The ruling class searches for an alibi

Across Europe, young people and workers are entering open political struggle. In France, high school students have blockaded hundreds of schools over crumbling infrastructure. In Belgium, students have joined workers on strike against austerity. In Madrid, tens of thousands have marched against a housing crisis that has become a social catastrophe. These movements terrify the ruling class because they expose the bankruptcy of European capitalism and risk uniting workers across generations in a common fight against austerity, war, and social decay.

Into this crisis steps Sir Niall Ferguson, a Hoover Institution fellow, Harvard-affiliated historian, and managing director of New York advisory firm Greenmantle. Ferguson is no neutral observer: he is a paid strategist for the investors whose interests he defends. His essay, Why Europe Is Burning, is an ideological intervention designed to disarm the emerging movement. Its message to young people is simple: don’t blame capitalism; blame your grandparents. This is not analysis but class propaganda.

Ferguson opens with contempt. He mocks French lycée students demanding investment in education for “filling the streets with burning garbage” and “waving Palestinian flags.” He sneers that their first demonstration resembles a Catholic child’s first Communion, a ritual, not a political act. Madrid’s youth are “incensed (they claim)” about housing. This sneering tone is designed to delegitimise young people’s grievances by portraying them as irrational or unserious. Ferguson omits the documented reality: schools plagued by water leaks, rat infestations and collapsing ceilings; more than half of France’s high schools blockaded or closed; mass repression, including hundreds of arrests in a single day; and a student in Lens who lost his hand to police weaponry. Ferguson omits these facts because they point directly to the capitalist state’s responsibility.

Ferguson’s central argument is that Europe’s fiscal crisis stems from a “war of the generations.” He claims politicians have been “bribing” pensioners, who are numerous and vote, and insists that the young are paying for the old. Yet Ferguson’s own figures undermine his case. He acknowledges that ageing accounts for only two-fifths of the increase in public debt since 2000. The other three-fifths stem from bank bailouts after the 2008 crash, trillions poured into financial markets during the pandemic, tax cuts for the wealthy, discretionary spending, and rising interest costs. He also concedes that pension spending is not exploding: OECD projections show it rising modestly, from 8.8 to 10 per cent of GDP by 2050, because governments have already cut benefits and raised retirement ages.

In other words, the debt explosion is overwhelmingly the result of state transfers to capital, not payments to retirees. Ferguson’s generational framing is therefore not analysis but ideology. It replaces class with age, obscuring the role of the banks, landlords, and investors who pay him.

Reality exposes the fraud. In Madrid, the movement began with the eviction of 87-year-old Maricarmen Abascal; her death then brought 20,000 people into the streets. Young protesters saw her not as a privileged pensioner, but as a victim of the same property speculators who prey on them. In Brussels, young and old marched side by side against austerity. Ferguson’s generational war falls apart on contact with real struggle. His solution is a European Javier Milei: mass layoffs, pension cuts, gutted universities, and the destruction of public services. The investor class demands that workers and young people pay for the crisis, and pay even more.

The protests in Paris, Brussels, and Madrid are early signs of a wider working-class movement against austerity, war, and inequality. Ferguson’s essay is a response from the financial aristocracy to this resistance. Young people seeking a way forward will not find one in generational blame or nationalist demagogy. The answer lies in uniting workers and young people across generations and borders against the system that produces war, debt, and decay, and in expropriating the oligarchy’s fortunes.

Contempt for the youth: the opening move of reaction

Ferguson is not interested in the reality documented for Europe’s youth. In France, the movement began not in elite lycées but in Paris’s deprived suburbs. On the movement’s largest day, more than half of all high schools were blockaded or closed. This was no symbolic gesture; it was a mass refusal to accept conditions considered intolerable in any wealthy society. The state responded with repression, not repairs or investment. More than 600 people were arrested in a single day, and a student in Lens lost his hand to police weaponry. Ferguson’s narrative omits these facts because they point directly to the capitalist state’s responsibility. Acknowledging them would mean confronting the social devastation wrought by decades of austerity.

The same pattern is evident across Europe. In Madrid, the housing crisis has become catastrophic. Rents have climbed nearly 70 per cent in the past decade, driven by speculation, touristification, and investment funds taking over entire neighbourhoods. Tens of thousands marched following the eviction of 87-year-old Maricarmen Abascal, whose death the next day came to symbolise the brutality of Spain’s housing regime. Young people did not view her as a privileged pensioner living at their expense. They saw her as another victim of the same property speculators who prey on them. Ferguson’s generational narrative collapses when confronted with these realities: the conflict is not between young and old, but between the working class and the financial oligarchy.

