A River’s Journey

Drop by drop, the rain gathers into tiny rivulets. These rivulets join to form small streams, which in turn merge into larger ones. Streams and rivulets become rivers. When a river meets an even greater one, it loses its own name and becomes a tributary. In time, rivers—carrying the waters of countless streams, rivulets, and tributaries—flow on, gathering all into a mighty river, and at last surrender themselves to the sea.

Yet, the waters in a river do not belong to it alone. They are born of raindrops that fell in distant hills and forests, that ran as rivulets and streams long before the river ever took shape.

So too with the treasures of kings, the ideas of philosophers, and the medicinal wisdom of Ayurveda—they are riches gathered from countless corners, enriched by the contributions of many. The vast budgets of governments, worth lakhs of crores, and the fortunes amassed in the private sector—all are, in truth, wealth drawn from the people. Philosophers are much the same: they are like great banks. The wealth in those banks is not truly their own; it is the accumulated inheritance of human society.

The Ancient Accumulation of Ideas

In ancient times, our ancestors formed certain thoughts and feelings. They came together in groups, each defined by its size and character—called gana, tribe, or tanda. Many such groups joined to form janapadas (small republics). These in turn united into maha-janapadas (great republics). Out of these came kingdoms, and in that age the Buddha and the Jain sage Vardhamana Mahavira were born.

The Harappan and Indus Valley Civilisations emerged in the era of the janapadas. By the Buddha’s time, there were sixteen great maha-janapada kingdoms flourishing. Kings expanded their realms or defended them through conquest. Smaller rulers, once defeated, became samanta kings—vassals to greater monarchs. Thus arose the titles “King of Kings” and “Chakravarti” (Emperor).

From the earliest tribal groups, ideas—like those small rivulets—flowed onward, shaping thought. The writings of the Harappan period remain undeciphered, but a thousand years later the ideas of the Aryan tribes crystallised into what became known as the Vedas. Around this time, the materialist Charvakas and the Lokayatas also appeared.

During the age of maha-janapadas and kingdoms, the Upanishads were composed, and the teachings of the Buddha, Jain sages, Asita Kesha, and Anvikshiki spread widely. Over time, many streams of thought merged into what was called the Vedic religion, while those outside it were deemed non-Vedic. Later still, they came to be labelled as atheists (nastikas) and theists (astikas). But these were not just two currents—they were many rivers and tributaries. Outside of both, Buddhism took shape as an agnostic path, declaring that debates over whether God exists or not were unnecessary.

Over the centuries, three camps evolved: theists, atheists, and agnostics. The Shaiva tradition, Ayurveda, and other once non-Vedic systems were eventually absorbed into the Vedic fold. Ayurveda itself became a great river, fed by the medicinal experiences of forest-dwelling tribes. From the study of the body and its functions, the disciplines of yoga and meditation arose. These were embraced by all three camps—atheist, theist, and agnostic alike—enriching them all.

Modern Western Thought

In the modern era, Western ideas too have followed the same course—small streams of thought converging into larger currents, merging into tributaries, and finally becoming great rivers. Once these join a mighty river, the distinct channels and sources they came from often lose their individual identity.

Yet, if we trace a river to its origin—its springs, its brooks, its streams—we can see how it formed, where it began, and what paths it took to arrive at its present form.

In the world of political and social thought, Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, Marxism, and the various schools of the Left have drawn from many sources—adopting some ideas, rejecting others, and often subjecting them to rigorous criticism. Aristotle, in his own time, expanded multiple branches of knowledge into a river of great breadth. Likewise, Marx and Engels absorbed, refined, and integrated many sciences into a single vast current—so vast it resembled an international bank with many branches.

If we were to examine the “deposits” within this great bank, we might find it fascinating to see whose contributions make up its wealth. And if those deposits were returned to their original owners, the bank would not go bankrupt—yet the myth of singular ownership would be shattered.

The Resource of Foundational Ideas

How did these ideas of the past come forward? Who brought them into the open? How were they deposited into the vaults of philosophy? To what extent were they merged, altered, and reshaped to fit new purposes?

Every philosopher or movement builds upon such deposits to propose their own plans, theories, and programmes. But if we truly understood the sources from which these ideas were drawn—if we read what the originators themselves said—then we could form our own independent thoughts and programmes, rather than following or opposing someone merely out of habit or reverence.

To reach such independent conclusions, it becomes essential to study all that they studied. For Marx himself, there were many precursors—one of the most significant being Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. Let us learn a little about him.

The French Philosopher Proudhon

Pierre-Joseph Proudhon was born on 15 January 1809 and died on 19 January 1865. In his 57 years, he left a deep imprint across many fields. A French philosopher and political economist, he is best known for his writings on libertarian socialism. His works What is Property? and The Philosophy of Poverty are regarded as landmarks. He championed the cause of the working class, mutual aid, and federation.

