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RUSSIAN EDITOR PROF. S. MOZIINYAGUX
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__COPYRIGHT__ First Printing 1969PUBLISHERS' NOTE
The essays in this collection Problems of Modern Aesthetics written by a team (if Soviet specialists deal with the most vital issues in modern aesthetics. They cover such topics as the ideal and the hero in art, the historical development of realism, the scope and limits of realism, tradition and innovation in the arts, the beauty of nature, and labour as a source of aesthetic feeling. Apart from treating current problems, the collection also offers material on the development of the concept of the popular nature of art, on international and national features of Soviet culture and discussions which have taken place in Soviet aesthetics on the nature of aesthetic sense.
The book is intended for the general reader with an interest in the cultural problems of the present day.
[3] ~ [4] CONTENTS Alcxci Metchcnko. THE BASIC PRINCIPLES OF SOVIET LITERATURE. Translated by Kate Cook........ 7 Ariatoly Dremov. THE IDEAL AND THE HERO IN ART. Translated by Kate Cook.............41! Georgy Lomidze. INTERNATIONAL AND NATIONAL FEATURES IN SOVIET CULTURE. Translated by Olga Slmrlse .... 5r> Pavel Trofimov. MUTUAL ENRICHMENT OF NATIONAL ARTS IN THE U.S.S.R. Translated by Mariam Kats......84 Nikolai Silayev. LABOUR---A SOURCE OF AESTHETIC FEELING. Translated by Lenina Ilyitskaija.......102 Victor Ronianenko. THE BEAUTY OF NATURE. Translated by Bernard Isaacs.................121 Ivan Astakhov. THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN AN OBJECT AND AESTHETIC FEELING. Translated by Bryan Bean . . 158 Alexander Myasnikov. TRADITION AND INNOVATION. Translated by Kate Cook...............187 Mikhail Ovsyannikov. THE ARTISTIC IMAGE. Translated by Kate Cook...................214 Sergei Mozhnyagun. UNADORNED MODERNISM. Translated by Don Donemanis.................227 Alexander Dymshits. REALISM AND MODERNISM. Translated by Kate Cook.................261 Nikolai Leizerov. THE SCOPE AND LIMITS OF REALISM. Translated by Kate Cook.............299 Boris Suchkov. REALISM AND ITS HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT. Translated by Kate Cook...........319 [5] ~ [6] __FIX__ In previous .tx files, just move author above title, combine author into title, and remove note that says: "Author moved..." __ALPHA_LVL1__ Alexei MetchenkoThe French newspaper Le Monde recently delected in Soviet writers ``a keen sense of longing" for the twenties. The same old story. The attitude of a few writers is taken to be the predominant attitude ``among the intelligentsia'', with the twenties naturally being represented as the period when modernism allegedly flourished in the Soviet Union.
We cannot remain indifferent to the fact that in addition to the constant attention which the bourgeois press pays to the ``longing for modernism" exaggerating it in every possible way and presenting it as the expression of ``freedom-loving'', ``progressive'' aspirations, the speeches of certain Soviet writers thrown off balance by the original, complex and demanding nature of the tasks facing the intelligentsia in the present day, have also contained vindications of modernist trends---not without foreign influence.
We arc building communism before the eyes of all mankind. It is not, therefore, surprising that in the modern world, which is still a long way from attaining unified aims and views, alongside the intense interest and sincere respect for our unparalleled new experiment we also encounter at every turn attempts to discredit this experiment and cast doubt on genuine works of artistic merit which reflect the heroic triumphs of the socialist society.
Among the great achievements of Soviet aesthetics constantly being subjected to savage attacks, Lenin's doctrine concerning the commitment of literature and the arts to parly and people occupies a central position. These 7 principles constitute the basis of socialist realism. They are not, and never can be, reconcilable with modernism. It is no accident that those who seek to reconcile them usually wish to do so at the expense of these basic premises.
__*_*_*__The twentieth century is rich in great scientific discoveries. Among these Lenin's principle of commitment to party ideals has played a special role in the development of social thought and the transformation of the world on a new socialist basis.
It is a scientific principle which gives succinct expression to the natural laws present in ideological phenomena from time immemorial.
The idea of ideological commitment was discussed by Goethe and Kant who differed in their assessment of it. It was Marxism, however, that created the necessary conditions for transforming it from a phenomenon accompanying the ideological struggle into a scientific principle capable of exerting a powerful influence on the outcome of this struggle. The principle of commitment to party ideals demanding: ``the direct and open adoption of the standpoint of a definite social group in any assessment of events"^^1^^ could assume the status of a scientific criterion only after Marx had discovered the laws of social development.
The Leninist principle of the commitment of literature and the arts to party ideals was first formulated concisely but penetratingly in the article ``Party Organisation and Party Literature" written in 1905. It shows that already the conditions of the bourgeois-democratic revolution required from the working class and its party a clear statement of their position not only on political questions, but also in the sphere of the arts. Nothing could be more misguided, however, than attempting to limit the validity of this principle solely to the conditions of 1905, and reducing it to a way of solving the organisational problems facing the Party at that time. Like many great discoveries _-_-_
~^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 1, p. 401.
8 linked with the fulfilment of definite requirements, which burst the framework of their time, the principle of commitment in literature and the arts was of vital significance for the solution of basic aesthetic problems during the period of the struggle for socialism and the building of the new world.The whole history of socialist realism, which now covers more than half a century, is a process of extending, deepening, giving concrete expression to and revealing the creative possibilities opened to the artist by communist commitment.
Communist devotion to the Party shows most clearly the effectiveness and sense of purpose of the Marxist-Leninist world view and the unity of the artistic and scientific mastery of the world, in spite of their dissimilarity.
The principle of commitment to party ideals was first formulated by Lenin in his dispute with subjectivism on the one hand and ``narrowly conceived objectivism" on the other.
Commitment as a scientific category has nothing in common with either subjectivism, since it demands an ``inexorably objective analysis of realities'',^^1^^ or with a blind, fatalistic reverence for the natural course of events.
In his work ``The Heritage We Renounce" Lenin again emphasised that ``no living person can help taking the side of one class or another (once he has understood their interrelationships), can help rejoicing at the successes of that class and being disappointed by its failures, can help being angered by those who are hostile to that class, who hamper its development by disseminating backward views, and so on and so forth".^^2^^
Happiness, sadness, discontent, the most fervent passion, and the most violent anger.. . . This whole range of intensely personal human emotions Lenin found in a work as strictly scientific as Marx's Capital. Literature and the arts have always been the expression of the sphere of human feelings, the conflict of passions, and not only ideas. Speaking of an artist's or writer's work Lenin always draws attention to the forcefulness and sincerity of the _-_-_
~^^1^^ Ibid., Vol. '2. p. 531.
~^^2^^ Ibid.
9 passions portrayed in it. He observed Lev Tolstoi's passionate indictment of autocracy and the church, his constant exposure of capitalism, full of the most profound feeling and total indignation.^^1^^Thus any interpretation of Lenin's principle of commitment exclusively as a category of outlook on life ignoring the emotional nature of literature and the arts and the originality of the artist's talent, which we still come across in our press, impoverishes this concept. Only a comparatively short time ago it was still necessary to prove the aesthetic quality of the commitment principle in artistic work in spite of the fact that the article ``Party Organisation and Party Literature" already mentions that the mechanical identification of literature ``with other sides of the proletarian party cause" is inadmissible, that literature is ``least of all subject to mechanical adjustment or levelling, to the rule of the majority over the minority'', to schematisation or to inclusion in ``any uniform system" and that ``greater scope must undoubtedly be allowed for personal initiative, individual inclination, thought and fantasy, form and content.''^^2^^
In short this small article, which clearly formulates the ``new task"---new both for the proletariat and for the writers and artists, contains a definitive statement concerning artistic creation as a special type of activity demanding a different approach as compared to other forms of activity.
But the point of the article is that it recognises literature as an integral part of the proletarian cause. Strangely enough, this vital point has been relegated recently to a position of secondary importance, and occasionally completely ignored. This leads to extolling the specific nature of art to an extent almost tantamount to a declaration of its autonomy. Quite recently a certain Marxist acsthetician claimed that modern art had realised its own autonomy in relation to the external world and that it was now governed by new laws independent of the natural laws of the material world. There is no denying that certain schools of contemporary bourgeois art are indeed striving to cut _-_-_
~^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 15, pp. 202--09.
~^^2^^ Ibid., Vol. 10, p. 4R.
10 themselves off from both the material world and the spiritual requirements of normal people. It is regrettable that this unhealthy trend should be represented as a natural process in the development of art and as the new Marxist approach to it.Lenin was only too familiar with such attempts. It was in criticising them that he developed his views on the nature of commitment to party ideals and artistic creativity.
The theoreticians of the Second International adopted an idealistic (Kantian) position on questions affecting the arts, defending the idea of the neutrality of artistic creativity. In 1902 a Russian translation was published of a brochure by Karl Kautsky entitled On the Day After the Social Revolution (this brochure was republished in 1917 and even after the October Revolution was regarded by certain Marxists as their ``programme of action''). Kautsky declared that ``communism in material production, anarch]] in intellectual production, this is the form of socialist means of production to which the rule of the proletariat leads by virtue of economic laws".^^1^^
Thus the intellectual sphere, including the arts, was presented as an element not subject to influence or guid ance. Five years later the Dutch socialist. H. HollandHoist, in her Studies on Socialist Aesthetics asserted as an indisputable fact that: ``It is common knowledge that art does not recognise any goal outside itself. It sees its mean ing in itself.''^^2^^
This declaration of neutrality, ``freedom of artistic creation" objectively strengthened the forces of reaction, particularly in the revolutionary situation which existed at the beginning of the twentieth century in Russia.
Such was the true essence of defending the principle of ``neutrality'' and ``freedom of artistic creation''. It was no accident that the main theme of the notorious collection of articles entitled Vekhi was mockery of national and civil traditions, which were dismissed as ``sheer abomination'', and assertion that the people were something alien _-_-_
~^^1^^ Karl Knulsky. Die soziale Revolution, Berlin, 1903, S. 45.
~^^2^^ Henrietta Rollnnd-Holst. Studies on Socialist Aesthetics, linss. cd. 1007. p. 31.
11 and that society and politics only harmed individual con sciousness. Revolutionary, democratic criticism was ana thema because it had ``set up the party tribunal on free, true creation".^^1^^In this way the theoreticians and aestheticians of the Second International gave a helping hand to the theoreticians and artists of bourgeois decadence. Today they are doing exactly the same thing.
But it would be a dangerous over-simplification of a complex problem to condemn each artist who supports ``creative freedom" as a supporter of the bourgeois way of life. The bourgeoisie because of its mercenary class views ``cannot help inclining towards the non-parly principle, for the absence of parties among those who arcfighting for the liberation of bourgeois society implies that no fresh struggle will arise against bourgeois society itself".^^2^^ In this case the lack of party commitment is nothing but a mask for commitment of a different kind. Naturally this latter type of commitment is unable to win support among honest representatives of the artistic intelligentsia. For them the ideas of independence, artistic freedom, and lack of commitment are considerably more attractive. And although dreams of artistic freedom in a bourgeois society are always illusory, they are often of an anti-bourgeois nature. For example, A. Blok and the young Mayakovsky advocated the idea of artistic freedom without accepting or understanding the principle of commitment. But the most important thing for them at that time was the active defence of art against the encroachments of bourgeois society. The two of them both upheld civic traditions in their work. In 1917 Blok proclaimed his sympathy with the Bolshevik cause, and Mayakovsky was soon to become one of the most passionate defenders of the Leninist principle of commitment. His selfless work for the revolution was to lead him to adopt this position.
But the fact that the principle of commitment, the sharp and flexible weapon of Bolshevik thought, had been shaped even before the victor;/ of the socialist revolution, _-_-_
~^^1^^ Vekhi, 4th ed., Moscow, 1909. See M. O. Gershenzon, ``The Creative Self-Consciousness'', pp. 82, 84.
~^^2^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works. Vol. 10, p. 78.
12 has a special, profound meaning. Is it not surprising that the exploiting classes have always feared and particularly in our time not dared to defend their committed position openly'! Whereas the working class, possessing neither power nor rights, apart from the right to struggle, bravely and openly appealed, through the person of its leader, to the millions of people sympathetic to the revolution, setting out its party's aims with regard to politics, science, philosophy and literature, in the conviction that these aims were the aims of the whole people, all workers everywhere.Lenin's statement that ``literature openly linked with the proletariat"^^1^^ was truly free, was based on the mate rialist view of freedom as a conscious necessity and the active role of man in the historical process. This view has become fully embodied in the literature of socialist realism. It has become the foundation of a new ethic and aesthetic and is the basis on which the concept of the duty and responsibility of the artist rests. This concept of freedom is well expressed in one of Leonid Martynov's recent poems, which the poet has, in fact, called ``Freedom''.
At last it's clear to me What's meant by being free. I've come to understand it, that sensation, One of the most involved and intimate in all creation. Now, shall I tell you what we mean by being free? It means to be responsible, without discrimination For all the tears and sighs and losses in the world, For faith and faithlessness, for truth and
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ superstition,And so an obligation lies to me,
A free bird now, no bonds or chains or strings---
To help all living beings
Get free.
After the people had gained power, the Soviet state and the party of the working class which had moved from opposition into leadership were faced with the urgent task _-_-_
~^^1^^ Ibid., p. 48.
13 of building a new society, as well as a whole number of vital problems including the policy to be adopted towards the arts, the artistic intelligentsia and the artistic heritage.The simplest way out was that suggested by Kautsky in the above-mentioned brochure. But what would non-- interference in artistic life have meant in the conditions prevailing during the revolution and Civil War? Who would have gained from a policy of non-interference----the victorious people or the overthrown upper classes? An analysis proves conclusively that it would not have been the people, and that the arts themselves would have bencliled least of all.
The revolution gave the people free access to everything of artistic value and the right to create. But this right could easily have become a fiction had not steps been taken to guarantee it.
In his ``Pages from a Diary" Lenin quotes some pathetic figures: in 1920 even in the European part of the Soviet Union which was comparatively more developed than the other regions, only 330 out of every 1,000 people were literate. And universal literacy is only one of the features of any ``ordinary, civilised country".^^1^^ The socialist revolution had to make up for what bourgeois society had failed to do. And this was by no means the most difficult of the numerous problems involved in the building of a new world.
That mass illiteracy seriously impedes development in literature and the arts goes without saying. It restricts the reading public to the exclusion of the ordinary people.
Even before the revolution the inaccessibility of Htcra ture to the masses was recognised by those Russian writers and artists with a keen social sense as a tragedy for the people and the artist. For example, once Blok had realised the destructive nature of decadence, he saw that the only salvation for the arts was for them to become rooted in the people. He began to speak passionately of the importance to the writer of ``everyone's'' opinion, as if it were his last hope. ``The silence of the people,'' he wrote, ``is particularly terrifying since it threatens the writer with loss of identity. One's own voice begins to _-_-_
~^^1^^ See V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 33, p. 462.
14 mingle with the voices of one's close neighbours with the result that laces and souls begin to resemble one another like in a tavern.''Lenin wrote that only socialism was capable of removing the obstacles which prevent great works of art from becoming the property of the whole people. This thesis still holds true today. Its critical far-sightedness helps us to understand what is happening in [he capitalist world and its prophecy has been fulfilled in those countries which have embarked on the road to socialism.
Capitalism has shown itself incapable of eliminating entirely even those obstacles which prevented the works of Pushkin and Tolstoi from reaching the Russian people; namely, illiteracy and poverty. Even now, according to UNESCO statistics, two-fifths of the world's population are illiterate, and millions of people, chiefly those of the colonial and semi-colonial countries, are in the deathly grip of starvation.
In the period of the revolution and dictatorship of the proletariat Lenin's policy with regard to literature and the arts was directed towards creating conditions in which the people could not only become acquainted with earlier works of art, but also produce new ones. The dynamic of Lenin's policy towards literature and the arts was in its concern for and help to the people.
Devotion io the people is vastly important and is one of the main manifestations of the principle of commitment at this stage.
Art belongs to the people. In all Lenin's pronouncements concerning the role of the masses these words contain more than.(he simple truth that the people have become masters by gaining power. Lenin sees the creative role of the masses as the main feature of the socialist revolution. Let us recall the leit-motif of his speeches: ``Victory will belong only to those who have faith in the people, those who are immersed in the life-giving spring of popular creativity.''^^1^^ Or ``the minds of tens of millions of those who are doing things create something infinitely loftier than the greatest genius can foresee".^^2^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ Ibid., Vol. 26, p. 292.