In Belgium, students joined striking workers in opposing austerity measures that would make workers, pensioners, and low-income households shoulder the burden of deficit reduction. Unions called for higher taxes on top earners instead of cuts to health care and a VAT hike. Young and old marched together, recognising that the crisis is not generational but class-based. This unity is precisely what Ferguson fears. His essay seeks to break it by replacing class with age and turning anger away from the banks, landlords, and investors- the very forces he advises through his firm, Greenmantle.

Ferguson’s contempt for youth is therefore not merely personal disdain; it is ideological. By depicting young people as naïve, emotional, or indoctrinated, he seeks to discredit their demands and obscure the structural causes of their suffering. His sneering tone mirrors the austerity he advocates. If youth are irrational, people can dismiss their calls for investment in schools, housing, and public services. If their protests are mere rituals, state repression can be justified. And if their anger is misdirected, the real culprits the banks bailed out in 2008, the investors enriched during the pandemic, the landlords driving up rents, and the governments slashing social spending can escape scrutiny.

The facts Ferguson leaves out are not incidental; they are essential. They reveal a Europe where public infrastructure is collapsing, social inequality is widening, and the basic conditions of life are worsening for millions. They show a ruling class that responds to every crisis- financial, social, or geopolitical- by demanding sacrifices from workers and young people while protecting elite wealth. They also show a generation entering political struggle not because of “indoctrination,” but because the system offers them no future.

Ferguson’s contempt reflects the ruling class’s contempt for those it has impoverished. His omissions reflect an apologist for capital. His narrative serves as an ideological weapon to divide the working class and disarm its emerging movement. He suppresses a reality we must confront: Europe is burning because capitalism is rotting.

The “war of the generations”: a statistical fraud

Ferguson’s central argument is that Europe’s fiscal crisis is caused by a “war of the generations.” Politicians, he claims, have been “bribing” pensioners, who are numerous and vote. The young, he insists, are paying for the old. This framing is not merely superficial; it is a deliberate ideological construction. It turns a crisis rooted in capitalism’s contradictions into a moral fable about selfish grandparents and naïve youth. It is designed to pit workers against one another rather than against the ruling class that has engineered the crisis.

But Ferguson’s own figures contradict him. He acknowledges that ageing accounts for only two-fifths of the rise in public debt since 2000. The other three-fifths stem from forces unrelated to pensioners and closely tied to the financial aristocracy: bank bailouts after the 2008 crash, when governments transferred trillions to rescue the very institutions whose speculation triggered the crisis; trillions poured into financial markets during the pandemic, not to protect public health or workers’ incomes, but to stabilise asset prices and guarantee investor profits; tax cuts for the wealthy, which have depleted public revenues while enriching society’s top layers; discretionary spending, including corporate subsidies and military outlays; and rising interest costs, driven by central bank policies and bond-market demands.

These admissions undermine Ferguson’s thesis. If ageing accounts for only a minority of the rise in debt, then state transfers to capital account for the majority. The surge in public debt does not result from pensioners voting themselves largesse. Rather, it stems from governments socialising bank losses, inflating financial markets, and cutting taxes for the rich. Pensioners are not beneficiaries of this process; they are among its victims. Ferguson further concedes that pensions are not exploding.

OECD projections show public pension spending rising modestly, from 8.8 per cent to 10 per cent of GDP by 2050. This is not a crisis but a controlled increase following decades of cuts, higher retirement ages, and restricted coverage. In many countries, pensioners have already seen their real incomes fall. Portraying them as a privileged caste draining public finances is a grotesque distortion.

In other words, the debt explosion stems overwhelmingly from state transfers to capital, not payments to retirees. Ferguson’s generational framing is therefore ideology, not analysis. It replaces class with age and obscures the role of the banks, landlords, and investors- the very people who pay him. This substitution serves a clear political purpose: if the crisis is generational, the solution is to make the old pay more, cut their pensions further, and intensify competition between generations. If it is class-based, the solution is to confront the financial oligarchy, expropriate its wealth, and redirect resources to social needs. Ferguson’s argument is designed to prevent the second conclusion and promote the first.

Ferguson’s generational narrative is an ideological weapon designed to divide workers and young people just as they are beginning to unite. It defends the financial aristocracy under the guise of concern for the young. The reality he suppresses is clear: Europe’s fiscal crisis stems from capitalism’s decay, not pensioners’ selfishness. The wealth needed to fund schools, housing, and pensions lies in the oligarchy’s fortunes, which Ferguson serves.