In 1840, Proudhon published What is Property?, famously declaring: “Property is theft.” In 1846, he wrote The Philosophy of Poverty. These works influenced Marx profoundly, shaping his turn toward the perspective of the working class. Indeed, Proudhon’s ideas laid part of the theoretical foundation for Marx and Engels’s Communist Manifesto of 1848.

Proudhon’s thought bears a notable kinship to the teachings of the Buddha. Just as the Buddha condemned taking what belongs to others as theft, Proudhon rejected private appropriation of collective wealth. The Buddha’s Eightfold Path and Five Precepts envisioned a society where people lived through mutual cooperation and self-discipline without the interference of state power. Proudhon too dreamed of a self-regulating, cooperative society based on mutual respect.

In February 1848, the French Revolution broke out under the leadership of the Blanquists, and Proudhon’s socialist ideas—particularly his advocacy for reducing economic inequality—gained influence. They became a defining feature of French socialism.

In India, the socialist visions of leaders such as Ram Manohar Lohia, George Fernandes, Madhu Dandavate, Madhu Limaye, Raj Narain, Ram Naresh Yadav, Mulayam Singh Yadav, Lok Nayak Jayaprakash Narayan, and Lalu Prasad Yadav drew, knowingly or unknowingly, from the intellectual heritage of French socialism, Proudhon, and Rousseau. This connection is rarely acknowledged by Indian social scientists.

At its core, peaceful revolution must aim at the welfare of the poor and the working class—those most often placed at the bottom of the caste hierarchy.

The Wealth of the Rich as Stolen Wealth

Proudhon declared that the wealth of the rich was nothing more than stolen property—taken from the poor. Marx analysed this further. He exposed the secret of how the power of capital is rooted in the theft of labour power itself. Marx traced how these thieves gradually transformed into capitalists, and how their ill-gotten hoards became what he called “capital accumulation.”

According to Marx, from the exploitation of labour arises a surplus value. This surplus, once hoarded, becomes “alienation”—a condition in which the fruits of labour are estranged from the worker and serve only the owner. In this way, the stolen wealth of the rich is dignified with a chain of theoretical names: surplus value, alienation, exploitation, capital, and finally, the state.

Yet in the everyday wisdom of the people, the truth is expressed more simply: “He has grown fat on our sweat and toil.” This is the philosophy of the people, direct and unvarnished. Marx’s language is the terminology of political economy—precise, analytical, and steeped in theory.

Marx, the Great Visionary

Marx was, above all, a man of vision—a dreamer of vast scope, a philosopher of the imagination. In essence, he was an idealist. Like all idealists, he concerned himself with the beginning, middle, and end of creation. Christ spoke of it. The Prophet Muhammad spoke of it. Brahminical Hinduism spoke of it—of heaven, hell, and the divine realm.

Marx too spoke of the great arc of human history: from animal existence to primitive society, to feudalism, to capitalism, to socialism led by the working class, and finally to the ultimate stage of communism—when the earth itself would become a kind of heaven.

Thus in philosophy, Marx was an idealist; in political economy, he was a materialist; in sociology, he was a man of many ideals; in movements, a champion of the working class; in politics, a communist.

Different Visions of the Future

Throughout history, philosophers and religions alike have offered their visions of the origin, course, and end of creation. Each has spoken according to their understanding. Yet the world existed before them, and it continued after them.

Pothuluri Veera Brahmendra Swamy foretold the future. Nostradamus made his own predictions. During the age of the sword, people imagined the final avatar—Kalki—mounted on a horse, wielding a blade. Marx too was part of this tradition of visionaries. Before him came many, and after him, many more. And so it will continue—new generations, new dreams, new philosophies. Marxism is but one among countless worldviews.

Some Buddhists believed their path was the final word—yet history did not stop there. Similarly, if Marxism is declared the last and final truth, does that mean the march of time will halt? The future will give birth to yet more thinkers, movements, and revolutions. Marx and Engels dismissed others as “utopian socialists,” yet in truth, their own vision was also utopian—a socialism imagined and constructed in the mind.

Marxism Is Not Eternal Truth

Marxism is not eternal. Nothing is eternal. Nothing that has existed has remained forever unchanged. All things change; movement is constant and inherent in life.

Though Marx and Marxism spoke of perpetual change and transformation, they envisioned socialism and communism as immutable truths—final stages of history that would admit no further change. This was their idealism. They believed that the ultimate truth must be fought for exactly as they prescribed. In doing so, Marxism became a kind of fixed match—a doctrine resistant to any deviation.

As a result, anything new is often met with fear and opposition. When people move forward and leave them behind, they react by trying to catch up and claim leadership, inviting others to join under their banner rather than under the leadership of emerging movements. By the time they do, those movements often have their own independent leaders, directions, and momentum.