^^2^^ Ibid., p. 474.
15At the same time Lenin was least of all inclined to idealise the people. His unswerving faith in the inexhaustible talent latent in the people and aroused by the revolution is always accompanied in his speeches by the most lucid analysis of the behaviour of the different social groups during the revolution. From a social point of view the people had not yet become united. The petty bourgeois behaved differently in the revolution from the working class. They acted instinctively and their revolutionary fervour was soon exhausted. The peasants tended to look for a ``third way" when this did not exist. Participation in the revolution could not immediately rid them of their patriarchal nature and pride in possession, etc. Only the work ing class was able ``to win over to its side the majority of the working and exploited people".^^1^^
One of the most important factors in the rapid development and free expression of the people's creative talent during the cultural revolution initiated by Lenin, was the successful attempt to gain the active support and participation of the intelligentsia in the vast process of the spiritual rebirth of society.
What was the intelligentsia, the most cultured sector of the old society, like at the time of the socialist revolution?
Nowadays we recall with great pride and gratitude the names of writers, artists, actors and scientists who broke with the old world and placed their knowledge and talent at the disposal of the revolutionary people. The names of those members of the intelligentsia who joined Lenin's guard are illustrious ones indeed. But these were comparatively few in number ``on the day after the social revolution'', far more of the intelligentsia being ``terrified by the collapse of the old world" and opposed to the socialist revolution. The overwhelming majority of the intelligentsia were not prepared for the task of developing a socialist culture and producing art which was in keeping with the socialist revolution. Nevertheless, by the middle of 19f9 Lenin noted that ``month by month the Soviet Republic acquires a (jrowiny percentage of bourgeois intellectuals who are sincerely helping the workers and _-_-_
^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 27, p. 265.
16 peasants, not merely grumbling and spitting fury".^^1^^ These changes in the behaviour and attitude of the intelligentsia were no mere accident of fate, of course. They resulted i'rom the carefully planned policy of Party and stale with regard to culture, literature and the arts, a policy which succeeded in clarifying and ennobling the role of arl and curbing the anarchistic tendencies inherited I'rom the recent past.The artistic intelligentsia could not simply be used as a cultural force. First it had to be instilled with a new world outlook and understanding of the historical tasks facing it. Like the petty-bourgeois sections of society it, loo, had to be re-educated---tactfully, carefully, without regimentation but also without any concessions to prejudice. Lenin's skill together with the will of the Party won a brilliant victory here as well.
The main feature of Lenin's policy for educating and changing the outlook of the intelligentsia was to harness its energies to the common cause of building the new society, to bring it closer to the people and convince it of the need lo work side by side with them.
It was not only that the people needed the help of the intelligentsia. The intelligentsia itself also needed the help of the people. Many tigures in the realm of the arts who saw themselves as guardians of the ``sacred mystery" of their profession, were considerably more tainted by the bourgeois world than the masses, and this led them to lose control over their art. ``Ninety-eight per cent of modern literature is open lo all manner of interpretations. This decline has turned modern poets into narrow specialists brandishing mandates and patenls for sound, rhythm, imagery, abstruseness, etc., and no regard for poelry as a whole,"^^2^^ said one of the literary manifestos in the early years of the revolution.
Many writers and artists of that period (and also a few in our day as well) saw this decline as the height of refinement rather lhan as a loss of richness, clarity, vitality, life-like vividness and truthfulness, which is how Alexander Blok described decadence. These illusions would _-_-_
~^^1^^ Ibid., Vol. 35, p. 411.
^^2^^ i Vi'kh, Moscow, 1924, p. 8.
17 not have disappeared of their own accord. In destroying the sham values the revolution revealed the true ones. But many people needed to have their spiritual vision adjusted in order to realise exactly how unreal the `` complications" and ``refinements'' of decadence we're compared with the real spiritual riches embodied in the Marxist Leninist view of life, in the ideals of communism. This sometimes took years and in a few individual cases, decades, to achieve.How many times had representatives of the artistic intelligentsia expressed their misgivings for the fate of culture and the arts if the people were to come to power? Then the revolution became a reality and the new state did indeed have to struggle against undermining influences in the arts not so much from the people as from certain circles of the intelligentsia.
It is not surprising that the person who renounced the cultural heritage and proclaimed the idea of ``a naked man on the naked earth" should be the same literary critic, who had shortly before in Vekhi thanked autocracy for protecting the intelligentsia, who had repented of its ``sins'', with bayonets and prisons from the wrath of the people.
``Since the recent October Revolution,'' wrote M. O. Gershenzon, ``I have felt weighed down, as if by a tiresome burden, as if by heavy and stifling clothing, by all the spiritual achievements of mankind, all the riches of human knowledge and values that have been accumulated and mastered over the centuries. I think how wonderful it would be to plunge into Lethe and cleanse one's soul of the memory of all religious and philosophic systems, of all knowledge, of poetry and the arts, and then to emerge on the bank as naked as Adam, light and joyful, stretch up and raise one's naked arms to the sky, remembering one thing only---how heavy and stilling those clothes were and how light it is without them.''^^1^^
Levidov belonged to the leftist group of writers and artists who accepted the revolution. But the idea of the _-_-_
~^^1^^ V. Ivanov and M. Gershenzon, Pcrepiska iz duukh uglov ( Correspondence Between Two Corners), Alkonost Publishers, Pelrograd. 1921, p. 11.
18 ``organised simplification of culture" which he advocated in trenchant pamphleteering style was as far removed from the true aims of the socialist revolution as Gershen /oil's nostalgia for naked Adam. A country where there was ninety per cent illiteracy, argued Levidov, had pro duced Pushkin, Chekhov, and Bunin and even Skriabin. Vrubel and Blok. This was a monstrous contradiction of the laws of nature. The lime had come to put an end to it. But how? ``The museum bottle in which culture floated on sweat, blood and tears like a proud white swan, must be smashed.''^^1^^ It was essential to embark on the process of simplifying culture and discrediting cultural values. The word ``destruction'' could easily be substituted for `` simplification" without changing the author's meaning. ``The peasant should come back from the market with a book on how to grow foddergrass, not a copy of Belinsky or Gogol.''^^2^^ Art should be replaced by colourful reporting and exciting adventure stories.Neither Gershenzon nor Levidov, of course, represented the attitude of the intelligentsia as a whole, but their views were typical of those held by extreme groups. Moreover the group to which Levidov belonged was an extremely active one and often held important posts. Certain people saw the idea of ``simplifying culture" as a programme for building a new world and communist behaviour (see, for example, Ilya Ehreiiburg's novel The Self-Seeker).
It is not difficult to imagine the chaos which would have ensued in the sphere of culture and the arts if the new slate had not been armed with Lenin's programme for a cultural renaissance and had adopted, instead, a policy of non-interference.
The nineteenth-century conception of art rooted in the people and the Leninist conception of it in particular meant the flowering and elevation of art after the transfer of power to the people, not a simplification or renunciation of it. The workers and peasants who brought about the socialist revolution by sacrificing everything, even their own blood, and finally set up the new state, won ``the _-_-_
^^1^^ M. Levidov, ``The Organised Simplification of Culture''. Krasnaya Nou, 1923, Book 1, p. 307.
^^2^^ Ibid., p. 315
19 right to true, great art".^^1^^ Great art is, in turn, a powerful source of spiritual enrichment i'or the people. With its deepest roots in the hroad mass of workers, understood and loved by them, ``it must be rooted in and grow with their feelings, thoughts and desires. It must arouse and develop the artist in them.''^^2^^The intensity of the creative explosion among the people themselves may be judged from the fact that by the tenth anniversary of the October Revolution the famous bibliographer I. V. Vladislavlev noted that ``whereas before the revolution books were written by the dozen, they are now appearing by the hundred, the majority by completely new authors.
``The history of most of them is no less remarkable than the history of the country which gave birth to them. When you learn about their biographies and autobiographies you cannot help thinking that the path once trodden by the leading figure in our new literature, Maxim Gorky, has now become a common phenomenon. A powerful stream of creative energy is flowing into literature from everyday life."^^3^^
The unprecedented, spontaneous surge of interest from the masses in knowledge, culture, and artistic creation had to be guided along socialist lines---for the first time in the history of mankind. And this was the most difficult task of all, since socialism was, of necessity, being built ``with people who have been thoroughly spoiled by capitalism".^^4^^
Thus the problem of creating a literature committed to people and party in these conditions entailed not only rais ing the cultural level of the masses, but also winning over intelligentsia, and securing its spiritual recovery and the (lowering of its creative power, in the face of the prejudices and bias which it had absorbed under the old bourgeois order.
It is most instructive to read the admissions of writers themselves, such as Bryusov, Blok, Mayakovsky, Yesenin, _-_-_
~^^1^^ Clara Zelkin, Reminiscences of Lenin, p. 15.
~^^2^^ Ibid., p. 13.
~^^3^^ I. V. Vladislavlev, Literatura velikogo desyatiletiya (1917--1927) (Literature of the Great Decade), Gosizdat, Moscow-Leningrad, 1928, pp. 17, 19.
~^^4^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 28, p. 214.
20 Aseycv, Gorodetsky, Selvinsky, Lavrenyov and Fedin, who had once been influenced by bourgeois aeslheticism. They all describe their artistic development as a search, in which important discoveries relating to life and art went hand in hand with the rejection of false artistic values. This rejection is seen by them as the attainment of new heights.Is it not significant that the most talented symbolists, Blok and Bryusov, broke away from this school, condemning it as degenerate and sterile, and turning to the new sources of creative energy which had been released by the socialist revolution? Mayakovsky, himself once an ardent supporter of futurism, denounced both futurism itself and the conslruclivists for repeating the mistakes of the futurists. Yesenin broke away from imagism which he later de fined as clowning for clowning's sake. The former construclivist, Selvinsky, perceived a common feature of all the ``-ists'': ``they did not care about the people'', and ``were not interested in anyone but themselves in their poetry".^^1^^ One of the representatives of Russian formalism, Victor Shklovsky, wrote in 1919: ``Art used to ignore life and its spectrum never reflected the colour of the flag on the town's fortress.''^^2^^ The years passed and looking back over his own literary development and the development of Soviet literature as a whole, Shklovsky wrote: ``The colour of the banner is everything in poetry. It is the colour of the soul, and the so-called soul has yet another embodiment ---art.''^^3^^
These admissions (there are enough of them to fill a large volume) show how unfounded and tendentious the statements of foreign critics arc, who declare that cubism, the abstract art of Kandinsky, the abstruseness of the futurists and the formalist writing of the young Shklovsky, etc., were not appreciated in our country in those days because of the low cultural level of the masses. Thev _-_-_
~^^1^^ Sovietskiye Pisatt'li. Avtobiografu it dinikh tomakh (Soviet Writers. Autobiographies in Two Volumes), Goslitizdat, Vol. 2, Moscow 1959, p. 335.
~^^2^^ V. Shklovsky, ``Communism and Futurism." Iskusslvo Konimiiny No. 7, 1919.
^^3^^ V. Shklovsky, Khudo;hestvennui/a prozii. liaziuyshleniya i ra:bory (Literary Prose Reflections and Analysis), Sovietsky Pisatel Publishers, Moscow, 1959, p. 9.
21 repeat the same arguments which this very ``avant-- garde" put forward to comfort itself. The point was that both decadent art and its theoretical basis were a subtle but pointless play of fantasy quite divorced from reality, which would not stand any more chance of success with the Soviet public of today.Lenin realised that on the day after the revolution there would still be many writers and artists as well as some considerable sections of the population who were not prepared to allow themselves to be guided by the principle of commitment to party ideals. In those days many writers and artists connected with modernist trends regarded even the traditional Russian themes of the popular and civic nature of art as a threat to the creative ``ego''. According to Zamyatin, writing for the people meant renouncing art and leaving the dense forest, where each writer blazes his own trail in solitude, for the ``beaten track".^^1^^ But when Andrei Bely announced that ``the taste of commitment acting consciously for the 'good of others' revolts me'',^^2^^ he was rejecting not so much the principle of commitment, which he did not understand, as the idea of the civic nature of art. He rejected it in the name of individualism.
However, such is the logic of the development of art in the socialist epoch that even a writer temporarily preju diced against the principle of commitment, but making an honest study of life, would eventually become convinced of the wisdom and validity of this principle.
A deep affection for Russian art and appreciation of its sources in the people were the main reasons which impelled Alexei Tolstoi to return from emigration in 192.'?. In his article ``Descent and Transformation" published in Berlin in 1922 he wrote admiringly about those Russian painters ``whose Russian landscapes were illuminated not by the Italian sun, but by the spirit of the people. For centuries the Russian people has been storing up the secrets of transformation in its soul. They have scarcely been touched. Pushkin, Tolstoi, Dostoyevsky, Glinka, Moussorgsky. _-_-_
~^^1^^ Dom Iskusstv No. 1, Petrograd, 1921, p. 44.
~^^2^^ A. Bcly, ``O malenkom clieloveke i cheloveke velikom" (The Small Man and the Great ^fan). Xapiski Mechtntelei No. 5, Petrograd, 1922, p. 121.
22 Rimsky-Korsakov and others, have brushed against the soul of the people and discovered buried treasure.''^^1^^ Later, talking about his attitude towards the Bolsheviks at that time, Tolstoi said: ``I was a long way from them politically, but I was filled with a great desire to work with them and for them.'' Shortly afterwards the writer announced thai he had not found true artistic freedom until he began to understand the Marxist interpretation of truth and that ``the great teaching (Marxism-Leninism---Author.} which was put to the test during the October Revolution" gave him ``a sense of purpose and a method for reading the book of life".^^2^^ __*_*_*__The principles of commitment to people and party determined the development of literature and the arts from the early days of the October Revolution, but it was not until much later that their ideological aesthetic significance was fully grasped. Even the relevant volumes of the Literary Encyclopaedia which came out in 1934 do not contain any articles about commitment to people and party. It is not easy for the reader in the sixties to understand why these basic criteria were not applied by the literary organisations which called themselves ``proletarian''.
Lenin's writings and the famous letter of the Central Committee of the Russian Communist Party (Bolsheviks) about the Proletkult were intended first and foremost as an explanation to the members of that important proletarian organisation of the importance of applying the principles of commitment to people and party to all ques tions of cultural development and artistic production during the period of the dictatorship of the proletariat.
The clear demarcation which the Party made between the workers' intelligentsia which was the backbone of the Proletkult and the bourgeois artists and philosophers who often seized leadership of it has nothing to do with either the altitude prevalent several years ago to the artistic _-_-_
~^^1^^ A. N. Tolstoi, Niskhozhdeniye i Prcobrazheniye, Berlin, 1922, Mysl Publishers, p. 3.
~^^2^^ A. N. Tolstoi, Collected Works, Russ. ed.. Vol. 13, 1949. p. 323.
23 organisations of 1917--32 as the personification of evil, nor the apologia for them which was frequently met recently.Today il hardly needs to he said that the work of the Proletkull poets is not merely an illustration of Bogdanov's theories, which it was held to be in the 40s and 5()s. The most gifted proletarian poets (Alexei Gastyev, Vasily Alexandrovsky, Nikolai Poletnyev. Mikhail Gerasimov. Via dimir Kirillov and others) gave unique and forceful expression to the mood of the working masses aroused by the revolution. Some of these poets wrote for the Party press. But it would be a serious error to overlook the influence on a certain section of these poets of Bogdanov's Menshevist views which determined his interpretation of ``proletarian culture''. It was this influence which aroused the concern of Lenin and the Party.
Bogdanov's subjective idealistic conception is irreconcilable with the principles of commitment to parly and people. It led writers and artists astray. Its supporters, who declared themselves to be ``immediate socialists'' on questions of culture, emphasised the isolation of proletarian art. In their view, one of the most important tasks facing the Proletkult was to protect the worker poets and artists from contact with the great mass of the people---the peas antry and the petty bourgeoisie of the towns. The class nature of this concept excluded the idea of commitment to the people and encouraged the idea of an exclusive caste or sect. It was for this reason that the proletarian poets who wrote with such sincere enthusiasm about their class as a ``Messiah'' called to perform miraculous feats, barely touched upon the real historical task of the working class of bringing the whole people to socialism.
__*_*_*__The proletarian writers' and artists' organisations of the twenties no longer tried (as the Proletkult did) to disassociate themselves from the Party and the Stale, but rather saw themselves as organisations whose role it was to exert an ideological influence on peasant writers and sympathisers. And however great were the mistakes made by the leadership of RAPP (the Bussian Association of Proletarian 24 Writers), they should not be allowed to obscure the valuable contribution which this organisation made to the literary life of the country.