War and markets: the real trigger of Europe’s crisis

Ferguson acknowledges that the immediate shock came from the US–Israeli war against Iran, which began at the end of February. More than seven months later, the war continues to destabilise global energy markets and raise borrowing costs. This admission fatally undermines his argument. If Europe’s fiscal crisis was triggered by an imperialist war waged by Washington and its allies, then recasting it as a generational conflict is exposed as a political diversion. The crisis does not result from pensioners voting for their own benefit; it stems from militarism, financial speculation, and the subordination of every aspect of social life to the interests of the capitalist class.

Ferguson notes that French 10-year yields rose from 3.22 per cent to 4.87 per cent, while public debt reached 119 per cent of GDP. These figures do not reflect demographic change; they directly result from war and the financial markets’ response. When energy prices spike, shipping routes are disrupted, and geopolitical instability spreads across the Middle East, bond markets demand higher returns. Governments then pass these costs on to workers through austerity. This is the mechanism of modern imperialism: war drives up the cost of capital, and capital demands that society pay the bill.

Ferguson’s solution makes the old pay too much, which widens the attack on the working class. It is not a critique of austerity but an extension of it. He accepts the premise that workers and youth must bear the burden of rising debt, and merely insists that pensioners should be included in the sacrifice. This is not opposition to austerity; it is austerity intensified. It is the financial aristocracy demanding that every section of the working class, from students to retirees, be made to pay for a crisis they did not create.

The war against Iran is not an aberration. It is part of a broader imperialist offensive driven by the crisis of world capitalism. Facing economic decline and geopolitical challenges, the United States has increasingly turned to militarism to maintain its global dominance. Europe, tied to Washington through NATO and dependent on global energy markets, is dragged into these conflicts. The result is soaring military budgets, rising borrowing costs, and deepening social cuts. Ferguson’s generational narrative conceals this reality. By focusing on pensioners, he obscures the role of the banks, the bond markets, and the military‑industrial complex.

The rise in French borrowing costs is not natural. Financial markets punish governments for geopolitical instability created by the very imperialist policies Ferguson supports. Public debt reaching 119 per cent of GDP does not result from retirees receiving modest pensions. It results from trillions transferred to banks during crises, trillions more pumped into financial markets during the pandemic, and the enormous costs of war. Ferguson’s argument is therefore not simply false; it is a conscious inversion of reality. He blames the victims of austerity for the consequences of the policies he advocates.

The purpose of this inversion is clear. If the crisis is caused by war and financial speculation, then the solution is to oppose war and expropriate the financial oligarchy. If pensioners cause the crisis, then the solution is to cut pensions and raise retirement ages. Ferguson’s narrative exists to prevent the first conclusion and promote the second. It is an ideological weapon aimed at dividing the working class and redirecting anger away from the ruling class.

The reality he suppresses is that Europe’s fiscal crisis is inseparable from imperialist war. The working class is being told to pay for the bombs dropped on Iran, for the weapons sent to Israel, and for the rising interest demanded by the markets. Ferguson’s proposal to make the old pay too is not a critique of this system but a demand to sacrifice its victims further. The answer lies not in generational blame but in a unified struggle of workers and youth against war, austerity, and the capitalist system that produces them.

Generation as a substitute for class

Ferguson’s ideological sleight of hand replaces class with age. His prize statistic, taken from the Wall Street Journal, shows wealth rising for Americans over 75 and falling for those under 35. But median wealth by age tells you nothing about who owns the wealth. It is a statistical trick that dissolves class relations into demographic categories. It lumps together the retired factory worker in Lille and the billionaire shareholder in Neuilly and calls them both “seniors.” The purpose is obvious. By collapsing class into age, Ferguson erases the capitalist class. His clients the investors, fund managers, and financial institutions he advises through Greenmantle disappear into the statistical fog. The billionaire and the pensioner become indistinguishable, and the real structure of wealth ownership is concealed.

This is not an innocent mistake. It is a deliberate ideological manoeuvre. If wealth is described only in terms of age, then the young can be encouraged to resent the old rather than the capitalist class. In Ferguson’s narrative, the retired worker living on a modest pension becomes part of a privileged cohort hoarding resources at the expense of youth. Meanwhile, the real beneficiaries of the past four decades- the banks bailed out in 2008, the corporations enriched during the pandemic, the landlords driving up rents, and the investors profiting from austerity- remain invisible.

The Madrid movement makes Ferguson’s argument collapse instantly. If the old were the privileged class, why would the eviction of an elderly woman spark mass outrage among the young? Why would her death become a symbol of the brutality of the housing crisis? The answer is simple: because the conflict is not generational. It is class‑based. Young and old alike are victims of the same capitalist forces landlords, banks, and investment funds that Ferguson represents.

