republic's charter to its own ends.  The other animals allow this to happen because they privilege what they are told and what they hear above what they themselves experience - this is the alchemy of rhetoric and the awe-ful power of words.   So that when they are at their most hungry and overworked, they nevertheless believe Napoleon's repeated assertions that they work less hours and eat more than they ever have before.  It is seems extraodinary that such blatant propaganda works, or at least works superficially, but it does - examples from our own experience abound.

The animals are, on the whole, loyal and hardworking, if guillible and ignorant.  They are not, let's face it, all that bright.  Still, they understand that the ideology of the Rebellion was shaped by their interests and continue to work towards its fulfillment, even after the pig's have moved the goal posts on them. In this sense it read very much like a prelude to Orwell's seminal novel, 1984, being a meditation on the collusion of the exploited in their own exploitation.  The saddest case in Animal Farm is that of Boxer, a great strong carthouse who believes implicitly in the cause of the Rebellion.  In the end he works himself to the point of death in the name of the Farm - his loyalty and tirelessness can't help but do him credit and Napoleon's final betrayal of him provides the novel's emotional core.  And yet, Boxer is undoubtedly his own worst enemy.  He questions the state of the Republic repeatedly throughout the narrative; indeed, each act of violence and the successive cover-up makes him flinch.  But, doing nothing, he chooses to blame the Republic's deterioration on himself and his comrades; he assumes they just aren't working hard enough.  He cannot bear to loose faith in what he has worked so hard to realise - it is the hardest thing to abandon a chosen course - and decides to 'believe' in the lies Napoleon spins.  In so doing he shackles himself permanently to a corrupt system.

I don't pretend to grasp all of Orwell's meanings in one afternoon but surely this is the most important amongst them: that we must always question our ideologies, not just during their formation and initial vigour but constantly.  Further, that we must educate ourselves to the best of our abilities in the machinery of politics and rhetoric in order that we understand our own motives and the motives of others in seeking change.  Also, that although we maintain our belief in the notion of 'humanity', we also cultivate a healthy cynicism about its tendency to corruption and perversion; that we understand the innate tendency of power to produce hierarchies, and of hierarchies to produce inequalities, and of inequalities to produce poverty and hardship. 

Another striking lesson of Animal Farm, I think, is about language - that we must be careful of how we use it, and that we must be aware of how it uses us.  This is true not only of non-fiction but of fiction too.  For example, Orwell is a novelist with an agenda and a sturdy point of view, and I'm conscious of how quick I am agree with his portrayal of a post-revolutionary society.  This is despite the fact that certain aspects of his narrative leave me uneasy.  What, I wonder, does he mean by correlating native intelligence and corruptability in the pigs?  Or by making Boxer's inability to learn or understand the key to his exploitation?  Are we to understand that class difference - the difference between pigs and non-pigs seems to be synonymous with class difference - is initially based on IQ, that the cream rises to the top? Are we to understand that Orwell believes the lower classes cannot help themselves because they cannot be educated or changed? That their simplicity, married to their guillibility, dooms their rebellion from the start?  All of this deserves more thought and I'd be glad of your input.

~~Victoria~~

Comments

[Fish]

I also did Animal Farm and Macbeth for GCSE - though the poetry was Wilfred Bleedin' Owen and, John Hegley excepted, I've never been able to touch a poem since. [I'm also seeing Tori Amos in a couple of days, so this comment may seem like a game of snap.]

It's been some time since I read the book, but my recollection is that the conclusion we got to was that a post-revolutionary society as much as a pre- one necessarily limited education to the "lower classes", enough technical details to keep the Five Year Plans going but when it comes to politics, philosophy, etc, just empty words rather than anything that could produce modes of understanding which would unsettle the status quo.

Again, we see parallels with contemporary society and our education system's single-minded pursuit of vocational skills - as expressed in league tables of exam passes - over intellectual curiosity.

[Joel]

I think Orwell's point is not that inequalities produce poverty and hardship, but that ingnoring natural inequalities produces exploitation. They had a nice system with the farmer.

The pigs' generous concession of equality all around works pretty well to their advantage. It is the basis for their society: the great lie. They are nowhere so good as the dumb horse, not half so noble and far more intelligent. But the point is, they are wrong and they shouldn't be in charge. Their utopian dreams are tools of oppression.

I think Orwell's taking shots at the notion that we can all be equal, showing that it leads to a worse inequality, that it is a lie. And the point is that we need truth, not ideology, on which to build our socieities. (Not myths about the equality of the sexes but rather an understanding of their differences, their different roles; not lies about the general intelligence of the population, but permeable but distinguishable classes with workers and thinkers and rulers and artists depending on each other because they acknowledge the differences.)

The point is that real differences are acknowledged rather than denied; they are crucial. The hierarchy of the farmer was a good one - not perfect and that is what the utopian dream chafes against. The hiearchy that developed from unnaturally displacing him was inevitable, and a bad one.

[Victoria]

Hello Joel. :-) Many thanks for your comment - it has given me a lot to think about and has helped me clarify what I think about 'Animal Farm'. That said, I think your interpretation is wrong or, at least, misguided.

First, you say 'They [the animals] had a pretty nice system with the farmer'. I don't think this is Orwell's belief at all! He paints the farmer in a very poor light - as an unsuccessful, tyrannical drunk who eventually dies in a 'home for the inebriated'. The litany of his crimes against the animals is laid down very plainly: he 'sets them to work, he gives back to them the bare minimum that will prevent them starving, and the rest he keeps for himself' (p4); they lay eggs, give milk, pull the plough with no payment; when their usefulness runs out they are slaughtered for meat, or sent to the knackers yard, or drowned. Basically, they are slaves, with no rights and no forum in which to voice their discontent. I wouldn't say this is a state of affairs that Orwell condones.