It is undoubtedly to the credit of the members of BAPP that they wanted to bring literature closer to the ideas of Marxism and Party policy, to subject it to the aims of proletarian dictatorship and to encourage writers to deal with pressing contemporary problems, and important general aesthetic questions (method, characterisation, tradition and innovation, etc.). This was predominantly the work of voung people lacking in knowledge and experience. Whatever these young people were guilty of, it was not lack of energy or readiness to fight for proletarian art or lack of devotion to the revolution.
The Rappists were not slow to detect the anti-Leninist, rapilulatory nature of the Trotskyite view of the develop ment of literature and the arts in the transition period, which sprang from lack of confidence in the ability of the working class, the revolutionary people, to make their own. new, original contribution to culture, and which rejected the guiding role of the Party in artistic creation. They spoke out energetically against the Trotskyite slogan ``the methods of Marxism are not the methods of art'', seeing il rightly as an attempt to deflect art from the ideological arena and declare peaceful coexistence in the ideological sphere which during the period of NEP could only have meant succumbing to the influence of bourgeois elements. But in spite of all this, there are no grounds for identifying the position of BAPP with the policy adopted by the Parly on literature, as our foreign critics do. The Parly has always been concerned with the whole litcrari/ process and never limited its interest to a single organisation.
The Bappists did not follow a consistent Leninist line in their defence of proletarian literature and art. Their political errors of judgement (for example, their confused idea of the interaction of the working class with the intermediate sections of the population during the dictatorship of the proletariat) were combined with, wrong aesthetic ideas (a subjectivist approach to the question of the interaction of art and reality).
For a long time the Bappists and members of the Pro letc.ult based their art not on Ihe Marxist-Leninist principle 25 of the reflection of reality, but on Bogdanov's subjectivist concept of art as ``the organisation of psychology''. And this inevitably affected their attitude towards ``non-prole larian" elements. In their usual categorical manner the Rappisls asserted: ``The only socially useful literature at (he present time is that which organises the psychology and consciousness of the reader, the proletarian reader in particular, towards the ultimate tasks of the proletariat as the creators of a communist society, in other words, proletarian literature.''^^1^^ This meant that a big group of writers who were not members of RAPP, but were nevertheless anxious to take part in the constructive work of the victorious people and ``organise their psychology" in the right direction, could not do so. It was proposed that their work should be used for the ``disorganisation of the enemy".^^2^^ Although the Rappists changed their line of argument, their mistrust of ``non-proletarian writers" remained. They regarded these ``non-proletarian writers (i. e.. non-- members of RAPP) as actual or potential opponents, and whilst remembering the need to convert them on to the ``path of proletarian ideology" they ignored the Party's instruction that this should be done with great tact, caution and patience. This soon caused RAPP to degenerate into a bureaucratic organisation that was to hinder literary development.
Today when we talk about the first fifteen years of Soviet literature we do not divide writers into ``proletarian'', ``peasant'' and ``sympathisers''. Does this necessarily mean that these divisions did not exist? They did in fact exist, but only for a short lime. However the dividing line be Iwecn these categories was extremely hazy and mobile, which is what the Rappists did not take into ac count.
The October Revolution was immediately followed by the vast process of establishing a new social'structure. The dynamism, ``instability'', and ``permeability'' of the division between the various sections of the population and the literary groupings bear witness to the historic _-_-_
^^1^^ Literaturniye manifesty (Literary Manifestos), Moscow, 1929, Federatsiya Publishers, p. 187.
~^^2^^ Ibid,, p. 188.
26 victory of the dictatorship of the proletariat and the Leninist cuKural revolution.Unlike the bourgeois dictatorship which exploited both the people and the intelligentsia in its own narrow, selfish interests, the dictatorship of the working class succeeded, by drawing all levels of society into the building of socialism, in ensuring that their talent nourished on behalf of the whole of society, and also laid the foundation for the moral and political unity of Soviet society.
One cannot consider the aesthetic discussions of the twenties without referring to the Pereval group who considered the most important element in art to be ``direct impressions''. The group accused anyone who insisted on the crucial importance of progressive ideas and world outlook of being rationalist, insincere and lime servers.
II now seems paradoxical, but the logic of the group struggle was such that having rejected the aesthetic value of progressive ideas and taken on trust the trenchant phrase: ``the methods of Marxism are not the methods of art'', and attaching supreme importance to intuition, the Pereval supporters then proceeded to accuse a large section of Soviet writers and, in particular, the greatest poet of our age and one of the most sincere lyrical writers, Mayakovsky, of insincerity, professional envy and rationalism. Mayakovsky was attacked in this way simply because he had staled openly for the whole world lo hear that he had put ``his pen to the service, note, the service of the present day and hour, of true reality and its champion, the Soviet Government and the Parly".^^1^^
Attempts to represent the principle of devotion to party ideals as being opposed to sincerity showed that this prin ciple was completely misunderstood. Neither Lenin nor prominent Soviet writers who stood for the principle of party commitment, denied the great importance of sincer ily as a condition of artistic creation. Gorky valued `` sincerity and inspiration"^^2^^ above all else in writing. Mayakovsky was always appealing to the heart, and Sholokhov has on many occasions spoken fervently of the heart as being the focus of the writer's commitment to party.
_-_-_~^^1^^ V. Mayakovsky, Collected Works, Russ. cd., Vol. 12, pp. 358--59.
^^2^^ M. Gorky. Collected Works, Rnss. ed.. Vol. 30, p. 442.
27Just as a person without literary talent cannot become a writer, so a writer, however gifted he may be, cannot win the reader's heart with insincere, false writing. Marx ist-Leninist aesthetics sees sincerity as being indissolubly linked with such objective artistic criteria as knowledge ol life, a profound, comprehensive portrayal of life and the standpoint of the author be it progressive or reactionary. Sincerity plays a positive role in writing when, in the struggle between hostile forces and contradictory tendencies the writer sides with that which is new and progressive, regardless of which side has the upper hand at any given moment. Sincerity as such, however, by no means guarantees the truthful, objective reflection of life.
The Rappists were not far from the truth in attaching great importance to politics for the development of Soviet literature. The best writers of the age, regardless of their diversity as individual artists, were all united by an acute awareness of political ideas and events as being the most important feature of their time. During his development the writer carries within him features of the politician, the servant of society and the revolutionary true to the ideas of the Party. Serafimovich's evaluation of Furmanov is a good illustration of this: ``He was one and the same in Party work, in the Civil War and sitting at his desk with pen in hand. One and the same: a revolutionary fighter and builder. . . ."^^1^^
It was, of course, no accident that the political aspect was brought to the fore during the period of the dictatorship of the proletariat. Lenin noted that in Marxism as well, the world outlook of the most advanced class of the age, distinguished by an unusual richness of content, `` various historical periods give prominence now to one, now to another particular aspect of Marxism''.^^2^^ At the same time, he emphasised: ``the prevalence of interest in one aspect or another does not depend on subjective wishes, but on the totality of historical conditions.''^^3^^ When, for the first time in history, millions of people took politics into their _-_-_
~^^1^^ A. Serafimovich, Collected Works. Goslitizdat, Vol. 10, Moscow, 1948, p. 335.
^^2^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 17, p. 75.
^^3^^ Ibid., p. 76.
28 own hands and when politics came to mean the actual fate of these people, it was only to be expected that these millions should produce their own writers and artists for whom the politics of the new, people's slate had come to be their own lives.In the words ol Maj^akovsky mail}' artists realised for the first time during the revolution ``that apart from oil paints and prices on a picture there were certain political questions as well''.^^1^^ This apolitical attitude gave rise to serious difficulties in their artistic development. The so cialist revolution brought everyone face to face with the central problem of the age: that of choosing which way to go. In each individual case this problem look on an individual aspect: moral and psychological, aesthetic, philosophical, etc. But the crux of the matter was the question: which side---the revolution or the counter revolution, with the people or against the people. Politics, which had been permeated by the stormy atmosphere of social life, had now invaded the personal sphere.
One of the powerful factors contributing to the revival of literature and the arts was the bold way in which the artists of the revolution found material in the politics of the new socialist stale, in which the aims of the Communist Parly coincided with the interests of the people. Mayakovsky's writing simply gives stronger expression to this novel feature of the literature of that period than thai of other writers.
Leninist politics became a source of poetic inspiration. What was it thai opened up this broad, free path into art?
First and foremost it was Ihe inspiration of truth. ``We can counlcr hypocrisy and lies with the complete and honest truth,''^^2^^ declared the founder of the Soviet stale. And unswervingly followed this principle of not concealing the truth from the masses, however biller il may be, and of ``stating the issues plainly" and openly because ``you can't fool a class".^^3^^
The tremendous influence which the Communist Party exerted on the artistic consciousness of the age, unparalleled _-_-_
~^^1^^ V. Mayakovsky, Collected Works. Russ. cd.. Vol. 12, p. 150.
^^2^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 28, p. 87.
^^3^^ Ibid., Vol. 32, p. 215.
29 in the whole history of mankind, also had as one of its consequences the fact that up to this day the principle of commitment to party ideals is frequently understood primarily as a political one. The leading role of the politics of the Soviet state does not mean the elimination or even restriction of other factors. Marxism-Leninism is an all embracing teaching. This is why even as early as the twen ties the political point of view, whilst helping to discern the truth of the new world from the falsehood of the old one, did not supersede Ihe moral criterion or remove the need for psychological analysis, etc. ``What is the task ol' art if it is not the portrayal of human life,''^^1^^ wrote D. Fur manov.By entering the sphere of art Leninist policy helped the artist to open up and illuminate vast continents hitherto unexplored by art: the movement of the peoples, the class struggle, the fate of the individual in an age of fundamental historical change and so on. Likewise literature in its turn, by concentrating attention on human life, was able to reveal with great force the humanitarian nature of the politics of the new stale. Leninist policy has close lies with the moral and aesthetic ideal of Soviet society and aims at the same goal: the education of the new man. Us beneficial elfecl is reflected not only in Ihe works of Furmanov, Seralimovich, Demyan Bedny, Mayakovsky and Fadeyev. but also in Armoured Train 14--69 by Vsevolod Ivanov, Virincya by Lydia Seifulina, Lyubov Yarouaya by Konstantin Trcnyov, and The Debacle by Boris Lavrenyov and the works of oilier writers who affirmed the popular spirit and humanism of the socialist revolution. It is well known that in the late twenties a particularly fierce debate raged around Ihe question of class themes and general human problems in art.
In pushing general human questions to the fore the critics from Ihe Pereval group ignored class themes. This was bound lo be the case once they had announced thai the most primitive, direct sensations were the source of art. By championing the general human aspect the supporters of the Pereval school put art outside politics and _-_-_
~^^1^^ D. Furmanov, Collected Works, Goslili/dat, Vol. 3, Moscow, 1961, p. 274.
30 outside the ideological struggle. The supporters of RAPP and LEF defended the class character of art in their con troversy with the Pereval and were ready lo condemn any move lo defend the general human aspect as a deviation from Marxism. Both the former and the laller were out of louch with real life.As early as 1925 Gorky drew attention lo the fact that communism is ``truly and entirely revolutionary because it has made its aim the eradication of the class society".^^1^^ This means the growth of a new type of general humanity. It is taking place in the Soviet Union ``where the worker is becoming the master of the state and where .. . more and more people are growing up with the most striking artistic energy, spiritual purity and = __NOTE__ Missing close double-quote after "talent." ?? talent. ``In this country,'' the writer emphasises, ``one should always remember the emergence of a new and real general humanity.''^^2^^
This was a fundamentally new solution of the general human question which diverged widely from generally accepted views. Firstly, it was by no means the same as the concept of humanity as something eternal, unchanging and above class. Once the exploiter social formations have been removed the soil on which various types of money-grubbers, misers and scoundrels sprout up disappears. The emergence of a classless society brings with it the emergence of a new, real type of humanity. Real because it responds most of all lo the positive, creative possibilities of man. It is precisely this real type of humanity which has the deepest roots in the history of mankind and its creative labour.
In the course of these discussions the artistic intelligent sia came to realise the decisive importance of commitment to party and people for the development of Soviet literature and the arts. It was this (hat became the main prerequisite for recognition of socialist realism, which had long since shown its superiority over other methods as the basic method of Soviet literature. The aesthetic altitude towards reality was raised to a new level. Artists, both those who were Parly members and those who were not. saw the most important thing in Soviet life and history--- _-_-_
~^^1^^ M. Gorky, Collected Works, Russ. cd., Vol. 24, p. 324.
^^2^^ Ibid.
31 ``the main arteries of natural laws'',^^1^^ and the creator ol history---the people and the Party embodying the mind, conscience and honour of the modern age.Recognition of the principle of commitment to people and party as the basis of the new artistic method brought to the fore the problem of the positive hero which had already been troubling a large number of Soviet writers. During the heroic Five Year plans it was seen as the most responsible artistic task of the age, without the successful solution of which there could be no talk of literature having achieved anything, or the writer having fulfilled his moral duty to the people and the Party, Writers always have a healthy discontent with their work. ``The central hero of our age will not fit into such a small mirror as ours. But we all know perfectly well that he has already gone out into the world, its new master, the great planner, the future geometrist of our planet. In the richness of his ideas and plans he has already won himself a place among the constellation of human types, which includes such figures as Robinson Crusoe, Don Quixote, Figaro, Hamlet. Bezukhov, Oedipus, Foma Gordeyev and Raphael de Valentin.''^^2^^
These words by Leonid Lconov express the mood of writers at the First Writers' Congress and throughout the following decade.^^3^^ It fed on the inspiring atmosphere of socialist victories and the growing moral and political unity of Soviet society which had shown its strength during the war years.
The Stalin personality cidt, which had begun to have an adverse effect on the arts by the end of the thirties, delayed the development and deepening of the idea of commitment to party and people. In theoretical statements and _-_-_
~^^1^^ A. N. Tolstoi, Collected Works, Russ. ed., Vol. 13, 1949, p. 323.
~^^2^^ L. Lconov, Speech at the First Ail-Union Congress of Writers. In his book Literature and Time, Molodaya Gvardiya Publishers, 19G4, pp. 41--42.
^^3^^ This is why the description of literary life during those years in the memoirs of I. Ehrcnburg, People, Years, Life, seems strange and extremely subjective. The writer asserts that ``the Congress was not, and could no! be business-like. It developed into an enormous political demonstration''. The writers ``spoke sincerely, although sometimes the content of their speeches did not coincide with the spiritual condition of Ibis or that writer''. (Nouy Mir No. 4, 1962, pp. 28--29.)
32 critical works on commitment one was to hear occasional relapses inlo vulgar sociology I Hie typical as the main sphere of showing commitment to party) and sometimes echoes of the bourgeois theory of Hie single stream (an in lerprelalion of popular spirit as being outside history and class). The work of certain writers began to show that very illuslraliveness which Lenin and Lunacharsky warned against. A certain seclion of writers, in particular play wrighls. fell victim to Hie no -conflict theory which is alien to the Leninist principle'.But however difficult these manifestations of the cult of personality which limited artistic freedom were for writers who remained true to the spirit of Lenin, one can hardly call any decades in the history of Soviet literature ``the period of Ihe cult of personality'', as some critics do. if one takes a Marxist Leninist view of the question. During Ihe periods of both the ``frosts'' and ``Ihaw'' the best of the Soviet writers who possessed linn convictions and a clear underslanding of the aim of art measured their work not by the barometer, but by the compass of commilmenl lo parly and people. This is not to say Ihal Ihey went their own way regardless of their age. but Ihal Ihey understood Ihe profound natural laws of historical development.
For Mikhail Sholokhov, Leonid Leonov, Alexander Fa deyev, Konslanlin Fedin. Leonid Sobolev. Alexander Pro koliev, Pelrus Brovka and main- other Soviet writers their supreme judge at all limes has been I he- Parly and Unpeople.
__*_*_*__The Twenty-Second Parly Congress ascertained that at Ihe given slage the state of the dictatorship of the prolelariat, having fulfilled its historical mission, had become a stale of the whole people, and the Communist Parly which had originated as the party of the working class had become the parly of the whole people.
What do these changes indicate? First and foremost the growth of Ihe people, the new quality of the socialisl and spiritual face of Soviet society, the rise in its material and spiritual culture and Ihe development of socialisl democracy. All the layers of Soviet society are now united __PRINTERS_P_33_COMMENT__ 3---862 33 and inspired by a common aim, that of building communism. This was bound to influence the development ol literature and the arts as well.