The same dynamic was visible in Brussels. There, young people joined striking workers and pensioners in mass demonstrations against austerity measures that would hit every section of the working class. The unions demanded higher taxes on the highest earners rather than cuts to health care and a VAT hike. Young and old marched together, united by the recognition that the crisis is not caused by pensioners receiving modest benefits but by the capitalist class demanding ever greater sacrifices from society.

Ferguson’s generational war collapses at the first contact with actual struggle. It is an ideological construction designed to divide the working class just as it begins to unite. By portraying pensioners as a privileged caste, Ferguson seeks to redirect youth anger away from the banks, landlords, and investors the real architects of Europe’s crisis and toward their own grandparents. It is a classic strategy of reaction: turn the oppressed against one another so they don’t recognise their common enemy. The reality he suppresses is clear. Europe’s crisis is not generational. It is the product of capitalism’s decay, imperialist war, and the domination of society by a financial oligarchy. Young people searching for a way forward will not find it in Ferguson’s statistical distortions. They will find it in workers’ unity across generations and borders against the system that exploits them all.

Equating socialism with fascism: the oldest trick in the book

Ferguson claims the left offers socialism and the right offers “national socialism,” and that both converge on industrial policy, public ownership, rent controls, and “blaming Israel.” This is not an analytical argument but a century‑old reactionary trope: the deliberate conflation of socialism with fascism to delegitimise any anti‑capitalist politics. It is the same device used by Cold War ideologues, by Thatcherite polemicists, and by every defender of the capitalist order who needs to portray socialism as inherently authoritarian. By equating socialism with “national socialism,” Ferguson erases the fundamental distinction between a movement rooted in the international unity of the working class and a movement rooted in chauvinism, racism, and the defence of private property. The purpose is to smear the left, sanitise the right, and present capitalism as the only legitimate political horizon.

This rhetorical manoeuvre also serves another function: it obscures the fact that the far right in Europe is not an external threat encroaching on the political mainstream but a product of the mainstream itself. The same governments that slash social spending, militarise borders, and scapegoat migrants cultivate the conditions in which fascist forces grow. The same media outlets that denounce “extremism” amplify anti‑immigrant narratives. The same political establishment that claims to defend democracy adopts the policies of the far right. Ferguson’s argument conceals this reality by pretending that socialism and fascism are mirror images, equally dangerous, equally irrational, equally detached from the “sensible centre” he inhabits.

He then predicts that youth may turn to burning asylum‑seekers’ hotels and synagogues as if this were meteorological inevitability rather than the product of the very anti‑immigrant hysteria he amplifies. He writes as though racist violence simply descends from the sky, as though young people spontaneously become fascists without any influence from the media, the state, or the political establishment. In reality, such violence is the direct outcome of policies and narratives promoted by figures like Ferguson: the demonisation of migrants, the portrayal of refugees as a burden, the insistence that social decay is caused by outsiders rather than by capitalism.

Ferguson’s warning is therefore deeply cynical. He scapegoats migrants while warning that others might do the same. He fuels the fire and then pretends to fear the flames. His prediction of youth burning synagogues is not a neutral forecast but a political provocation, designed to smear the emerging youth movement by associating it with fascist violence. It is an attempt to delegitimise mass protests by suggesting they could slide into pogroms. This suggestion has no basis in reality but serves the ideological needs of the ruling class.

The truth is that Europe’s youth are not turning to fascism. They are turning to collective struggle against austerity, war, and social inequality. They are marching alongside pensioners, migrant workers, and the unemployed. They are demanding investment in schools, housing, and public services. Ferguson’s attempt to portray them as potential fascists is a reactionary fantasy aimed at discrediting their movement and protecting the capitalist system that has produced the crisis.

His argument is not a warning but a threat: if youth do not accept austerity, they will be blamed for extremism. The real danger comes not from the youth but from the ruling class that is stoking nationalism, militarism, and xenophobia to defend its wealth.

What is really burning

The protests in Paris, Brussels, and Madrid are early signs of a broader working‑class movement against austerity, war, and inequality. They express a social reality no European government can stabilise: the capitalist system cannot meet even society’s most basic needs. Governments are collapsing because no faction of the ruling class can impose the cuts markets demand without provoking mass resistance. Every attempt to shift the burden onto workers, youth, pensioners, or migrants encounters immediate opposition. The political order is cracking under the pressure of its own contradictions.