Thus, in matters such as the caste system, patriarchy, and internal colonialism, Marxist groups have lagged behind, losing both cadres and public trust, and have been reduced to leaderless statues—symbols of a past moment rather than participants in the present struggle.

Why I Prefer Proudhon

Like me, Proudhon rose from poverty through sheer struggle. That is why I hold him in affection. When the poor and the working class claim Proudhon as their own, leadership naturally remains in the hands of the oppressed themselves. But if the choice is between Marx and Proudhon, and Marx is favoured, the leadership tends to fall into the hands of an upper-caste elite—leaders shaped not by lived hardship but by books and academic discourse.

The words of the educated can be alluring, refined, and persuasive. The words of those who have lived through hardship can seem blunt to some ears. Yet it is precisely that bluntness that comes from truth earned in the crucible of life. This is why I prefer Proudhon. Moreover, he inclined towards peaceful movements—an inclination I respect.

My sympathies extend beyond him: to Bakunin, Trotsky, Alexandra Kollontai, Simone de Beauvoir, Jyotirao Phule, Savitribai Phule, B.R. Ambedkar, Periyar, Kanshi Ram—each of them possessed ideals rooted in the liberation of the oppressed.

Marx, however, had a weakness—an inability to show generosity towards those from whom he borrowed ideas. As the Telugu writer Chalam observed, when one cannot express gratitude, one should at least honour the teacher with a bow before moving forward. Without this grace, the act of taking becomes an act of theft. In the village fields, if you pluck a vegetable without asking, it is called stealing; if you ask and receive, it is mutual respect.

Marx’s DNA

Instead of honouring those from whom he drew inspiration, Marx often chose to criticise and belittle them. This tendency has embedded itself deeply in the DNA of Marxist movements, persisting to this day.

Whenever issues such as caste oppression, Dalit struggles, regional disparities, gender inequality, systemic exploitation, or internal colonialism are first raised, the Marxist instinct is often to attack the pioneers who bring them to the fore—ridiculing, dismissing, or branding them as adversaries.

Yet those very movements, led by new and independent leadership, gather strength, become mass forces, and change the political landscape. Only later, when Marxists realise they have been left behind, do they suddenly claim enlightenment—as though the ideas had originated with them all along. But even then, instead of joining the movement under its existing leadership, they insist the movement must fall under their own banner.

This inherited attitude—passed down like an infection from Marx himself—has been a recurring flaw within the left.

Patchwork Philosophies

Thus, the great river of ideas—this international bank of thought—has grown by absorbing countless philosophies, strategies, and tactical maneuvers. It has become, in a sense, a patchwork quilt stitched together from the cloth of many minds.

But Marx often looked down upon those who rose from the ranks of the poor. He treated them with a certain disdain. His dismissal of Proudhon fractured the international socialist camp into two: one side became the Marxists; the other, the French Socialists.

The ideal of “liberty, equality, fraternity” was the heritage of the French Socialists.

The Legacy of French Socialism in India

In India, leaders such as Ram Manohar Lohia, Jayaprakash Narayan, and Madhu Limaye belonged to the intellectual and political lineage of Proudhon and the French Socialists. By diminishing the historical importance of Proudhon and the French socialist tradition, the socialist camp in India itself became fragmented.

I believe the chief cause of this fragmentation was the egoistic streak in Marx’s character—a trait that made him dismissive of those whose ideas had influenced him.

Proudhon’s Rise

Proudhon was a socialist and philosopher, the founder of mutualist philosophy, and an economist of rare originality. After the French Revolution of 1848, he was elected to the French Parliament. He described himself as a federalist—a synthesis of free association and individualism—an approach later labelled both “individualist anarchism” and “social anarchism.”

Born in Besançon, Proudhon taught himself Latin so that he could print books properly. His seminal work, What Is Property?, was published in 1840, in which he famously declared, “Property is theft.” It was this work that drew Marx into correspondence with him, initiating an exchange of letters in which each influenced the other.

When Marx, expelled from his homeland, came to France, he met Proudhon. In 1846, Proudhon published The Philosophy of Poverty, exploring the contradictions of economic systems. Rather than engaging with its arguments respectfully, Marx retaliated with a provocatively titled book, The Poverty of Philosophy. The tone of this work effectively ended their friendship.

This intellectual rift would become one of the roots of the later split between anarchism and Marxism within the International Workingmen’s Association.

Proudhon established workers’ councils and cooperatives, believing that small-scale private farming could be achieved through a peaceful social revolution. He proposed a national bank to provide interest-free loans.

His early life was shaped by hardship. His mother taught him to read, and, through special concessions, secured his admission to college despite their poverty. He endured humiliation from wealthier classmates and often sought refuge in libraries. In 1827, he began work as an apprentice in a printing press. The next year, he joined the press owned by the family of his schoolmate, Antoine Gauthier, in Baume-les-Dames.