It was quile natural that the new stage should he marked by intense searchings (''. . . never before has there; been such an acute need for us to think, search and ponder on the way ahead'',^^1^^ said Leonid Leonov) and impassioned argument. Many ``old'' problems appeared in a new light: the nature of art, the writer's attitude towards reality, the essence of artistic truth, tradition and innovation and so on. A war was declared on everything which hampered initiative and artistic thought, as being incompatible with the nature and aim of communism: ``Everything in the name of man for the good of man''. Views on the richness of the art of the Soviet age became broader and more precise. In order to re-establish the truth, which had frequently been distorted during the cult of personality, and to achieve a belter solution of the new and complex problems, it was essential that the valuable artistic works accumulated by the Soviet people should be correctly evaluated. The fact that the writer helped to achieve the common aim of the people, to develop in Soviet man the qualities of a builder of the new world and to educate the new, com munist individual, demanded that lie should make the most responsible decisions (which also correspond most closely to the role of literature as the study of man).
It is clear why the task of portraying the individual as a unique phenomenon should be such a pressing one, and why writers are so concerned with the moral and psychological motivation of the behaviour of the individual and the psychology of the artist, etc. Literature is striving to penetrate into the most delicate areas of the human spirit. It is here, in the approach to these problems that different conceptions of the individual and equally various conceptions of art collide.
Soviet literature is governed by the conception which links the fulfilment of the individual with the struggle for the happiness of the people and mankind as a whole; only within the framework of this struggle can the individual find his true value and uniqueness. According to this view _-_-_
~^^1^^ L. Leonov, Literature and Time, Moscow, 1964, p. 257.
34 the artist is Ihe ``son of his people and a liny particle of the human race'',^^1^^ with all his heart, talent and being lie belongs to the parly which is rebuilding the world for the good of mankind. He sees ``the highest honour and the highest freedom"^^2^^ in serving the people and the Party.For him service to people and parly means, above all, Ihc opportunity of making a more profound study of the people themselves, and presenting them with the, complete truth, honestly and without reservations. For him the people are both Ihe main character and supreme judge. By making the study and portrayal of the life of the people of prime imporlance, he by no means beliltles the role of self-analysis and self expression, but treasures the response of Ihe reader.
A high opinion of the purpose of art, love of life, devotion lo the trulh and the urge lo slrive ahead inlo Ihe future make the wrilers who share this conception unable to reconcile themselves to anything which may dislorl il: embellishmenl, all forms of subjeclivism and descriplion allegedly bereft of emotion.
I do not think that anyone has objected so forcefully to the formulae by which certain writers, dramatists in particular, constructed Iheir ``posilive hero" during the cult of personality, as Leonid Leonov, who insisted thai ``base ness and falsehood in art achieve results which are politically diametrically opposed to the tasks set by society''.^^3^^ This vehemence does nol result from doubt in the existence of the object itself, i.e., the positive hero, but from the conviction that the heroic; achievements of the Soviet people deserve a differenl approach and that our contemporaries should be shown ``in all their potential variety, in all their richness of character, fate and action".^^4^^ For ``Soviet man is worthy of careful reverent study. lie has undertaken the great task of showing mankind through his own experience of life all the phases, fortuitousness, dangers _-_-_
~^^1^^ M. A. Sholokhov, Spcecli on the Awnrd of the Nobel Prize, Pravda, December 11, 1965.
^^2^^ Ibid.
^^3^^ L. Leonov, Literature and Time, p. .'!()!).
^^4^^ Ibid., p. 310.
__PRINTERS_P_35_COMMENT__ 3* 35 and possibilities involved in Hie realisation of an ancient dream (Ihe golden age----Author). It is small wonder that in this role he performs deeds of outstanding valour, or forces ahead of his lime or is plunged into the depths ol despair, all on a scale which is inconceivable to the West. In this connection one instinctively recalls the figures of Prometheus and Atlas, Icarus and Heracles. How far removed they are from the carefully polished, ideological blockheads which the criticism of the period of the cult of personality spent vast resources on encouraging us to create!''^^1^^These views contain much that is typical of Lconov personally, just as the preceding contemplations of Sholokhov relied the views of the author of The Incite of a Man. But these are individual factors.
This interpretation of the individual and the purpose of art in the modern world, based on the experience and aims of building a new society, is in sharp contradiction to the anti-democratic and anti-humanist interpretations which are widespread in the West. Neo Freudism, existentialism and similar schools of bourgeois thought, which see man as an unreliable creature incapable of escaping from the hold of dark, irrational forces and base instincts, have been responsible to a considerable extent for the de humanisalion of literature and the arts and the destruction of the individual. The lack of respect for man found in avant-garde literature must be regarded as an expression of an atrophied sense of responsibility lo mankind for human destiny on the part of its advocates. Although modern bourgeois art is on the decline reactionary ideas in new clothing frequently influence the work of progressive writers as well.
Many years have now passed since Soviet literature took its place in the international arena, and a clear understanding of its achievements and the sources of its ideological and artistic richness is essential not only for Soviet literature itself, but for its friends all over the world. Its successes and failures are bound up not only with isolated individuals but with the communist cause as a whole. This _-_-_
~^^1^^ L. Leonov, Literature and Time, p. 311.
36 explains why the Western press reacts so strongly to everything which is happening in Soviet literary life, eager to present its own interpretation of these events.Naturally enough, the Western bourgeois press distorts the picture by presenting the Soviet literary journal Noinj Mir as a ``bastion of modernism".^^1^^ Nevertheless a fair amount of the material published by this magazine over the last few years docs go to show that its editors are all too often liable to subjective predilection and half-baked ideas.
These ideas are often based on correct assumptions. One can hardly object, for example, to Alexander Tvardovsky's assertion that ``it is the author's personality which determines the merit of a work as a literary entity".^^2^^ But what conclusion should be drawn from this indisputable assertion? That the author and the author alone is the basic and only criterion for judging the value of what he has written.
One of the magazine's critics. V. Lakshin, claims that one should judge a piece of writing and the life which it depicts solely ``on the basis of the writer's testimony"^^3^^ (author's italics), By regarding this principle as part of the ``ABC of materialist aesthetics" the critic rejects all other points of view as being dogmatic.
But how can one determine the extent to which a work gives a true picture of life solely ``on the basis of the writer's testimony'', without measuring this testimony against life itself? Surely the most reliable indication of authenticity and. to a certain extent, of literary merit is to be found in the degree to which the work reflects the basic objective trends in the development of our society. This type of approach is much more in keeping with human development and artistic progress. It inspires the writer by reminding him of his responsibility to something higher than himself, although the latter must also not be excluded. The writer who brings his ideals and their embodiment into line with the real world and the most progressive ideals of his age towards which the party and people _-_-_
~^^1^^ Le Mande, Dec. 22. I0()5.
^^2^^ Noini Mir No. 1, I0f>>, p. 14.
^^3^^ Novy Mir No. 1, 1904, p. 220.
37 are striving, is bound to feel himself in a constant stale of creative emulation and mobilisation of his talent and spiritual inspiration. This was beautifully expressed by Sholokhov when he was being presented with the Nobel Prize. A writer who is convinced of his uniqueness, who maintains that his main interest is in himself and that the only way of finding truth is through self-knowledge, selfanalysis and self-expression, is condemning himself to the fate of the mythical Narcissus who pined away through self-love. In such cases what is apparently literary freedom turns into a severe limitation for the individual writer and literature as a whole. This idea of freedom was expounded with great consistency on the pages of NOUIJ Mir by Ilya Ehrenburg. It would appear that the author and those who share his views sincerely believe that they are opposed to the spirit of the cult of personality. But alas, on the contrary, these views arc a return to the past, to those forgotten idealistic paths from which all talented Soviet writers have long since turned aside, preferring the great literature of and for the people. __*_*_*__A correct understanding and portrayal of the process of democratisation of Soviet society at its various stages and especially at the present stage is of vital importance.
Soviet literature has recorded the outstanding triumphs and tremendous difficulties involved in this process. Immediately after the Oclober Revolution it was the people who became the central figure and adjudicator of literature, while the themes of labour, construction, the break with the past and the emergence of a new life, the bridging of the gulf between the people and the intelligentsia, etc., commanded the attention of writers. This bears eloquent witness to the fact that Soviet literature was developing as truly democratic literature, both in the sources from which it gained inspiration and in its aims. The cult of personality delayed the demoralisation of Soviet society, occasionally distorting it. hut was forced to give way to this irreversible process. Since the transition to the building of communism and the liquidation of the cull of personality this process has been developing at a particularly fast rate.
38Soviet lileralure of the lasl decade provides a convincing picture of the development of popular initiative, the growth of the new individual and the efforts of the Party to restore the Leninist principle of leadership of the masses. Few works, it is true, show these new features as strikingly as Sholokhov's And Quiet Flows the Don and Virr/in Soil Upturned, but the inspired fervour of such works as Enter Euc.ri] Uninc by Yelizar Maltsev. Lipi/fifji by S. Krutilin. Hreud: Hie Stuff' of Life by Mikhail Alexeyev. Hitter Grass by Pyotr Proskurin. Meet Haliit/ev by Vadim Ko/hevnikov. Tronkci by Oles Gonehar, Truth and Fdhchnod by Mikhailo Slelmakh and many others, lies in their concern with the development in ordinary Soviet people of a sense of responsibility for everything which is being done in their country. These writers seek to discern in the ``masses'' a vital unique individual and new forms of presenting the interconnection between the individual and (he collective. Thus in Alexeyev's study Bread: the Stuff of Life almost all the characters, the ordinary farmworkers (Kaplya, Akimushka, Zhuravushka, etc.) be come the hero of the narrative for a certain time. First one and then the other assumes the leading role, and in this way the author is, as it were, showing a new method of portraying the ``masses''. It is as if he is saying through the very structure of his ``tale in short stories" that the masses are not anonymous, but that each person being part of the people is unique and original.
This is why it is difficult to agree with the interpretation of the demoralisation of literature which has been given most concrete expression in Novi] Mir. According to these writers, the essence of this process of democratisation lies in the fact that literature has finally switched its attention from portraying ``leaders'' and ``outstanding'' personalities to those who are ``led'', the ``ordinary'', ``little'' man. In an attempt to justify this unconvincing theory, they recall that ``the greatness of Russian literature lies first and foremost in its constant concern for ordinary people, for the 'little man' as he was called".^^1^^
It is certainlv true thai the figure of the ``little man" in Russian literature is bound up with the development of _-_-_
~^^1^^ \tntji Mir No. 1, Mmr>, p. 14.
39 democratic and humanist traditions. But was this the only factor? Did not Belinsky regard the novel Eiujene Onef/in as one of the finest examples of art imbued with the spirit of the Russian people? There are no grounds for the categorical assertion that the greatness of Russian literature lies first and foremost in such characters as Samson Yy rin. Akaky Bashmachkin. Makar Devushkin and Anton (lo remyka. and not in the figures of Taliana Larina, Pecho rin. the auto-biographical hero of Past and Thmif/lils. Pierre Bezukhov. Natasha Roslova. Rakhmetov. Bazarov or Dymov.But this strange theory of demoralisation is most strikingly disproved by the facts of Soviet literature. Let us assume that the supporters of this theory were in such a hurry that they forgot about f.orky's interpretation of the ``little man''. Such things do happen in the heat of the argument. But how could they possibly overlook such figures as Chapaycv. (lodun. Levinson. Davydov. Korchagin and. last but not least. Yasily Tvorkin? Who could dare call them ``little'', ``ordinary'' characters, although they are all from the ``lower classes''. Nor can one possibly justify any attempt to represent Grigory Melekhov as an ordinary hero. When reading Sholokhov's epic we are constantly aware of the fact that if this man had been in the Red Army he would have become a Chapayev. Then there is Yasily Tvorkin. the embodiment of all that is truly popular in the original meaning of the word. Could one really see this soldier and ``political instructor" sparkling with wit as a ``little man"? He feels himself to be the master of his country and evokes pride, not pity. Were it not for the fact that he dies, one could well imagine him as the chairman of a collective farm or in an even higher posl, and it would not be a violation of the truth of life.
It must be emphasised once again: the author of this strange theory of demoralisation grasped al an all-- toohasly, false generalisation of individual facts. Among the hundreds of new titles which have appeared over the years, there have been those which have shown the development of man under socialism as a constant climb up the professional ladder. This is an over-simplified solution of a complex problem. In a country where the slate is run by the workers and peasants themselves, where the children 40 of shepherds, miners, cooks and teachers constitute the basis of the intelligentsia, the transformation of the ``led'' into the ``leaders'' is a natural process. So we are dealing with cases of the banal, over simplified and sometimes hackneyed portrayal of a complex phenomenon. In the greatesl works attention is concentrated on the spiritual development of man. II is impossible to formulate a viable concept of demoralisation by referring lo works which are often outside the sphere of art and ignoring real life and those works which give a true picture of things as they are.
But the emergence of such a concept shows thai even at the present stage of development not all interpretations of commitment to the people are firmly linked with commitment to the Communist Party.
This error may be of use if one draws the correct conclusion from it. For if even the great Tolstoi gave an inaccurate portrayal of the formation of bourgeois Russia and the revolutionary rise of the masses, because he saw these new. and for him unfamiliar, phenomena from a patriarchal point of view, it is hopeless lo try and understand the nature of a people building communism if one still sees that people as they were a hundred years ago. No amount of talent will overcome this obstacle. And those who really value talenl and are concerned wilh finding the true role of literature and the arts in the building of communism should make a closer study of the literary discoveries made at earlier stages in the development of Soviet society.
These discoveries were made in the course of implementing the method of socialist realism and the principle of commitment lo Communist Party and people.
[41] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Anatoly DremovThe creation of characters personifying high ideals lias always been a distinguishing feature of art. provided that the artist was aware of his responsibility to society and had his finger on the pulse of the people.
The ideal is determined by reality or to be more precise social reality. But this ideal is by no means a mirror image, for it docs not reflect every aspect of life but only the most vital, valuable and desirable, or in the words of Lenin ``morally higher" aspects. In giving expression to life's highest manifestations, its most progressive trends and concepts, the ideal becomes the highest criterion of the desideratum, the highest expression of a given purpose. ``Man needs an ideal,'' slates Lenin in one of his philosophical treatises, ``but a human ideal corresponding to nature and not a supernatural ideal.''^^1^^ The wisdom of these words is immediately apparent when they are seen in relation to the life of the Soviet people and their unceasing daily toil, as in the book Heroes of Our Time, which contains seven hundred essays on outstanding national figures. These ``heroes'' are no imaginary ``supermen'' but typical Soviet workers, such as steel founder Mikhail Privalov or virgin land farmer Mikhail Dovzhik. They all personify the moral features so typical of the Soviet people and their communist ideals. Yuri Gagarin, an ordinary Soviet citizen, blazed the trail into space for mankind. His breakthrough to the stars _-_-_
^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 38, p. 75.
42 was a triumph for the whole Soviet people. II was made possible by economic and cultural achievements and by ihe efforts of scientists, designers and ordinary workers over the decades.The heroism of the Soviet people is a mark of I heir spiritual stability. For example, it look a lot of intelligence and generosity for Shaakhmed Shamakhmudov, a Tashkent blacksmith, and his wife Bakhri Akramova to adopt fourteen war orphans and turn them into useful members of society. Then there was Olga Forsh's article entitled ``Spring `61" published in I'ravdri. In this tragic yet remarkably optimistic article, the old authoress writes of her twilight years, even of her impending death. Every line exudes the fresh vigour of youth. It is difficult to believe that it was written by a woman nearly ninety years of age. The calm dignity of the following lines is particularly impressive: ''. . .eight years ago they removed a cataract from both eyes. I was almost blind before the operation and had fo make an enormous menial effort to get used to the idea of being blind and to imagine life without light. It was then that I realised that life in darkness is not death and that even without light one can still live a real life. During these difficult days I began to plan my new book Pioneers of Freedom which appeared when I was eighty after Ihe doctors had brought light and colour back into my life.'' The article ends with a description of lilac coloured bluebells, Ihe fresh green buds of the trees, ``life with its constant renewal and the immortality of our cause''. Little did we know reading these moving words that this was to be the writer's last testament. To produce such a courageous piece of writing with death just around the corner is no mean feat.
Our ideal is no abstract concept of Ihe desirable. It is firmly rooted in Ihe actual stale of the world. It is not opposed to reality but rather synlhesises its principal qualities in the light of its future development.