Ferguson’s essay responds to the investor class’s resistance. It seeks not to understand the crisis but to contain it. His generational narrative divides workers by age, turns youth against pensioners, and obscures the role of banks, landlords, and financial institutions that have enriched themselves through decades of speculation, privatisation, and war. His scapegoating of migrants serves the same purpose: to redirect anger away from capital and toward the most vulnerable sections of society. It is an ideological shield for the ruling class at a moment when its legitimacy is openly challenged.

Young people searching for a way forward will not find it in Ferguson’s generational blame or in the nationalist programs of Le Pen and her equivalents. These forces offer only deeper austerity, intensified repression, and the poisonous politics of division. The real alternative lies in uniting workers and youth across generations and borders in a conscious struggle against the capitalist system that produces war, debt, and decay.

Resources for decent schools, affordable housing, and secure pensions are abundant. They are concentrated in the fortunes of the financial oligarchy Ferguson serves. The task is not to redistribute poverty among generations but to reclaim wealth stolen from society and use it to meet human needs.

Bibliography

Ferguson, Niall. Why Europe Is Burning. The Free Press / Niall Ferguson’s Time Machine, October 2026.

Organisation for Economic Co‑operation and Development (OECD). Pensions at a Glance 2023: OECD and G20 Indicators. OECD Publishing, Paris, 2023.

Wall Street Journal. “Wealth by Age Cohort in the United States.” WSJ Data Feature, 2026.

Taiwan News. “French High School Protests Escalate; Over 600 Arrested.” Taiwan News, September 2026.

Euronews. “Belgium: Workers and Students Strike Against Austerity Measures.” Euronews, October 2026.

Internazionale. “Brussels Mobilises Against Government Cuts.” Internazionale, October 2026.

El País. “La tragedia de Maricarmen Abascal y la crisis de vivienda en Madrid.” El País, 8–9 October 2026.

Gregorio Marañón Hospital, Madrid. Public Statement on the Death of Maricarmen Abascal, 8 October 2026.

OECD. Economic Outlook 2026. OECD Publishing, Paris, 2026.

French Ministry of Education. “État des lycées en France: Rapport sur les infrastructures scolaires.” Government Report, 2025–2026.

French Ministry of the Interior. “Arrests and Public Order Measures During Student Demonstrations.” Press Release, September 2026.

European Central Bank (ECB). Euro Area Bond Market Developments. ECB Statistical Bulletin, 2026.

Ministry of Finance, France. “French Sovereign Debt and Bond Yields: 2025–2026.” Government Statistical Release, October 2026.

World Bank. Global Housing Market Trends 2015–2025. World Bank Publications, Washington, 2025.

International Energy Agency (IEA). Energy Market Impacts of Middle East Conflict. IEA Briefing Paper, 2026.

Hoover Institution. “Profile: Niall Ferguson.” Stanford University, 2026.

Introduction: Reclaiming Antiquity for Historical Materialism

G.E.M. de Ste. Croix’s 1982 publication, The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World, marked a pivotal moment in twentieth-century historiography. During a period when structuralism, Weberian sociology, and the “cultural turn” were weakening the explanatory role of class analysis, de Ste. Croix presented a comprehensive 700-page argument showing that the ancient world was fundamentally organised around relations of exploitation. This book is regarded as “one of the great works of Marxist historiography,’ applying historical materialism across the entire span of Greco-Roman antiquity.

This review places de Ste. Croix within the wider historiographical context, outlines his key arguments, and evaluates his impact on Marxist theory and ancient studies. It emphasises that his main contribution was not just his impressive knowledge—though his mastery of sources was remarkable—but also his revival of class struggle as the driving force in ancient history. Challenging the dominant Weberian view held by Moses Finley and others, de Ste. Croix argued that the crucial issue in any mode of production is how surplus value is extracted, asserting that the ancient world was primarily characterised by the exploitation of unfree labour, especially enslaved people.

I. The Finley–Weber Paradigm: Status, Not Class

By the middle of the 20th century, the exploration of the ancient world was mainly influenced by a Weberian approach emphasising status groups, legal categories, and political institutions. Moses Finley, a prominent ancient historian, argued that Greek and Roman societies were structured around status rather than class divisions. He explicitly stated that ancient societies organised themselves into various political statuses, including citizen, metic, freedman, and enslaved person, thereby rendering the idea of class an unnecessary classification.

Finley’s argument was based on two main points: first, that social status hierarchy outweighed economic position, as a wealthy metic in Athens did not have the political rights of a poor citizen; second, that ancient ideology was mainly political rather than economic, since ancient writers portrayed social conflict through citizenship, honour, and legal privileges. Consequently, modern historians should consider this perspective.

