In the United States, the technological optimism that accompanied the birth and diffusion of the magnetic telegraph between 1844 and 1880 had few predecessors-if any. Commercial telegraphy was barely a year old in 1847 when the telegraph was seen as “facilitating Human Intercourse and producing Harmony among Men and Nations\….[I]t may be regarded as an important element in Moral Progress.” “The telegraph system is invaluable,” a business journalist declared twenty years later, “and when the missing links shall have been completed of the great chain that will bring all civilized nations into instantaneous communication with each other, it will also be found to be the most potent of all the means of civilization, and the most effective in breaking down the barriers of evil prejudice and custom that interfere with the universal exchange of commodities.”

From its beginning Japanese industry was marked by a scattering of large and heavily capitalized enterprises which, as their size and number increased between 1890 and 1920, became the scene of labor unrest. In historical accounts of this early period of labor relations, workers are strangely shadowy figures, considering their centrality. They come into focus mainly at moments of crisis when they are seen to be overcoming their past, increasing their consciousness both of rights and of the need for organization and class solidarity. This developing consciousness issued at last in a sudden growth of unions between 1918 and the mid-1920s. Even before this time, however, because of fear of unions and government intervention and the need to reduce the amount of labor turnover, management had begun efforts to bring workers under greater psychological control. These efforts were now intensified, and the measures adopted—welfare services, greater security of employment, semiannual bonuses, separation pay, regular raises, factory committees—aided by a stagnant economy and unemployment throughout the 1920s, were spectacularly successful. By the early 1930s the unions were everywhere in retreat from large enterprises. The victory over worker consciousness seemed won and in fact held until 1945, when, in the aftermath of national defeat, the struggle was renewed.

Brokers or middlemen have been called a key element in preindustrial economic development, facilitating the exchange of goods within the domestic economy and opening rural production systems to foreign markets. Though Chinese society historically boasted a vigorous brokerage system, many studies of Chinese brokers have viewed them as obstacles to the development of entrepreneurship and capitalist transformation. China's brokers were limited, it is argued, by larger structural constraints—the bonds of custom and community, a preindustrial mode of production, a particular form of state organization and ideology—that inhibited entrepreneurial activities. This view is best reflected in the writings of Marxist historians who claim that brokers in China's presocialist society were an integral part of a feudal system in which landlords and the state dominated the peasant/worker economy, preventing the flowering of the “capitalist sprouts” shooting forth from China's towns and villages.

The title of this essay is intentionally ambiguous because both sets of issues I propose to consider may conveniently be placed under its heading. I wish to discuss not only Marx's political theory, but also Marx's relationship to the tradition of political theory—or, more precisely, to a particular view of that tradition. Of course, as I shall attempt to demonstrate, these are not separable, but are interrelated subjects, such that a discussion of the one implicitly restates a discussion of the other.

This is a strange enterprise and an incautious one. What do we find reasonably to compare in two systems so contradictory to each other's basic premises? Are they not mirror images, opposite in every particular? Even so, while living and teaching at Moscow University in 1979, where during the spring semester it was my task to offer a course of lectures and small group instruction on American history to some forty students majoring in the subject (and to their faculty), comparative reflections were irresistible. Tracing parallels between the two countries is a risky undertaking for someone who is an Americanist and must rely upon the scholarship of others for the Soviet dimension, but what is intended here is an essay of suggestion only.

The study of material culture and geography is relatively new and underdeveloped in most fields of history, but this underdevelopment is particularly acute for the history of the Middle East since the rise of Islam. Although, for most historians, the period when nearly everything in Middle Eastern history was ascribed to Islam has passed, and there is a new awareness of socioeconomic factors, discussions of these factors often overstress trade or center almost exclusively around dependent relations with the West, virtually ignoring specific internal developments in Middle Eastern material culture and ecology that help explain Middle Eastern history. This essay will suggest what may be learned from such studies by drawing attention to some of the relevant conclusions of works written on these subjects. It will also show how study of material culture can illuminate phases of development and decline in the Middle East and suggest some reasons why the West overtook and passed the Middle East economically.