People need an ideal not so that they can indulge in idle daydreams, but to bring about a practical transformation of life. Lenin said that ideals are a question of everyday life and that ``the loftiest ideals arc not worth a brass farthing so long as you fail to merge them indissolubly . . . with those `narrow' and petty everyday problems of the given 43 class.''^^1^^ An ideal is capable of inspiring and transforming, only if it coincides with the vital interests of the people, and if they accept it as the embodiment of their heart-felt hopes and inspirations.
An ideal has a dual aspect. It embodies all that which is most advanced, all the highest achievements which bear the seeds of the future. As well as being related to the past and present the ideal points the way forward to the future indicating the aoal and means hi/ which it is to be achieved. As it grows in the social, popular and class consciousness, the ideal lakes on various forms of expression, political, moral and aesthetic. It exists in the mind of people, first and foremost in that part which is most progressive, most conscious. It is given theoretical expression in the works of philosophers and scientists and embodied in works of art.
Consequently the ideal first emerges as the product of thought and is only then realised in life. This demonstrates the activity of the human mind, its ability not merely to see but to foresee, not only to reflect, hut to create new reality.
Marxism recognises scientific foresight. Scientific investigation acquires scope and daring from hypothesis, creative surmise, and hold leaps of the imagination. Imagination plays an even greater role in the work of the artist. Detecting the features of the man of the future in presentday life and one's contemporaries is not only the right, but the duty of the true artist. He emphasises these features in his work, showing people the ideal in all its beauty and inspiring them with faith in the future and the ardent desire to fight for it. The most important feature of socialist realism is to show life in its revolutionary development, the struggle and victory of the new over the old, and reveal a picture of the communist future.
Literature contains many examples of artists who were able to foresee the future of mankind. Chernyshevsky uses Yera Pavlovna's dreams, in his novel What Is To Re Done. to give a very concrete picture of the life, work and human relations of the people of the future. Naturally, modern socialist society differs in many respects from the utopias _-_-_
~^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Colkftcd Works, Vol. 1, p. 391.
44 of the great artists and scholars of the past, hut some of their predictions have already turned out to be true.Modern Soviet artists concentrate on depicting the development of communist society. The novel Andromeda by Ivan Yefremov contains such a panorama of this future. The exploits of the conquerors of space and the brilliant scientific and human achievements of people at the end of the twentieth century are described in the tragedy Faust and Death, by the Ukrainian playwright A. Levada. This play deals with the unprecedented development of science and technology and, what is even more important, the ardour and daring of the people of the future in their conquest of nature.
In his Talk witli the Young Maxim (iorky expounded his views on the artistic reflection of reality: ``It is not enough to depict only that which exists, we must also bear in mind that which is desirable and attainable. It is essential to typify phenomena. Producing something significant and typical from that which is insignificant yet characteristic--- therein lies the real task of literature.''
__*_*_*__Several writers who consider the most important, progressive feature of modern Soviet art to lie in emphasising the negative and concentrate their attention on deficiencies resulting primarily from the Stalin cult, ``forget'' to stress the importance of the writer's ideological position. They display ramarkable indifference to the most important questions, i.e., in the name of whicli and whose ideals the author is exposing these faults. They would do well to remember that even Saltykov-Shchedrin. unrivalled in his merciless exposure of such transgressions, said: ``The writer's social importance (and what other importance could he have?) lies in illuminating all types of moral and intellectual shortcomings so that the fresh wind of the ideal may dispel stagnation of all kinds.''
In recent discussions about the positive hero opponents of the heroic image rightly stressed the significance of the critical function of art, often ignoring its educational function, and it is now almost fashionable to speak ironically of education by the force of example. It is often said that this is just for the children, a prop for teenagers, etc. As 45 if a work of art can really influence our minds and emotions particularly through the positive hero without at the same time penetrating the main trends of social develop merit, and irrespective of whether it is truthful and profound or false and shallow. It is not also surprising that the educational influence of ``critical research" should be ignored, as in V. Lakshin's comparison of And Quiet Flows the Don with How I he Steel Was Tempered. Ac cording to his line of argument And Quid Flows the Don does not inspire the reader with any noble ideal, and How the Sleel Was Tempered gives us no insight into life, since it does not give ``a truthful reflection of reality or portray the characters with sufficient freshness and courage''.
One cannot separate the educative and cognitive functions of a work of art. It is impossible to grasp the whole complexity of this question without taking into account the author's attitude towards his subject-matter, the nature of the aesthetic ideal behind his images (provided that we are dealing with a genuine work of art and not a didactic treatise or an occasional venomous attack). But this is precisely what some critics neglect to do. They ignore the fact that socialist realism aims at portraying life in all its diversity arid complexity. It docs not simply choose to portray positive or negative phenomena (this depends on the writer's individual style and choice of subject matter), but aims at presenting a truthful, pen elraling picture of the conflict between the positive hero and the forces opposing him---both elements shown in their dialectical unity.
The author's ideal casts its light upon the darkest corners of life and inspires people to struggle against ``human imperfection''. In the absence of a sufficiently strong ideal truth becomes distorted either intentionally or unintentionally or the work degenerates into a meaningless lament. A tendency to depict the worst in people, without stating the author's own position or ideal may be detected, for example, in the novel Seven in One House by the talented writer V. Syomin.
Much of what is portrayed in his novel is accurate, and penetrating. He knows suburban life extremely well and is able to depict it in a few deft strokes. But however accurate individual facts may be, they are selected and 46 presented in such a way as to give a distorted picture of life. No one can seriously claim that the mainstream of life is to be found in the suburbs described by Syomin.
It could be argued that although this is the case it still does not mean that the author is not entitled to show these suburbs. Of course he is entitled to do so. But this immediately poses the important problems of how and why he treats such questions, by what principles and aesthetic ideals he should allow himself to be guided. Unfortunately, there is 110 definite answer to these questions in V. Syomin's novel. The author depicts an artificially isolated microcosm divorced from society, engrossed in its own petty worries, joys and sorrows, which have nothing in common with the basic concerns of society.
Syomin's weak point is that he does not see (or rather does not show) the general relevance of isolated facts to real life. This results in the portrayal of trivial rather than the whole truth. Instead of castigating defects and struggling against them, the author laments them showing his characters sinking into the mire of philistinism.
In such cases the writer would do well to recall Gorky's astute observation that facts in themselves do not constitute the whole truth and that the writer's interpretation of them is of prime importance.
The absence of an ideal, the fear of raising one's voice in praise of the heroic quality of the life and aspirations of the ordinary man and the reluctance to expose evil are inevitably detrimental to the ideological and artistic content of the work.
To give a really true picture, the artist must portray thai which exists in such a way as to reveal the main trends of development. He must be able to envisage the time when the young shoot before him will be a great, blossoming tree. It is impossible (apart from the literature of science fiction) to portray the future in the present without some degree of aesthetic exaggeration. In other words without showing people, as Fadeyev put it, both as they are and as they should be or will be. Here the artist draws on dreams and visions of the future. But it would be quite wrong to regard this as a distortion of the truth, or a flight from reality.
47Obviously, 1)}' ideals we do not mean castles in Hie air, but aspirations rooted in reality, just as man likes to imaghie the lime when the liny shoots of the future peeping forth today will burst inlo full bloom. The artist takes these shoots which, though J'ew in number, portend a new and belter future, condenses and transforms them inlo a ``pearl of creation" (Belinsky). Thus, socialist realism is concerned not only with objective reality, bill also with the desirable, necessary and ideal as a vision of the future, based on a profound understanding of the objective laws and principal trends of social development.
This gives birlh to an heroic figure, combining the real and the ideal in an organic oneness.
In my opinion, Yadim Kozhevnikov, whose earlier writing shows his search for heroic characters, which helped him produce the interesting novel To Meet the Dawn, has succeeded in portraying an heroic character in his new novel, The Shield anil the Sword.
Occasionally we read thai a reckless, devil-may-care person or ``nihilist'' will seize a machine-gun and perform an act of heroism when the situation demands it. In my opinion this is simply not possible. Heroes are shaped In circumstances, by education and overcoming obstacles. This is the case with Alexander Belov, the hero of The Shield (ind the Sword. Were il not for his former way of life he would probably not have acquired the necessary qualities for a Soviet intelligence officer. His education and the high moral principles which were instilled in him by his family, school and Soviet upbringing, combined with his positive personal qualities, made his whole life a series of exploits.
If we ask ourselves whether everyone can be like Alexander Belov, the honest answer would be ``no, not everyone by any means''.
Heroic characters in life, like ideal characters in art, are an inspiring example, shining in the darkness like the heart of Danko, lighting the path to the future. They are the embodiment of the ideal and have the power to open up (he future; moreover, they are truthful and realistic. People do follow such heroes not blindly, bill because they recognise their historical truth.
This poses the following question. Recent literary 48 critieism contains frequent mention of Lenin's references to the ``heroism of the individual impulse" and Hie ``heroism of the people's daily work''. Particular emphasis is placed on the word ``daily'', in other words, the accent is on rou line, ordinary, everyday events and their portrayal by the arlist. However, in the second case Lenin is specifically emphasising the heroism of daily work and does not mean that all routine work is necessarily heroical just because' it is carried out by the masses. Lenin stressed that daily work during the revolution. Civil \Yar and the period of reconstructing the nation's devastated economy bore ample witness to the courage and heroism of the working man. The building of communism is an heroic task; but Ihis by no means implies thai every single participant in this worthy endeavour is himself a hero. Empty talk about the heroism of each and every citizen more often than not serves to discredit Irue heroism and overshadow the example set by the vanguard.
It is obvious that only an honest and conscientious altilude to work can create the conditions necessary for a worthwhile existence, and that this does nol necessarily imply any heroic endeavour on the part of the individual. But when a man puts his whole heart and soul into his work with no thought for himself, even the most ordinary routine lasks lake on an heroic quality. And this is precise!}' what Lenin meant by the heroism of everyday work. There may or may nol be a disparity between the hero's external and internal qualities, his unusual personality and the apparently modest role which he plays; but this is no justification for ignoring or belittling true heroes.
Marxists resolutely oppose all attempts to make the ideal absolute. Everything depends on the material conditions obtaining in the epoch, the class structure and general outlook on life. The ideal is a factor of social development. It too lives and develops. The same also applies in equal measure to the communist ideal.
It would be wrong to say that the communist ideal is now being /<///;/ realised. Engels said: ``History, like cognition, cannot be realised in some perfect, ideal human condition, for a perfect society or a ``state' exists only in the imagination.'' Even in the most perfect ``human condition" progress will not cease. It may be perfect in comparison with __PRINTERS_P_49_COMMENT__ 4---862 49 the preceding stages of social history, but even at this new stage there will be wide scope for further progress, for the conquest of the universe, for the perfection of man. New and even more complex tasks present an even greater challenge to man's creative powers. This means that at the same time as the present ideal is realised, society will sow the seeds of a new ideal which even at its initial stages will serve as an inspiration to man and show him the way forward.
At this point I should like to refer to The Problems of Realism, by V. Dneprov in which the author devotes a great deal of space to the question of the ideal and its connection with reality, the communist ideal in particular.
His line of reasoning implies that former ideals did not ``become a reality" because the right conditions did not obtain. This being the case, does it mean that people were not guided by these ideals in their practical activities?
It is well known that the progressive ideals of past epochs, like those of today, were born of life. The struggle for their realisation determined the aims and actions of progressive social forces and individuals. To some extent these ideals did ``become a reality''. Gradually new and higher ideals took their place. This conclusion is inescapable, if one takes into account the real facts and their dialectical meaning, and if the term ``ideal'' is understood as a real ideal.
``Why do we need an 'ideal man', when we have real people who are a thousand times more interesting and orig inal than any ideal?" asks Dneprov. This point of view is nothing but a complacent and self-satisfied attitude to what has already been achieved, a sugary idealisation of modern life!
There are still many remnants of the past in Soviet society and very few people measure up to the communist ideal or possess those properties which, according to Dneprov, are ``a thousand times" greater than those of the ``ideal man''. Even the best Soviet citizens strive for perfection. They know their aims and how to achieve them, and accordingly develop in themselves qualities necessary for life in a communist society. But even when they have achieved the present ideal of communist man, they will still 50 be inspired to strive for even greater perfection by a new vision of unsealed heights.
In discussing the communist ideal and its realisation in the activities of the people, Dneprov ignores the fact that a Irue understanding of that ideal cannot lie gained without a concrete historical approach. That is why he limits it, declaring that ``in our time the ideal i^ becoming a reality'', and thereby considering the question solved, lie does not give serious consideration to the questions: what ideal is being realised and to what c.iient or what new ideal is simultaneously maturing and inspiring our contemporaries to further self-improvement. There is little evidence in the book that the author is aware of the simple fact that every ideal is limited historically and is therefore a product of its age. Howevei, it is only within such a concrete, historical framework that we can assess the possi bility of the ideal being achieved. The ideal itself should not be understood as being absolute, and consequently one should not adopt an abstract approach to the question of its realisation. An ideal cannot ``become reality" or be fully achieved in contemporary historical conditions. The opposite view would be a Utopian one, tantamount to an assertion that the development of society and human consciousness has ground to a halt.
Gorky had this to say about the replacement of one ideal by another.
``Life progresses towards perfection guided by the ideal, by that which does not yet exist but which we believe it is possible to achieve.
``Reality is always the materialisation of an ideal, and when we renounce and change that reality, we do so because the ideal we have succeeded in creating no longer satisfies us, and because we already possess a new and belter ideal created by our imagination.''^^1^^
Thus ideals change as life develops. There arc no eternal, petrified ideals relevant to all epochs and all classes. The ideal is a call to fight for a belter life, not an expression of complacency with the existing one.
In short every writer must proceed from reality to the image, with his understanding of life illuminated by an _-_-_
~^^1^^ M. Gorky, Cnllrrlrd Works, Russ. od., Vol. 24, p. 22(>.
51 ideal. Otherwise what is the signilicanee of world outlook and individual consciousness in art? The writer is a creator and therefore his starling-point is life, not some logical, didactic system to be followed blindly. The writer's task and that of art as a whole is conscious creation. Logical systems and the formulation of general qualities lie beyond the scope of true art.The writer forms his hero from his accumulated experience of life interpreted in the light of his ideal of man.
Since man is the principal subject of art, the ideal of beauty, the highest level of aesthetic perfection, is particularly strongly expressed in the shape of a person whose appearance and behaviour provide us with an example of inner beauty, worthy of imitation. ``Beauty is the main quality of the exalted,'' observed Denis Diderot. And it is in this struggle for the achievement of an ideal that man's activities can be seen in their most ``exalted'' form.
Art which is anti-social and lacks exalted ideals or which ignores the class struggle and the fundamental problems of life, is both decadent and corrupt.
The de-humanisation of art is the predominant feature of bourgeois modernism, and the greatest danger to creative art.
Bourgeois theoreticians seek to explain this repudiation of the ideal not as a result of the corruption and inevitable collapse facing the capitalist system, but as a general law of human development, a fatal inevitability inherent in human nature.
Soviet writers recognise the need to create positive heroes representing the new man who will inspire millions by their example. This is a task of great historical importance, the burden of which rests upon the writer. Many modern writers are striving to accomplish this; they do not i'ear bold words, daring strokes of the pen and brush and the aesthetic exaggeration of characters, following in the best traditions of classical and popular literature. The popular concept of the ideal was always expressed most vividly and boldly in truly artistic images of man; for example. Hellenic art depicts man most forcefully exaggerating his beauty, perfection, strength, courage and virtues. Legendary figures the world over---Ilya Muromels, Othello, Taras Bulba, Rakhmetov, Karl Moor, William Tell 52 and Felageya Nilovna display the same aesthetic exag geration of positive traits. Mikhail Sholokhov explains the artistic portrayal of man as follows: ``Let us assume that 1 am writing about a soldier, a man who is near and dear to me. How could I portray him badly? He is my flesh and blood, from head to fool. Therefore I try not to mention his pock marked face or certain faults in his character. But if 1 do mention them I try to write in such a way that the reader will love him for what he is, even his pockmarks and faults.''