This approach seemed sophisticated, rejecting simple economic determinism and emphasising the independence of politics. It also aligned with the mid-20th-century trend toward sociological pluralism. However, its impact was to eliminate the idea of class struggle in the ancient world, turning it into a realm of fixed hierarchies rather than active conflict.

De Ste. Croix understood that this issue was not just a methodological mistake but also an ideological one. Accordingly, he viewed Finley’s criticism as identical to the opposition Marx encountered: the assertion that ancient society was centred on politics, much as medieval society was centred on religion. In both instances, the ideological appearance was confused with the actual social structure.

II. De Ste. Croix’s Reconstruction of Class: Surplus Extraction as the Key

De Ste. Croix’s main contribution was redefining class as the key analytical category in ancient history. He revisited Marx’s original view of class as a relation of exploitation rather than merely a sociological group. The crucial question shifts from the legal status of individuals to how the dominant property-owning classes extract surplus value from direct producers. This idea is  summarised thus: “The most significant distinguishing feature of any mode of production is not how the bulk of labour is done, but how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus…”

This formulation is fundamental to de Ste. Croix’s approach. It helps him pierce the ideological haze in ancient political discourse to reveal the underlying mechanisms of exploitation: slavery as the main means of surplus extraction, with rent, debt, and taxation serving as secondary tools applied to free producers. State coercion acts as the enforcement of elite dominance. In contrast to Finley, de Ste. Croix argued that the ancient world was not “pre-economic” but pre-capitalist, with an economy not driven by markets or profit motives. Nonetheless, it was an economy where the propertied classes derived their wealth from the surplus generated by enslaved people, peasants, and dependent workers.

This method enabled de Ste. Croix to incorporate the full scope of Greco-Roman history into a unified materialist framework, spanning from the Archaic Age to the Arab conquests. It also helped him interpret the political crises of antiquity—such as stasis, civil war, and revolution—not as anomalies but as manifestations of fundamental class conflicts.

III. Aristotle as a Witness to Class Antagonism

One of de Ste. Croix’s most insightful historiographical strategies was to view ancient authors not just as sources of information but as commentators on their own social contexts. Aristotle, specifically, can be seen as an early thinker resembling a proto-Marxist in his analysis of class struggle. He believed that a man’s economic status is the key factor shaping his political actions. Although he recognises the existence of middle groups, Aristotle often simplifies political conflict into a division between property owners and non-owners.

This divide becomes more pronounced during crises when the fundamental opposition between the rich and the poor becomes evident. Aristotle’s concern about stasis—civil unrest caused by class struggles—shows his keen understanding of the built-in tensions within the polis. De Ste. Croix points out that Aristotle’s approach closely resembles Marx’s methodology. This is not an anachronistic misinterpretation but an acknowledgement that ancient thinkers also saw politics as driven by material interests.

By emphasising Aristotle’s class analysis, de Ste. Croix challenges the Weberian idea that class is a modern concept unrelated to antiquity. Instead, he shows that the ancients had a distinct, although ideologically influenced, awareness of their own social classes.

IV. Democracy and Slavery: The Political Economy of the Polis

One of the most debated points in de Ste. Croix’s work is his claim that the structure of Athenian democracy relied on slavery. This challenges both idealised views of ancient democracy and revisionist theories tracing its origins to the free peasantry. “He understood that it was based on slavery… [the propertied class] intensified their exploitation of those who could not defend themselves: the slaves.” This is not a moral judgment but a materialist analysis. The reforms by Solon and Cleisthenes reduced elite exploitation of citizens, compelling the propertied classes to shift their oppression onto enslaved individuals. Therefore, the democratic rights of citizens were fundamentally linked to the subjugation of the enslaved.

De Ste. Croix also dismisses the idea that internal contradictions caused democracy to decline. Instead, it was toppled by the propertied classes, particularly after the Peloponnesian War, when oligarchic coups—supported by Sparta—aimed to re-establish elite control. Over time, citizens’ rights were gradually reduced until, by the third century CE, “a poor Roman citizen could legally be flogged and tortured—penalties once reserved for slaves.” This extended decline of democracy can only be understood through a class analysis: the propertied classes dismantled democratic institutions because those institutions limited their ability to extract surplus.