Proudhon read deeply in religious literature, questioning it as he went, and eventually left Christianity behind. In What Is Property?, he wrote that his religious journey had begun with Protestantism and ended with Neo-Christianity. By 1829, his focus had shifted from religion to social questions.

He became acquainted with Charles Fourier when Fourier visited the press to print his book. Proudhon not only proofread the text but engaged in conversations that left a lifelong impression. His intellectual horizons expanded through reading French literature, including the works of Gustave Flaubert and Michel de Montaigne.

By September 1830, Proudhon had earned his certificate as a journeyman compositor. Yet unemployment and poverty followed. When his printing business failed in 1838, he turned wholly to scholarship. Over time, he moderated some of his views—The Principle of Federation (1863) softened his earlier anti-state stance, advocating instead for a form of self-regulating government.

Like the Buddha, Proudhon envisioned a decentralised, cooperative society. But while he was labelled an “anarchist” in a pejorative sense, Marx appropriated parts of his thought and reframed them—claiming, for example, that the state would eventually “wither away” under communism, thus postponing the change Proudhon believed should begin immediately.

International Splits

The Marx–Proudhon dispute became one of the key causes of the ideological and organisational split between anarchism and Marxism within the International Workingmen’s Association.

Proudhon’s political vision led him to establish workers’ councils and cooperative associations. He believed that individual peasant ownership could be secured through peaceful, evolutionary change rather than violent revolution. His economic programme included the creation of a national bank offering interest-free loans—a way to empower workers and small farmers without exploitation.

Proudhon’s life story was one of relentless struggle against poverty. His mother, determined that her son should be educated, secured his entry into college on a fee concession. There, he endured humiliation at the hands of wealthier students, yet found solace in the library. In 1827, he began his career as an apprentice printer, later joining the press owned by his schoolmate Antoine Gauthier’s family in Baume-les-Dames.

Religious literature was his earliest field of study. But his readings led him to question dogma, and ultimately he abandoned Christianity. In What Is Property?, he described his spiritual journey as beginning with Protestantism and ending with Neo-Christianity. By 1829, his attention had shifted entirely from theology to social problems.

His encounter with Charles Fourier proved formative: while overseeing the printing of Fourier’s work, Proudhon engaged in discussions that influenced him for life. From there, his intellectual appetite widened to include French literary masters like Gustave Flaubert and Michel de Montaigne.

In September 1830, Proudhon qualified as a journeyman compositor, but soon faced unemployment and hardship. After his printing business failed in 1838, he devoted himself to scholarship. In The Principle of Federation (1863), he revised his earlier rejection of the state, instead advocating a form of decentralised, self-regulating governance.

Buddha’s teachings found an echo in Proudhon’s thought: both rejected centralised authority and emphasised mutual aid. Yet where Proudhon was smeared as an “anarchist” in the pejorative sense, Marx absorbed some of his concepts, repackaging them under communist theory—claiming that the state would “wither away” in time, thereby deferring the very transformation Proudhon believed should begin at once.

Conclusion: Proudhon, Buddha, Ambedkar, and the Democratic Continuum

Proudhon’s vision, like that of the Buddha, Jiddu Krishnamurti, Bertrand Russell, Ambedkar, and other champions of liberty, rested on the idea that genuine change must begin in the present—not in some distant utopia. Each in their own way sought to decentralise power, foster mutual aid, and build societies grounded in dignity, equality, and compassion.

This spirit is woven into India’s own parliamentary democracy, which owes part of its ideological heritage to the French socialist tradition. Yet many on the Left have failed to acknowledge this lineage. The result has been fragmentation—splits born of ego, doctrinal rigidity, and the inability to integrate diverse struggles under one united vision.

Today, the lessons of Proudhon are more urgent than ever. His insistence on peaceful transformation, mutual respect among allies, and the rejection of exploitation—whether economic, social, or political—resonates deeply in a world still marred by inequality. His life also offers a cautionary tale: that movements falter when they dismiss the contributions of others, when they cling to inflexible orthodoxies, or when they allow leadership to become detached from the people it claims to represent.

In the Indian context, recognising the shared principles between socialist, Bahujan, feminist, and regional movements could forge new coalitions—alliances that work not under the shadow of a single ideology, but in the light of shared purpose. Just as tributaries join to form a great river, diverse streams of struggle can merge into a powerful current for change, provided they flow together with mutual respect and common resolve.

Proudhon’s life reminds us that the “great river” of philosophy is not born in a single place, nor owned by a single mind. It is a confluence—of countless drops, rivulets, and tributaries—each carrying the rainwater of human thought, each nourishing the ocean of human freedom.