It is interesting to note that some of the views published recently on this controversial question of the ideal hero and artistic idealisation, have been well thought out, in contrast to the irritated outbursts which one was so accustomed to hear in the not so distant past. Several serious scholars have returned to this complex question, to which Soviet aesthetics has not vet found a satisfactory answer. In his article ``Paradoxes of Criticism" (Voprosy Litcralury No. 8, 1965) Y. Osetrov rightly objects to the unscientific, interpretation of the ideal hero as a distillate `` including all of man's virtues and none of his faults''. In this article the author states that ``Vasily Tyorkin, who embodies the best and most heroic national features, can be called an ideal hero without any reservations''. He goes on to say that Thyll Ulenspiegel and Colas Breugnon are so close to Tyorkin in character that they may be considered brothers.
In a recent publication entitled Methods of Literary Criticism N. F. Belchikov. Corresponding Member of the U.S.S.R. Academy of Sciences, stales that ``discussions (about the ideal hero---Author) were found to be useful because they helped writers to define certain methodological principles more precisely, condemn, for example, the tendency lo deprive lileralure of its hero and clarify some of the tasks of modern literary study''.
__*_*_*__Man must always have a hero, said Gorky. Every epoch has given birth to people who have epitomised the noblest qualities, the vital interests and the fundamental needs of their limes. Qualities present lo some degree in the 53 ordinary working man were greatly magnified in the hero. True writers have always attempted to create characters whose noble qualities made them an ``ideal'' lighting the way to a brighter future like a flaming torch.
Gorky's statement that if socialist realism is to flourish its main concern must be the typification of life's phenomena is just as true today. Only this attitude will guarantee the success of our writers, the creation of works giving powerful expression to our lofty and noble ideal---the ideal of communism.
[54] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Georgy LomidzeIt is a generally accepted notion that nations are formed in conditions of bourgeois society when the fellers of feudalism, with its policy of dismembering and isolation, drop and the life of people becomes united by numerous links- economic, spiritual, and so forth. But having given birth lo nations, bourgeois society denies them national sovereignty. Does not the whole history of the inglorious colonial regime prove eloquently enough Ihal Ihc exploiter class, for mercenary motives, has always been anxious to keep its subservient nations ignorant, poor, mule and slavishly obedienl?
Nalurally, Ihe reaclionary bourgeoisie does nol want the peoples it exploits to develop a sense of national self-- awareness. The entire system of the bourgeois law and order which is based on the principle of the strong oppressing the weak prevents the development of national cultures. The bourgeoisie as a class that feeds on the peoples it oppresses fears their solidarily. Consolidalion of Ihe enslaved peoples is a mighty force capable of wiping the rule of Ihe oppressors oil' Ihe face of Ihe earth. And for this reason the reactionary bourgeoisie does everything to set peoples against one another, to fan national enmity and mutual hatred. The ideology of racism is a tried and tested weapon in the hands of the bourgeoisie.
Socialism liberates peoples and tremendously accelerates their economic and cultural growth. The solid foundation on which Ihe communal existence of socialist stales is based is compounded of brolherhood, equality, mutual respect, assistance, and concern for everyone's welfare. Every 55 nation, big or small, is provided with truly boundless opporlunities Tor the development of all the aspects of its economy and culture. The national arts begin to blossom. The remarkable fruit yielded by this combination of political and spiritual liberation was spoken of by Suniti Kumar Chatter]!, a well-known Indian scholar, at the seminar on the study and translation of Asian and African literatures held in .Moscow in 19(>4. From the first, he said, the Soviet Government adopted a new approach to the basic problems of life, to problems of philosophy, culture and politics as applicable to the world in general and to the countries of Asia and Africa in particular. The essential distinction of this new approach is that human values are taken into equal account with political values.
The community of aims and views, and the feeling of sincere mutual respect engender in the Soviet peoples a natural desire to become closer acquainted and to exchange with one another all that is finest, unique and beautiful in each national culture. These contacts enable the national cultures---both the highly developed and the relatively young---to assimilate what the others have lo oll'er of value and thus go a step higher in their development.
This growing closeness between the Soviet national cultures is part of the objective historical process in conditions of socialist and communist society. The rapprochement between nations and the (lowering of national cultures are not conflicting processes. They are two mutually and dialectically connected aspects of the same phenomenon. The closeness between the socialist nations is based on their community of views, historical aims and aspirations. United by these all-important and all-determining tasks, and working for the attainment of a common ideal, these nations must naturally grow closer. Spiritual kinship makes for a better mutual appreciation of artistic values and for a more vigorous exchange of creative ideas. Cultures which have been reared in the same social soil, for all their national uniqueness, find a common language much more quickly, of course, than backward and advanced cultures, the more so if they differ ideologically and aesthetically. A rapprochement between national cultures, conditioned by the very course of history, speeds up their development. Needless to say. a national culture does not owe 56 its development only to the assimilation of experience. It has its own roots and its own national motive power. But once again there is no conflict between the development of this national artistic power and the rapprochement between nations. This latter process is a constant source of light, so to say. it brings out the new capacities latent in national cultural creativity and raises its standard. Thus, it becomes a law in the life of the national cultures and the most reliable means of attaining perfection. V. I. Lenin taught that the road to a single culture of communist society lies through the development of the national culture of each nation which has freed itself from the capitalist yoke.
In the Soviet Union there are no major or minor literatures. Each national literature, however young, has something to be proud of.
Author Georgy Gulia in .1 Slori/ About Mi/ Father quotes his father, a celebrated folk poet, on the need to evaluate literature, to whatever people it belongs, from the aesthetic point of view as an equivalent part of the entire Soviet society's spiritual culture. ``Literature is like gold,'' Dmitry (iulia said, ``the pieces can be big or small, but all are gold. The small ones are not made of clay. Gold will always be gold. Size does not matter.''
A great deal has been written about the role played by Russian culture and Russian people in the progress achieved by the Kazakh nation: it has been described in the novels of Mukhlar Auezov, Gabit Musrepov, Sabit Mukanov, Gabiclen Mustafin, Takhavi Akhlanov. and in numerous articles and monographs.
The purpose of bringing the national cultures closer together is to strengthen their unity. For unity is the source that feeds the roots of national art and gives it strength and vitality. The community of the Soviet people's views and aims is spreading to include more and more spheres in their spiritual life. New common features arc also emerging in the aesthetic awareness of people. The Socialist Revolution has ``flung open" all the ``windows'' in the consciousness of men and awakened their sense of the beautiful and harmonious. A difference in perception still exists, there is no doubt of that, and picture galleries and operas do not evoke the same associations in a Ukrainian, a Kazakh, an Estonian, or a Georgian. But. aesthetically, thev 57 think alike in many things. That sharp contrast which at one lime would have made it extremely difficult to find artistic criteria that would answer, if only to some degree, the tastes and ideas of all the peoples inhabiting the U.S.S.R. no longer exists. The cultures of the Soviet peoples have developed in every respect to modern standards.
The peoples of the U.S.S.R. were so quick to assimilate the greatest values of world culture and to develop them so creatively that there docs not seem to be anything im ported or foreign about them. It seems incredible that novels and short stories are new genres, relatively speaking, in Byelorussian, Kazakh, Kirghiz, Uzbek and Turkmenian literatures. And yet these republics have produced such outstanding prose writers as Petrus Brovka and Vasil Bykov (Byelorussia); Mukhtar Aue/ov and Sabit Mukanov (Kazakhstan); Berdy Kerbabayev (Turkmenia) and Chinghis Aitmatov (Kirghizia).
The international (or universal) and the national make a natural harmony, like the two wings of the eagle, without which there would be no flight. ``An eagle that does not fly far from its mountains is no eagle, it's just a chick,'' said the poet Rasul Gamzatov. ``And the bird that does not fly home to its nest from far away is no eagle either, nor even rarn avis."
Bold, daring thought and the ability to see not just the rectangle of sky through the window but also the distant worlds beyond give the artist wings which carry him aloft. But to attain this altitude he must have strong moral and emotional roots anchored in some concrete national soil which has nurtured his talent and launched him in world art. A person who potters in his own kitchen garden all the time, paying scant attention to the world about him, will miss the main thing. He will not feel the trcmendousness, the complexity and the singleness of life, nor will he hear the beating of its heart. But it is as dangerous to neglect one's native language, culture, people and history; in short, all that which has granted one the gift of feeling, reasoning, seeing and hearing---the gift of life. Genuine art is an organic compound of the two conditions, one giving the other support and strength.
In socialist internationalism the general is combined with the particular, and the international with the 58 patriolic. Soviet patriotism is a mighty spiritual force which unites the peoples of our country into a single invincible whole.
Internationalism neither precludes nor substitutes for the national, but is actually based on it. International fusion is the surest and the only guarantee of the socialist peoples' genuine national revival and prosperity. Socialist internationalism treats the national feelings of people and their national culture with consideration, and gives the finest national traits an opportunity for sell expression.
There are different sides to the life of a nation. There is that which comprises its intellect, its new socialist essence, and its past which, developed and enriched, makes the basis for its future. There is also the obsolete, the dead tissue which we do not want to take into the future with us and therefore must overcome and shed. National narrowmindedness does not simply mean self-isolation within the bounds of one's own nation, nor does it imply national arrogance, conceit and smugness alone. In the socialist world it means a clutching at (he moribund, at nationalistic bigotry. National narrow-mindedness is incompatible with genuine love of one's own nation and such of its qualities demonstrated in its past or modern history which elevate a nation and link its life with that of other peoples.
For those who are narrow-minded nationalists there is only the narrow concept of ``mine'', and only the peculiarly national in this ``mine'', never mind if it is obviously obsolete, useless or even harmful. This attachment to the backward, decaying or already dead, so long as it is national, cannot be accounted lor. And for all the assurances of these people that in their actions they are guided by devotion to their nation, it is difficult to believe them. Devotion to one's nation is not measured by blind worship of all that has become deposited in or got stuck for different reasons in the national mentality or in the way of the nation's life.
Genuine devotion to one's nation is inseparable from a feeling of respect for other nations, from a sense of unity of the socialist nations, for it is from this unity that one's own nation receives its lifeblood.
The U.S.S.R. is so vast that naturally it has a great diversity of scenery, climate and local colour. But a Soviet 59 poet will discover something of the Motherland, something dear and necessary to him, wherever he goes and however unfamiliar the view that opens before his eyes.
The life of each Soviet person is inseparable from the life of the entire nation. There is a small village in Moldavia which, in view of its remoteness from the busy thoroughfares and towns, was in pre revolutionary limes doomed to a wretched existence with nothing to look forward to. Misfortunes, tragedies and the rare sparks of shortlived happiness remained purely local matters, with none to hear about them or care. And this backwoods, as it was once called, is developing splendidly. It has become a necessary and inseparable part of the vast Soviet home. The Moldavian poet Andrei Lupau writes:
``My native uillaae in no longer just a uillaae. Il nun] be culled the counlnj. And Hie people."
For a Soviet writer the image of Motherland is inseparable from his native parts, from the place where he was born. Unfamiliar sights in his country make him think of home not because there is any real likeness. Everything that is associated with the concept of Motherland finds an instant response in his heart.
A wide range of national interests does not at all mean that a person must renounce his nation, sever his roots, and imagine himself a citizen of the universe. An author who lloats in space and writes about everyone and everything, snatching pieces out of the life of different nations, can hardly think he is serving humanity. His success cannot depend on his choice of theme. II depends on how powerful is his talent, how large-scale his thinking, and how keen his ideological vision.
Books which have an international impact are never the kind of novels that soar on the wings of fantasy above reality, above environment, above circumstances, rambling on about everything under the sun and only saying a little about anything concrete. A book of truly universal popularity is Mikhail Sholokhov's And Quiet Flown the Don. Yet it is completely immersed in Russian life, practically all the characters are Russian, the land, the skies and the setup are all Russian. But in his epic novel Sholokhov raises 60 problems of universally historical importance. It tells the story of an individual who strove to lind his place in the titanic struggle between the forces of the revolution and the forces of reaction, and who paid a tragic price for the mistakes he made along the road he travelled in those difficult years when the old was being broken up and the new was emerging in the life of the country.
Sholokhov's And Quiet Flown Ihc Don is international in essence, in the powerfully expressed philosophy of life, and in the scale of the social conllicts described.
A writer cannot introduce a lot of people of dilferent nationalities into his novel just as the fancy takes him. without giving due consideration to the ``cast of characters" and the peculiarities of the reality he is describing, simply in order to make his story sound more international. He may mean well, but he may produce a lie. Even if his material does allow him to touch upon the subject of international unity, he must make a careful choice of the events and characters he will describe.
People of all Soviet nationalities fought in the Great Patriotic War against fascism. But Alexei Tolstoi wrote only about Russians, and entitled his famous cycle of short stories: The Russian Character. Leonid Sobolev's The Call of the Sea is also about the war, and also about Russian sailors and soldiers. Take Mikhail Sholokhov's The Fate of a Man, Konstantin Fedin's Conflagration, Alexander Tvardovsky's Vastly Ti/orkin, Boris Polevoi's A Story about a Heal Man, and Emmanuil Kazakevich's Star. I could name a great number more. Speaking from positions of internationalism in the narrow understanding of the word, we would be perfectly justified in holding a grudge against Alexei Tolstoi, Sholokhov, Fedin, Tvardovsky, Polevoi and Kazakevich for not availing themselves of the opportunity they obviously had to touch upon the theme of international brotherhood, and what is more, for actually scorning this chance!
Should we accuse them of national narrow-mindedness lor it'.' Or shall we call the authors incapable of looking at life from the universal, or international, point of view? A conclusion verging on downright silliness, wouldn't it be? But still, why did these writers ignore the theme of international cooperation when the factual material they had 61 was actually inviting them to take it up? The answer is very simple. The writers selected a chunk of life and focussed their attention on it in a desire to iind an answer to those moral, spiritual and human problems which worried them. By imaginatively recreating a true picture of the happenings they had chosen to interpret they gave expression to what was uppermost in their minds, to what appeared most important to them, what tormented and agitated them. Compare their novels with the books of those few authors who write with readiness and astonishing lightness about all the different countries of the world, whether they have ever been there or not, and about all the nations whether they know anything about them or not. Now then, would you call these writers who keep jumping from one subject to another-internationalists, and those who write nationally about their own people--- narrow-minded? This primitive way of thinking will not solve such sophisticated problems as the correlation between the international and the national. A more flexible and dialectical criterion is needed, one that would determine the depth and significance of the international feeling in the first case, and the ideological content, the inner connection between the national and the international in the second.
Internationalism in art is determined by the following factors: the aspects of life which the author describes, the depth, the measure of talent and the ideological perspicacity with which he reproduces what he has seen, and the importance of his story to others. Internationalism is a social and not a thematic quality, although the theme of internationalism is essential in itself too, of course. Hut for a book to achieve a powerful international impact the author must have a progressive world outlook, he must be able to open the broadest vistas before the reader and help him to understand events in their true meaning, in their irrepressible movement, their intricate links and contradictory interconnections. In Soviet literature, the pathos of internationalism and humanism is rendered through the moral principles, thoughts, deeds and character of the heroes, born and reared in socialism, and shown in relation to those aspects of life whose significance is universal.
62No matter how impressive the ``local colour" in a book (in other words, the specific peculiarities of a national life), it can aspire to universal importance only if the author has recorded in it---from the standpoint of a progressive writer---the cardinal, historically important and essentially instructive happenings in the life of the nation. The peaks of art are accessible to all nations, big or small. Symptomatic in this respect is the success attained by Soviet writers from the so-called small and, in the past, extremely backward and undeveloped nations.
Why are Jamila by Chinghis Aitmatov (a Kirghiz), The Word of an Arut by Salchak Toka (from Tuva) and The Season of Melting Snows by Yuri Rytkhcu (a Chukcha) so popular? First of all, because they raise problems of universal interest and give a clear exposition of the new philosophy. The reader becomes a participant, as it were, in the magic process of shaping those wonderful trails in people belonging to small and formerly backward nations. The point here is not in individual genius nor in the efforts of individual will-power, but in the social and moral conditions which unfetter all the finest impulses and qualities in men. In the Soviet Union the ``small'' nations need have 110 fear of being shut oil' from the rest of the country in the geographical and psychological bounds of their small locality, and doomed to provincialism. The socialist policy of developing nations and nationalities makes provision against provincial backwardness and spiritual impoverishment. National narrow-mindedness and an inability to see the complexity of life in modern society cannot produce values of universal significance. And this is only natural. The national which does not rise above the philistine and the narrowly provincial ceases to be the national expression of national thought. And, consequently, it loses all hope of becoming universal.