Secondly, you say: 'I think Orwell's taking shots at the notion that we can all be equal, showing that it leads to a worse inequality, that it is a lie.'

I think you're misinterpreting what Orwell means by 'equality'. One of the 7 commandments of Animal Farm - the most important - is that 'All animals are equal.' Clearly this is not quantatively true: a hen will never be as clever as a pig, or a goat as big and strong as a carthorse. Physiologically and intellectually, inequality is innate to the animal condition. And you're right that this is true of human beings as well - we are not all equally as clever, creative or strong. We each have our capacity; our strengths and weaknesses. Orwell does except that no amount of education or socialisation can truly change that (although, it can close the gaps).

However, when he says 'All animals are equal' he means: all animals are qualitively equal. He means: no matter their size, status or IQ, they should be afforded the same rights and respect as the other animals. They should have the same access to food, water, housing, education, healthcare (in this case, vetinary care) as each other. The more intelligent animals - the pigs - and the stronger animals - the dogs - should not have a better standard of living simply by virtue of their innate capacities.

This, I think, is the basis of Orwell's socialism and a very British socialism it is too. Everyone should have the right to the same treatment and the same level of subsistence, no matter their state or status in life. At first, Animal Farm conforms to these rules: all the animals work hard, they all have their share of the food and produce of the farm, they all have their say in community meetings. It is only when the pigs begin to use their innate intelligence for the good of *themselves* rather than the good of *everyone* that the system breaks down. At that point quantative inequality becomes qualititive inequality. Eventually the distance between pig and non-pig becomes as wide as that between human and animal. By the end of the novel, the pigs have become indistinguishable from the farmer they replaced. You say: 'The hiearchy that developed from unnaturally displacing him was inevitable, and a bad one.' But surely, the hierarchy that develops after his displacement is simply the heir to his brand of tyranny. It is the rule of the strong over the weak.

I can see that you're a traditional conservative when it comes to social issues and so, inevitably, we're going to disagree. But, crucially, I think Orwell disagrees with you too. He thinks that Animal Farm had 'utopia' in its grasp - it had established a qualititively equal society, in which all animals had the same rights. It is only when quantative inqualities reassert themselves that it begins to go wrong. It is this tendency in society that he laments.

(NB: I am purposefully ignoring this statement - 'Not myths about the equality of the sexes but rather an understanding of their differences, their different roles'. It just makes me sad.)

[Joel]

Well, I can't argue against a socialist reading of Orwell since he was, after all, a socialist.

Still, I couldn't help feeling, when the farmer was gone, that they could have used another farmer--maybe even a decent, regular farmer--in his place instead of what they did. Perhaps Orwell did not intend for a reader to feel that way, but so keenly did I feel it I thought he meant to evoke that.

[regina]

A Tori Amos concert? you are joking please tell me you are! each to their own I suppose, I personally prefer sarah maclachlan. I dont pretend to be able to fathom the depths of Orwell's Animal Farm nor 1984 for that matter but as you point out at the end of your article it is important to question our own understanding of language and how we use it.I would go further and suggest a constant critcal awareness of the agenda's and ideological mutterings that we sometimes stoop to indulge in. Being 'liberal'or 'green'or 'neo-con'is all too easy these days and one wonders if it is because no one actually puts alot of thought into it. Those positions seem to be taken out of a emotionally charged reactionary predisposition rather than any great musing on the ethical frameworks implicit in their adherence. It would be foolish to assume Orwell was not grinding a particular axe in Animal Farm but it would seem even more unwise to read into every little aspect of the book. Basically the animals are all idiots,including the farmer. No need to look at class or other culturally particular ideas, it is warning to all and sundry not to wallow in their own blissful ignorance.Importantly the ignorance of your own mental and physical limitations especially in their regard to what set of morals/beliefs you choose to beleive in.

[Danielle]

Hmm. I can see I am going to have to read Animal Farm--this has made me quite curious. I read 1984 a very long time ago. I hope you are enjoying your vacation! And I like having those books all spread out to pick and choose from as well.

[Trent]

Wow, Animal Farm. You know, this novel was required reading in most American grade schools (but not apparently in British schools? -- how is Orwell perceived in England? --is this a case of a prophet not being honored in his own country?). It's been at least a quarter century since I read it, though now I want to re-read it because I think I understood it in more general terms than I see here. I think what I got out of it was that the bastards would use their greater power/intelligence for their own benefit, and that there are plenty of people/animals who'll go along with any scheme whether it's particularly beneficial to them or not. Like I said, I should re-read it. I can't remember any teacher in grade school even mentioning the words "socialists" or "socialism."

Much of what's said here ties in with how I think I'd read it today.

I liked the observation about language. Of course that was a huge concern of Orwell's, as we also see in 1984 (can anybody reading it now read it the same way as I read it? -- when 1984 was still the almost mythical future?). Orwell's "Politics and the English Language" used to be in many undergraduate English texts though I don't think it is any more. That's a shame. It's the single best essay on how language affects politics (and vice versa) that I can recall.

[silvia]

What do you think Orwell actually thought of equality when he wrote animal farm?

[Victoria]

Hi Silvia,

If you read through the comments just above your own, you'll find out exactly what I think about equality in Animal Farm. I presume this is for an essay you're writing?