V. The Decline of Rome: Exploitation and the Collapse of Social Reproduction

De Ste. Croix offers a compelling materialist interpretation of the Roman Empire’s decline. He dismisses cultural, moral, and military reasons, asserting that Rome’s fall resulted from the ruling classes escalating exploitation, ultimately dismantling the empire’s social foundation. The propertied class “drained the life-blood from their world and thus destroyed Graeco-Roman civilisation…”

The oppressed populations, burdened by heavy taxes, military demands, and later by the parasitic Christian clergy, lacked motivation to protect the empire from barbarian invasions. The ruling elite, focusing on their immediate gains, weakened the long-term stability of the social system—an example of Marx’s concept of the “fetishism of private property.” This interpretation emphasises the role of the exploited classes: Rome’s fall was not solely due to external factors but also to internal exploitation, which rendered the empire unsustainable.

VI. The Peasantry Debate: Numbers vs Structure

A major debate in historiography focuses on the role of the peasantry. Ellen Meiksins Wood argued that Greek democracy relied on the free labour of independent smallholders, rather than slavery. In contrast, Ann Talbot criticises Wood’s view, describing it as “purely arithmetical and formal.”

The core issue is structural: the numerical majority of peasants does not influence the dynamics of the class struggle. Instead, what matters are the conflicts between rich and poor citizens, and between citizens and enslaved individuals. These contradictions, rather than demographic proportions, fuelled the political crises of antiquity. Therefore, De Ste. Croix’s analysis remains valid, even amidst revisionist efforts to downplay slavery’s importance.

Conclusion: De Ste. Croix’s Enduring Significance

De Ste. Croix’s intellectual and moral stature has remained strong over time. He “did not view the ancient world merely as a collection of dead structures; he engaged with its political struggles as if they were his own.” His work reflects the finest traditions of twentieth-century Marxism, influenced by the Russian Revolution and opposition to fascism.

De Ste. Croix proved that historical materialism extends beyond capitalism, shedding light on the entire class-based society. His contributions continue to be essential to understanding not only antiquity but also the ongoing mechanisms of exploitation and resistance across eras.

Historiographical Appendix: Finley, Wood, de Ste. Croix, and the WSWS Tradition

I. Introduction

Over the past fifty years, the study of the ancient world has been influenced by markedly different methodological approaches. These debates are not just about how to interpret Greek and Roman history but also concern the status of concepts like class, surplus extraction, and historical materialism as analytical tools. This appendix reviews four key perspectives: Moses Finley’s Weberian focus on status; Ellen Meiksins Wood’s ‘political Marxism’; G.E.M. de Ste. Croix’s traditional Marxism; and Trotskyist historiography.

This appendix sets a clear interpretive framework for the latter two, describing de Ste. Croix’s “Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World” as “one of the great works of Marxist historiography” and highlighting his claim that “the most significant distinguishing feature of any mode of production is… how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus.”¹

II. Moses Finley and the Weberian Displacement of Class

Finley’s work is the most significant effort to omit class as an explanatory factor in ancient history. Influenced by Max Weber, he contended that the ancient Mediterranean was mainly organised around status groups—such as citizens, metics, freedmen, and enslaved individuals—rather than economic classes.²  Finley argued that “ancient Greece and Rome were societies structured around a range of political statuses, making class an unsuitable category.”³

Finley’s argument was based on two key ideas: that social status took precedence over economic wealth. For example, a wealthy metic did not have the political rights of a poor citizen, and an imperial freedman could be wealthier than a senator but still hold a lower social status.⁴ Ancient ideology primarily focused on political issues rather than economic ones. Since ancient writers depicted conflict through themes of citizenship and honour, modern historians ought to approach it in a similar way.

Finley reshaped the ancient world into a realm of fixed social hierarchies, in which the processes of surplus extraction became less visible. His method was praised for its elegance but effectively blocked the use of historical materialism. As the referenced document mentions, de Ste. Croix saw this as similar to what Marx faced: the argument that ancient society was “based on politics” because its ideology expressed political ideas.⁵

III. Ellen Meiksins Wood and the Peasant‑Citizen Thesis

Ellen Meiksins Wood aimed to reposition class at the heart of ancient history. She achieved this by shifting the focus from slavery to the autonomous labour of smallholder farmers as the basis of Greek democracy. In her work Peasant-Citizen and Enslaved Person, she contended that the polis was a community of free producers whose political equality depended on their economic independence.⁶ Slavery existed, but it was not structurally constitutive of democracy.

In reference to Ann Talbot’s discussion in the WSWS, Wood’s method is characterised as “purely arithmetical and formal,” treating “peasant” as a generic label that overlooks the diversity among the numerous peasant societies throughout history.⁷ The issue is not about numbers but about structure: the key question is how surplus is extracted, rather than the number of peasants. Wood’s concept of ‘political Marxism” therefore tends to emphasise free labour and civic community as the main categories, often overlooking the slave mode of production as the fundamental basis of Athenian democracy.