When Jean Luce persecute, a novel by the well-known Swiss writer Charles Ramuz, was being translated into Hungarian, the author wrote to the translator and in his letter raised the question of the universal and the national in literature. This is what he said:
``The locality where the story of Jean Luce unfolds lies between the upper reaches of the Rhone and the place where it flows into the Lake of Geneva. The people here 63 live an almost nomadic life and are constantly moving about. They come down into the vallev for (lie grape picking, then they go uphill to the small villages for the hay culling, and after thai (hey withdraw high into the mountains tor three months to graze their herds. It worries me that these particulars of climate and topography might make Ihe characters in my novel little understandable to readers living in diil'erenl geographical conditions. A harsh life makes people harsh too, hot-tempered and vindictive, passionately devoted to that which they believe in. That is why I fear that my Jean Luce may seem `unnatural' to those who do not know my country. Such is the danger of provincialism. And although I describe a definite locality. I am by no means a champion of local isolation. I have always tried to create human heroes understandable to readers in any country.... I wanted to reconcile the provinces with mankind, and the private with the universal. Although I chose some definite corner of the earth, I always tried to break its bounds by force of the emotions born in this little corner yet seeking an outlet to join similar emotions born elsewhere----My desire to achieve this was great indeed, but I do not know if I have accomplished anything. . ..''
Costas Varnalis, a well known Greek writer and literary theoretician, makes the following summing up of the excerpts from Kamuz's letter:
``No matter how impressively the local character is rend ered in a book (and woe unto it if it is not!) it can become universal only if it throbs with life and is endowed with expressive power. In principle, international influences will not make a book by a writer from a small nation less original or national, but at the same time it may not become universal even though it be national.''^^1^^
What about those books which are virtually packed with national details ? Is this an obstacle to their universal popularity? These questions have been studied by many aestheticians and philosophers of the past. Hegel, for instance, believed that only such national epos would evoke an unfailing interest in other peoples and other ages in _-_-_
~^^1^^ C. Viirniilis, Eslclikii-Kritikn (Aesthetic Criticism), Moscow 19(51
64 which the described world did not belong to that given nationality alone; moreover, the nation described, its heroic epoch and deeds had to reflect something common to all mankind as well. Comparing the work of Shakespeare with that of Calderoii and Kalidasa, he wrote: ``Shakespeare's tragedies and comedies always attracted a wider circle of spectators because, in spite of their national character, the human element in them is considerably stronger, and so Shakespeare turned out to be unacceptable only where the artistic, and once again national, conventions are so narrow and specific that they either preclude enjoyment of the work or cause it harm.''^^1^^In Hegel's opinion, a dramatic work is the more transient the more its content is comprised of entirely specific characters and passions which are simply conditioned by certain national trends of the epoch, whereas substantially human interests should be cultivated instead. There is much that is profoundly just and attractive in Hegel's reasoning. But he was not right to divide art into the specifically national and the substantially human. In his letter Ramuz makes 110 reference to Hegel. It is not known if he was familiar with Hegel's teaching. But his thoughts on reconciling the private with the universal have something in common with what Hegel says. It is a debatable point, however. Surely a work of art cannot be divided into two independently existing parts. One for the national set-up, for specific characters and all that is generally called provincial, private and isolated, and the other for the general, the universal, elevated above the realm of the provincial. Uniting or rather fusing the two parts produces the desired result: the private, the local is there, and the universal is present as well. However, everything is much more complicated in a genuine work of national art. It is not a reconciliation of the provinces with mankind, nor the private with the universal, the ``substantially human'', that is sought, but a transmutation of concepts from the first order into the second.
The depth of emotions, born in a definite corner of the earth and breaking its bounds to unite with similar emotions born elsewhere, is private in origin. Johannes _-_-_
~^^1^^ G. W. F. Hegel, Wcrkc, Band 10 (3. Ableilung), S. 5(14.
65 Hecher once said that in art the truth was general and yet i! was always concrete, and that all great art stemmed from the personal and then rose to the universal, in order to once again illumine the private with the light of the universal. The ascent from the private to the universal and tinreturn to the private in order to illumine it with the light of the universal cannot be drawn in a straight line. II is a single process of creating works of genuine national art in which the private and the general form one entity.Works of art which strongly denounce all that is stagnant and reactionary in their nation and attack those social customs which engender and support these evils, arc also international in content. An international impact is achieved not only by books in which the new is assessed and glorified from new positions, but also by those in which the old is stripped of its glamour and rejected, once again from positions of the new. What renders a work of art international is not the reflected object (although that, too, is of no little importance, naturally!) but the quality of the reflection and the ideologically aesthetic substance and slant of the object reflected. As for the ``eternal'' themes which are supposed to open the way to international significance, these ``eternal'' themes only exist in abstraction. They grow out of concrete themes and become ``eternal'' thanks to their connection with definite happenings in life. There are themes which are conditionally called ``eternal''. Say, the theme of love, the theme of good and evil, of greed and generosity, of cowardice and heroism, of fidelity and treachery, etc. But these themes are always filled with a historically concrete content in conformity with the times in which the artist lived or lives, the class to which he belonged or belongs, and the social and aesthetic ideals he professed or professes and wants to embody in his work.
The image of Alyosha Skvorlsov, a Russian soldier from the film Ballad of a Soldier has endeared itself to people everywhere in the world. In Alyosha's character the Rus sian, the national, and the generally human are inseparable. The oneness of the national and the generally human is strongly pronounced in him. Alyosha Skvorlsov is a Russian soldier, a Soviet soldier. He grew up in a concrete environ ment, in concrete national circumstances. We see the Rus sian village and the modest Russian home where Alyosha 66 was born and where he grew up. We see his playmates, boys of an age with Alyosha, and older people too---the good, kind people of one of Russia's countless villages. It was this milieu that gave him strength of character, lie is very Russian, but he is understandable to most of the people in the world because those qualities of the Russian character which he embodies---kindness, cordiality, fortitude and moral purity---are humane, beautiful and noble. All his actions are amazingly natural and simple, but they are so humanly sensible, so sincerely generous. He shares the grief of a crippled soldier not from pity alone. The tragedy of this stranger becomes Alyosha's own. lie sacriiices precious, irrevocable hours of his short leave for this fellow soldier. His sacrifice is all the more heroic because time is running short and he has to get home to his mother whom he adores. His heart is full of tenderness for people, a manly, unfailing tenderness and love that demands no recompense. And his attitude to the strange girl in the freight car could be called nothing less than chivalrous. From what source does he draw all these qualities and strength? Alyosha Skvortsov is not a super-- individual, suspended above his midst and his environment on the wings of fantasy. He is a modern Russian Soviet man. We want to emphasise the combination of these two concepts---Russian and Soviet. The best elements from the people's life, historical and moral experience have, after an involved smelting process, been integrated in the nature of the Soviet Russian.
The genuinely national and historically significant docs not contradict the universal but leads to it.
For instance, why is the Moiseyev Dance Company so unanimously acclaimed abroad? In an article published in I'ravda Igor iMoiseyev wrote that in the course of a conversation he had with Mitchell Wilson, this prominent American writer told him that American audiences came to love the Moiseyev dancers for giving them a visual interpretation of the national character of Soviet peoples.
There is much rhythmical expression and emotion in the Soviet peoples' dances staged by Igor Moiseyev. Thought interpreted in plastic movement creates an integral image which evocatively reproduces the peculiarities of the national character. Naturally, the Russian, Ukrainian, 67 Byelorussian, Uzbek and other national dances differ in paltern, gesticulation, and so on, but optimism, gracefulness, dignity and humaneness are common to all of them. Under the new conditions of life new dances expressive of the new in the psychology and behaviour of people are created, and the old dances also acquire a new meaning and become rejuvenated.
The national dances of the Soviet peoples as staged by the Moiseyev Company are notable for their artistic and psychological expressiveness and their ``polyphonic'' qualities. They combine thought, emotion, movement and a profoundly human message. And this explains why they are so easily understood and appreciated by people of different nationalities and social standing.
Let us now turn to yet another sphere of culture--- painting. Look at the canvases of Martiros Saryan, People's Artist of the U.S.S.R. Can their national identity be doubted? It is there in the subject, in the colour and the colour combinations. But we hold the work of this outstanding master so dear because it is not just Armenia but a rejuvenated, socialist, happy Armenia that we see in his paintings. Take his Collective Farm in the Tnmanyan Mountains. It is an Armenian landscape, a bit of Armenia. Tall, brooding mountains seem ranged in a row in the background. At the foot there are orchards, spreading green fields, and the pink homes of the collective farmers built from the famous Armenian tufa. The foreground is flooded with blinding sunlight. A collective farm shepherd is driving home a herd of well-fed cows and horses. The sky is very blue and faintly streaked with white. And the whole creates a picture of happiness, freedom and space. And this bit of land, high up in the mountains, is perceived as the embodiment of the Soviet people's life-transforming energy. Here the national is subjugated to a lofty idea, to the philosophy of our life. The radiant picturesqueness of the painting provides the necessary and natural colour `` atmosphere'' for those human relations which have become established on this bit of Soviet soil. Martiros Saryan has indeed attained harmony between the private and the general, between national form and international content.
I recall a rather curious instance from the not very remote past. In 1926--35, when Sandro Akhmeteli, an 68 outstanding producer, was at the Rustaveli Theatre in Tbilisi, a discussion was going on in the Georgian press about the national style in art. Some people held that attention should be centred on the actor's movements, on the expressiveness of gesture and the outward manifestation of the national Georgian temperament. The working of his mind, his psychology, the awakening of emotion and its development, and the interconnection of his actions did not matter as much, they said. But is it possible to create a national style in its pure form if it is not closely linked with the character of the national life which shapes the national in art? Sandro Akhmeteli understood this very well. Many of his creative seekings were realised in his production of S. Shanshiashvili's play Anzor (1928). The impulsiveness, excitability, violent emotionality and ebullience which Akhmeteli considered to be the traits of the Georgian national character were combined in Anzor with revolutionary thought and the struggle for the young Soviet republic. The result was excellent. The passion, excitement and violent enthusiasm displayed by the actors (Anzor, the partisan leader, was played by People's Artiste of the U.S.S.R. A. Khorava, and Akhma, his friend and comrade-in-arms, by People's Artiste of the U.S.S.R. V. Godziashvili) seemed natural emotions for these men to have under the circumstances. The national form was given a socialist content and a socialist purposefulness, and sparkled all the brighter for it.
A fusion of the national and the socialist invariably leads to the elevation of the national and the discovery of all its life-giving sources. The socialist enhances the evocativeness of the national and helps it to develop into a general cultural value.
There is a certain regularity: those writers who in the name of a false love for what is exclusively their national own scorn the experience of progressive literatures and withdraw into the shell of narrowly national interests, inevitably find themselves trailing behind history. They cease to be the spokesmen for their nation.
In Azerbaijan, at the beginning of this century, Ihere were certain writers who were completely blinded by their national egotism. They hypocritically swore fidelity and devotion to the Azerbaijan people whom they hoped to koep safe from foreign winds and even drafts which they 69 thought dangerous. They called themselves the defenders of a pure and unalloyed Azerbaijan culture. But there was nothing national in their writings. Their refusal to study the experience of progressive literatures, Russian literature especially, led these writers to the destruction of their own talent. Thev began to cultivate religiously mythical and occult motifs, and lo glorify strong, despotic personalities who had severed their native roots. History has punished them severely. Their names have been forgotten. And what happened to Ihem is not the exception---it is the rule. The way to a national revival does not lie through national egotism, national arrogance and narrow-mindedness, but through a broadness of national interests and an awareness of the international unitv of peoples.
People's Writer Mekhti Hussein has voiced some very interesting ideas on this matter. ``The fate of those writers who renounced the progressive traditions of Russian literature, renounced their beneficial influence and actively opposed them is illustrative. These writers withdrew from life, from their own people, and rolled downhill into the slough of reactionary romanticism. And paradoxical though it may sound, the works of these writers who once upon a time talked so fervently about the interests of the nation are entirely devoid of national identity.
``Azerbaijan is justly proud of its writers Nazym Farukh Akhundov, Jalil Mamedkulizade, Narimanov. Abduragim Akhverdov and Jafar Jabarly who gained prominence under the beneficial influence of Russian literature. The writers who refused to benefit by this influence did no more than write some books of a reprehensible nature on the history of the Islam and the life of leaders of aggressive armies and cultivated religious motifs, rejected by the people.''^^1^^
The same was observed in Uzbek literature. As noted by Tursunov^^2^^ the works of bourgeois nationalists M. Bekhbudi. N. Yavushev and A. Fitrat, who violently opposed the revolution in culture, were filled with hopeless pessimism and nationalistic virulence. Such was A. Fitrat's play _-_-_
^^1^^ Mekhti Hussein, Mof/uchcyc sodruzhestvo (Great Co-operation), Baku, 1964, p. 30.
~^^2^^ P. Tursunov. Forinirounnh/p sotsialistichcskor/o rertlizina i> nzbckskoi dramaturgii (Socialist Realism in Uzbek Dramaturgy), 1963.
70 Timur's Tomb which portrayed the socialist revolution as a calamity for the peoples of the East. These works received no support from the working people and left no trace in their memory.The years worked no essential change in the views of the bourgeois nationalists. They have entrenched themselves in the West and from time to time we hear their familiar, sepulchral voices again. They don't like some of the things which are taking place in the literatures of the Soviet East. For instance, an ``undesirable'' merging of the national with the socialist. This merging, they allege, hampers the freedom of national expression in its pure, unrestricted form. One of these oracles was quoted in the press.^^1^^ A West German philosopher, whose name is definitely not German---Bai mursa Hayit, in his article published in the Central Asiatic Journal (No. 2, 1962), writes that although the national element and the typical Uzbek-Turk originality is there in the work of the poets and prose writers Musa Aibek, Gafur Gulyam. Uigun, Abdula Kakhar, Kamil Yashen. Sharaf Rashidov, Zulfia, Khamid Gulyam and Askad Mukhtar, he notes with chagrin that ``the form corresponds to the method of Soviet socialist realism''. Mr. Hayit is terribly upset. He does not want the socialist to ``get in the way" of the national; in fact, he does not like their closeness at all. But Soviet literature is developing according to its own laws, leaving the bourgeois nationalists to their lamenting and grumbling.
The conditions in which Soviet cultures exist and develop, and the very logic of life engender their unity and friendship.
Some not very far-sighted people believe that there is no theoretical or practical sense at all in going into all these questions connected with the national uniqueness of culture. Why make a study of national distinctions when they must be abolished anyway, they say. They think it's time to shelve national cultures as obsolete aesthetic phenomena, and stop all that talk about national uniqueness, national originality, and so forth. The efforts of the superinternationalists who want to leap over history and speed _-_-_
^^1^^ Voprosij Litcratury (Problems of Literature) No. 6, 1963. Article by R. Nevskaya.
71 up the merging of cultures are fruitless. Equally harmful are the efforts of those people who speak with fear of the unity of socialist culture and dread the establishment of contacts between cultures. We reject both national nihilism and national isolationism.Debates on the course of the national cultures' development and the meaning of national form were also hold in the countries of people's democracy. These countries. too, have their theoreticians who advocate abolishing all national distinctions right away and taking a blind leap into the future. It is indisputable that in conditions of so cialist and communist construction the main attention must be paid not to what separates us but to what unites us. But then why regard the national element in socialist art as the disuniting and not the uniting factor? The national element has no quarrel with the socialist content. And it acquires a new quality in the course of this coexistence. National form cannot be treated as an abstract notion unconnected with the socialist content of life. Not just its quality but also its concrete aesthetic substance changes depending on the content and the meaning with which it is filled. Therefore, it is a great mistake to write off the national in art as obsolete.
National form does not exist as a sort of distilled product. The concept does not at all mean that peculiarities identi fied with this or that national form will never be found anywhere else. Every national form has its universal, international features. If it were otherwise, there would be no mutual understanding of cultures and no mutual enjoyment of works of art. Precisely what do we have in mind when we speak of national form? I suppose we mean traditions, means of artistic expression, and most important of all that national soil in which the given culture grew up. A nation's historical experience shapes the people's men tality, and the national uniqueness of a culture takes long years to build up. National form is not a vessel that will remain unchanged in shape no matter what it may be filled with. As reality changes so does the form of its artistic reflection. The concept ``national in form" means a crystallisation of all the finest, vital qualities acquired by Ihe nil ture of a people in the course of its development. In socialisl society the concept of the national acquires a different 72 meaning and a new quality, harmonising perfectly with the international socialist ideal. And the national must not be feared like a chimera that threatens the rapprochement of peoples. Everything is much more complicated. The process of bringing the national forms into greater closeness has its own historical stages and laws. Nothing will be gained by leaping over them lightly. Rapprochement also implies the development and improvement of the national forms. The quality itself changes. A national form is compounded not only of the tried and tested, creatively developed elements, but also includes entirely new features unknown to past experience.