IV. G.E.M. de Ste. Croix: Class as Surplus Extraction

De Ste. Croix’s intervention was to reexamine Marx’s initial idea of class as a relation of exploitation, focusing on the mode of surplus extraction rather than viewing class as just a sociological category. It is this process of surplus extraction that characterises class.⁸ “The most significant distinguishing feature of any mode of production is not how the bulk of labour is done, but how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus…”⁹

De Ste. Croix argued against Finley, asserting that the ancient world was not “status-based,” but instead a slave-based system where the propertied class gained surplus through the exploitation of unfree labour, mainly enslaved people. Regarding Wood, he contended that Athens’ democratic structure was fundamentally rooted in the organic link between citizen rights and the unfree status of slaves. The reforms introduced by Solon and Cleisthenes aimed to curb elite exploitation of citizens, which led the propertied classes to increase their exploitation of enslaved individuals.¹¹

De Ste. Croix’s approach also included a radical reinterpretation of ancient writers. For instance, Aristotle is seen not merely as a theorist of social hierarchies but as an analyst of class conflict shaped by ideological influences. He consistently simplifies political disputes into a dichotomy between hoi tas ousias echontes (property owners) and hoi aporoi (those without). As the uploaded document points out, Aristotle’s analysis closely resembles the approach used by Marx.”¹³

V. The Trotskyist Tradition: De Ste. Croix as a Model of Historical Materialism

The Trotskyist tradition regards de Ste. Croix as an example of authentic Marxist historiography. It commends him for dismissing “fashionable structuralism and ‘French phrasemongering’” and for showing “a true understanding of Marx and a dedication to the class struggle as essential to comprehending all human history.”¹⁴

This tradition’s reading is characterised by three features: historical materialism as a universal approach and recognition of the ancient world not as a pre-economic period but as a unique historical setting of exploitation and resistance. It also views democracy as a form of class rule, noting that Athenian democracy “was based on slavery,” and its fall was due to deliberate actions by the elite rather than internal decline.¹⁵ Elite self-destruction as a historical process: The Roman ruling class “drained the life-blood from their world and thus destroyed Graeco-Roman civilisation.”¹⁶ 

VI. Comparative Synthesis

The four positions can be outlined as follows: Finley emphasises status-centrism, with a marginalised view of class, analysing democracy through political structures; slavery is acknowledged but not viewed as structurally central. Wood reintroduces class, focusing on free smallholders, considers slavery as secondary, and sees democracy rooted in peasant-citizenship.

De Ste. Croix characterises class as the extraction of surplus, with slavery being fundamentally embedded in this process. He sees democracy as a form of rule based on slave exploitation. Trotskyists regard De Ste. Croix, as a key model, universalises the concept of class struggle and interprets ancient history through the framework of exploitation and resistance. His work is considered an essential resource for Marxists, showing that historical materialism explains the full scope of class society.”¹⁷

Notes

1. Appx. Doc., “G.E.M. de Ste. Croix’s The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World… stands as one of the great works of Marxist historiography,” and “The most significant distinguishing feature… is how the dominant propertied classes ensure the extraction of the surplus.”
2. Moses I. Finley, The Ancient Economy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973).
3. Appx. Doc., “Finley argued that ancient Greece and Rome were societies organised around a spectrum of political statuses… and that class was therefore an inappropriate category.”
4. Ibid.
5. Appx. Doc., “De Ste. Croix recognised this as the same objection Marx himself had faced…”
6. Ellen Meiksins Wood, Peasant-Citizen and enslaved person: The Foundations of Athenian Democracy (London: Verso, 1988).
7. Appx. Doc., “This is a purely arithmetical and formal approach… ‘peasant’ is an empty term…”
8. Karl Marx, Capital, vol. 3, ch. 47.
9. Appx. Doc., “The most significant distinguishing feature…”
10. Appx. Doc., “by the exploitation of unfree (especially slave) labour.”
11. Appx. Doc., “the constitutional measures… prevented the propertied class from exploiting the peasantry… [so] they intensified their exploitation of… slaves.”
12. Aristotle, Politics, 1279b–1281a.
13. Appx. Doc., “bears a remarkable resemblance to the method of approach adopted by Marx.”
14. Appx. Doc., “fashionable structuralism and ‘French phrasemongering’… genuine knowledge of Marx…”
15. Appx. Doc., “He understood that [democracy] was based on slavery.”
16. Appx. Doc., “drained the life-blood from their world and thus destroyed Graeco-Roman civilisation.”
17. Appx. Doc., “His work remains an indispensable resource for Marxists…”