National form is a complex, synthetic compound of different elements which cannot be surgically separated and packed into little boxes labelled: 1) indigenous national in its pure form, 2) adopted from other cultures, 3) national aesthetic, traditions, and 4) innovation, conceived in the natural movement of culture. Enough of schematism. Let us look at things from pliant, dialectical positions, and then we shall see that the concept of ``national in form" does not at all mean forcing the national atmosphere on the artist. In a search for purely national characteristics it is no use, of course, to drag out the obsolete and the wellforgotten into the sunlight for an airing. But this happens too.
The concept of ``national in form" is not a directive, not a strict order to search for national peculiarities where they cannot be. It is a recognition of the artist's right to draw on the national traditions and the fruitful experience of the past and present. A national form cannot be created artificially.
After all, it is not a garb to clothe ideas in, but a living, creative force which is indissolubly linked with the socialist content. It does not remain indifferent to anything that it aesthetically asserts. In socialist realist literature, content acquires body by merging with national form, and national form displays itself through socialist content. This makes for the mobility of national forms, their perpetual renovation and constant improvement.
Closeness between national forms comes as a logical result of the development of the socialist society's culture, of the constant contact between national cultural values. 73 and the mutual adoption of national traditions. How could have Kazakh national tradition solved unaided all those difficult problems involved in creating such epic novels as Mukhtar Auezov's Abni and Gabit Musrepov's The Awakened Landl Or take the Turkmenian national tradition. Could it have achieved a multi plane, realistic narrative like Bcrdy Kcrbabayev's Decisive Step? A national tradition that had not been enriched by the experience of other literatures could not have coped with this unusual task. New aesthetic footholds had to be found, and new qualities which could not have existed in the past had to be created. The Kirghiz national literary tradition, which was mainly concerned with the genre of improvised poetry, could not have mastered the numerous complexities of the psychological novel or long-short story demanding a truthful portrayal of the ``dialectics of the human soul'', of the awakening of love and its development, of the subtlest transition from one state of mind into another, and of the hidden, tormenting, emotional struggle, which we find in Chinghis Aitmatov's Jnmila and To Have and To Lose. Was a novel in prose conceivable in old Kabarda literature? A. Keshokov's A Wonderful Moment which examines the movement of the people's masses towards revolution and interprets in artistic form the historical meaning of the establishment of Soviet power in Kabarda, could hardly have been written before. To begin with, writers did not have the artistic experience, the technique and the expressive means necessary for the creation of a work of this aesthetic type. Moreover, life offered no ma terial for such a panoramic historical novel, peopled with such a variety of human characters and containing so many instructive stories of human destinies.
The traditions and achievements of other cultures help to bring out and shape the national potentialities. A densely populated world lives in the soul of an artist, and those grains of experience which he has collected from different cultures play a role of no small importance in it. The mutual enrichment of cultures does not begin after finished aesthetic values have been exchanged. The very process of creativity is to a greater or lesser extent a re-smelting, a svnthesising of the experience of others and a continuation or a re-creation of one's own experience. True, the 74 process is not always obvious. Let us name a few books on the theme of collectivisation: Mikhailo Stelmakh's A Large Family, Tugelbai Sydykbekov's People of Our Dai/s, Nairi Zaryan's At.tavan. Konstantin Lordkipanidze's The I)rtwns of Colchis, and Anna Sakse's Uphill. Critics, in analysing these works, drew a mechanical comparison between them and Sholokhov's Virgin Soil Upturned. and look pains to find the prototypes of Davydov, Nagulnov, old Shchukar and Lushka in the national literatures. As if the whole point was in a similarity of situations, characters, dramatic conflicts and collisions! By following this insecure path they inevitably arrived at oversimplification. If the books named above were mere variants, even improved versions if you like, of Virgin Soil Upturned they would be worth exactly nothing. The experience of Virgin Soil Upturned was truly inestimable for Stelmakh, Zaryan, Sakse. Lordkipanidze and Sydykbekov, because the impact of Sholokhov's realistic book is indeed extraordinary. Realism implies an ability to see the interconnection of facts and events, and the dialectics of the personal and the general, the accidental and the logically inevitable. It enlarges phenomena, as it were, enabling the author to see the main thing in each separate happening and in this manner to comprehend the whole in all its fullness. Realism strips facts of their outer covering, shells them, and probes them for the original seed, uncovering the roots of social conflicts, human actions, and impulses. Sholokhov's Virgin Soil Upturned is an encyclopaedia of the period of collectivisation. The passions, the acute struggle, the travail in which the new was born, the tragically mistaken social convictions, and the characters do not belong exclusively to Russia of the nineteen thirties. In his novel, Sholokhov portrayed the epoch, bringing out the chief regularities in the current of life. Those writers who took up the theme of collectivisation after Sholokhov found it both easy and hard. After Virgin Soil Upturned it was hard to write about the same period, and it was harder still to break free of the magic power of this book. In another respect it was more or less easy. Sholokhov had dug so deep, he had upturned such an enormous layer of material, that digging deeper and making new discoveries was made all the more thrilling for the writers 75 who followed. The very fact that a book with such a com prehensive philosophical, social and moral content and such artistic impact did exist, compelled the writers to treat the same material with a greater sense of responsibility, to be more keenly observant, to study the national reality more closely, and to try and see through the inter lacing of inimitable facts and events the main thing in the bustle of life and in the actions of people. Some writers, like Tugelbai Sydykbekov, according to their own admission, kept as close as they could to Sholokhov, while in the books of Stelmakh. Lordkipanidze, Zaryan and Sakse there is no direct connection with Virgin Soil Upturned that one can feel. And still it will not be an exaggeration to say that Sholokhov's experience had influenced them greatly, helping them in their seekings and demanding the most of their talent. The influence one writer has upon others must not be simplified to imitation, or measured by the increment in books. The work of a great writer which synthcsises the major aesthetic gains of the period acts as a stimulant, as a sort of beacon which throws off shafts of light all about it. His follower does not necessarily have to copy his voice. What really makes a writer great is that he can have no twin.
The distinguishing feature of socialist culture and its main historical achievement is the existence of different and yet united literatures whose free exchange and association are prompted by general and national interests.
Some writers, acting from ignorance, narrow-- mindedness or sheer naivete, cling to all that is familiar and habitual, believing it dangerous to step off the beaten paths. The love they profess for all things national is a false love.
The Uzbeks have an ancient tradition of one-voiced singing. A part of our critics held this tradition inviolable. And then composer Mutal Burkhanov challenged the conservatives and wrote a choral cycle in which, to quote Dmitry Kabalevsky, he ``convincingly proved that the absolutely new polyphonic possibilities evolved from the folk tradition opened great vistas before the composer".^^1^^ The _-_-_
~^^1^^ Sonietukaya Muzykn (Soviet Music) No. 6, 1961, p. 92.
76 dogmalic critics pounced on Burkhanov. They fancied that he was destroying the sacred pillars of national tradition and proposing to replace them with some strange and unfamiliar thing that had no national roots. But what Burkhanov actually did was extend the aesthetic limits ol' national tradition and bring to light the new and broader possibilities which, he discovered, were latent in it. Who then showed the greater concern for the future of the national culture? The critics who frantically clutch at everything that is conventional and familiar and resist progress, or the composer who is anxious to enrich the cultural treasure-store with new finds which will push the nation forward and not drag it back?The national does not stand still. Frankly, not a very new truth. It has been frequently voiced by many Soviet researchers. And yet failure to understand what this means concretely gives rise to many regrettable misunderstandings. For example, some take it to imply that the national is disappearing, and send out distress signals.
In one of his articles on Lithuanian poetry ( Literaturnaya Gazeta of May 12, 1960) Eduardas Miezelaitis wrote about the quest for new forms, new rhythms and new poetic means which did not always agree with what was generally accepted in the past. A conventional, down-- toearth and sometimes jocular manner of speech, which formerly would have been denounced as sacrilegious, is breaking into the lofty, sublime language of poetry. Gentle, meditative lyricism goes together with manliness, vigorous action and heroic impulse. To the orthodox ``primitivists'', such a combination of contrasting emotional currents and sound tones still seems contrary to reason. We did without it before, and we can do without it now, they say. Bui surely we are not going to regard the broadening of our national poetry's aesthetic horizons as apostasy or disrespect for past accomplishments merely for Ihe sake of persisling in our misunderstood notion of national identily?
What about Miezelaitis's own poelry? His free handling of form, the uncommonness of his hyperbole, his metaphors, and the uninhibiled manner in which he alternales his chiselled, emotionally charged lines with free verse, which makes one think of Walt Whitman's---would all 77 seem to overflow the strict patterns oi' traditional poetry writing. But neither Miezelaitis nor the other modern Lithuanian poets (and Latvian, too, i'or example (Jjars Yaeielis who has a kinship with Miczelaitis's style) said what they wanted to say in a manner not used before them simply for the sake of originality. What is the source of this new quality in artistic thinking? It must be sought not just in form, nor in a youthfully bold desire to experiment and break the established traditions whatever Ihe cost. No. the source is much more reliable and solid than that. Mie/elailis's innovation, the confident flight of his taleiil comes from a feeling of pride in the great achievements of his people, in all that Man has created and is continuing to create in conditions of socialist society.
Let us take another example. The Mari people love sing ing. Their old songs were sad, plaintive and brooding, the words as despondent as the lingering, unhurried melodies. The songs you hear today are cheerful, with catchy tunes and happy words. Should we also call this an impermissible breach of national traditions?
People's Artiste of the U.S.S.R. Khojayev examines certain peculiarities of national traditions in his article ``The National and the International in the Image of Our Contemporary''. There is much good reason in wlial he says. One of the main ideas voiced in this article wants to be developed further. He writes: ``In scenic art, the uncritical application of separate traditions of Uzbek art is much harder to determine than in architecture or even in literature. To this day, for instance, the opinion is still voiced here and there that the national form of Uzbek art demands the high-flown style of Oriental legends.
``But when the flowery, intricately fanciful style common to some works of medieval literature is uncritically transposed to the modern stage, this results in declamation, contrived rhythms and affectation. If an actor were to play in this manner a modern man, say one of the workers, he would discredit both the image and himself as an artist.
``It is self-evident that a national tradition such as this, a tradition of old cliches, ossified form and ' daggerplunging' romance, cannot help to develop the modern theatre.''
78All tbat is right. Naturally, there is no sense in reproducing traditions of another day uncritically and indiscriminately. Some critics and researchers, however, are op posed to the resurrection of romantic traditions in general, voicing really groundless fears on this score. For some reason they treat these traditions as mere extravaganza on a par with those aspects of national art which have lost their attraction in our lime. Exaltation and emotionalism can carry weighty thoughts, profound feelings and strong dramatic impulses. Therefore pathos should not be renounced altogether as something reprehensible that contradicts the ideal of socialist art.
In his book The Nation and Culture Hector Agosli, an Argentine scholar of Marxism, says that tradition can serve only as an element of national succession and not as fetters. ``It is as absurd to attempt keeping to traditional norms all the time, as it is to renounce them altogether, as though a new society emerges for some unknown, mysterious reasons,'' he writes.^^1^^ The champions of traditionalism in the Argentine are anxious to reconvert the people to the old religious ideology, to divert the masses from real modern problems, and to renounce those cultural gains which arose on the basis of traditions but do not repeat them or conform to them exactly. The nihilists, on the other hand, while rejecting the entire national experience of the past, want to adapt the culture of the Argentine people to cos mopolilan bourgeois culture and eradicate the sense of national pride and priority from the minds of men. In the final count, these two extremes meet. ``The implacable executioners of national tradition,'' Agosti writes further, ``can calmly shake the hand of those who in the name of this tradition want to forbid us any kind of renovation.'' Tradition must serve the development of the new and become an integral part of it. It is not something immutable that has been left over from history and drained of vital energy. Tradition is an active, dynamic link between the past and the present. Continuation does not mean a median ical repetition and reproduction of the old. It implies renovating and adjusting the national aesthetic experience in accordance with the country's development, its social _-_-_
~^^1^^ Hector Agosti, Nation y cultura, Buenos Aires, 1959, p. 139.
79 changes and the correlation of class forces. In the Argentine the champions of traditionalism are frantically clutch ing at stolid, immobile conventions, and fear novelty of any kind, holding that all innovation is foreign and alien. ``Everything that is not a tradition is a plagiarism'', they assert. And Agosti observes that such a fidelity to tradition is a call for a reversal to semi-barbaric immobility and isolation. Tradition contains an element of national succes siveness which joins the different links of the people's life together. But it must not be a chain, shackling movement. Tradition and renovation do not clash. They are two mutu ally complementing factors in the historical advance of national cultures.The worth of a tradition is gauged by its historical necessity, its strength and its ability to make a basis, or a support, for the creation of new cultural values.
In his report presented to the Third Congress of Soviet Composers in March 1962, Tikhon Khrennikov spoke of the increasing contacts between the national musical cultures, of their growing closeness and mutual enrichment, of the founding of new traditions, the appearance of poly phony and ballet scores never known before in the music of different peoples. He stressed the uniqueness of this process which was part of the joint socialist development of the national cultures.
``In the process of communist construction,'' he said, ``socialist nations and their cultures draw ever closer together.
``Although our aim is a common culture for all Soviet nations, we uphold national identity in music and as before we shall continue to struggle against cosmopolitan tendencies typical for bourgeois art.''
Dmitry Shostakovich, another famous composer, fully agrees with Tikhon Khrennikov.
In his article published in the March 1962 issue of the magazine Sovietskaya Muzyka he raises the problem of national uniqueness among other highly important questions of modern music. Dmitry Shostakovich's views, given in brief, boil down to the following: it is absolutely wrong to picture the process of the inter-influence of cultures as something that deprives musical idiom of identity or confusedly mixes together all 80 its elements. The way to the development of national cultures lies through the consolidation of their international foundations and their mutual enrichment of form. As a result of this invigorating exchange, the national musical cultures will burst into ever brighter flower. Country wide renown usually comes to the works of those composers who have managed to assimilate the musical culture, or rather its highest achievements, of other nations without losing their own individuality or their national roots. Shostakovich gives the example of the ballet The Path of Thunder by Kara Karayev, an Azerbaijan composer, and the opera Jalil by Nazib Zhiganov, a Tatar.
Shostakovich quite justly protests against any attempts to pitch international against the national. He says that the development of Soviet multi-national culture is based not on the levelling down of national identity, but on the pursuit of common aims, ambitions and ideals, and on sharing the notion of the beautiful. It is precisely these factors that promote the rapprochement of different cultures. In other words, community of aims does not hamper the concrete embodiment of an ideal or the application of diverse artistic means for rendering the beautiful.
He notes with concern that original Russian melodies do not always sound distinctly enough in the works of some modern Russian composers. He praises Sergei Prokofiev who created a whole beautiful world of national Russian images in Alexander Nevsky, Semyon Kotko, War and Peace, A Story About a Real Man, the ballet Tale of the Stone Flower and in his Seventh Symphony. Shostakovich urges the young composers to draw more freely on the life-giving and undying sources of folk music, to develop and perfect it in the new conditions. As an example to the Russian composers, he speaks of the vivid national identity of the music of Transcaucasia and the Baltic republics. In conclusion he sums up: ``How can anyone speak of the disappearance of national identity under communism, even in the distant future! No, time will never obliterate the great traditions of Russian art. nor of the art of other peoples.''
The views on the national problem voiced by Paul Urban, a new ``theoretician'' in the Federal Republic of 81 Germany, have already been examined in the Soviet press.^^1^^ In his article ``Moscow's Modern Cultural Policy in Relation to the Non-Russian Nationalities of the Soviet Union" (Osteuropa No. 3, 1961), Urban wrote that national forms of all literatures except the Russian must be destroyed, and Russian, alter shouldering out the national languages ol the non-Russian peoples, would become the sole language, compulsory for all. Socialist culture loo, he alleges, is being built up on the basis of Russian culture exclusively, by devouring or killing the cultures of all other peoples. We must counter this slanderous statement by expounding our clear-cut, Leninist attitude to this extremely subtle question. Unfortunately, a confusion occurs sometimes. Some people exaggerate the importance of the national, unable to discern the new laws of its development. Others give the concept of international culture a very narrow meaning, taking internationalism to imply the entire exclusion of the national. Yet another view, which can be put in Hie following words, is also voiced: culture is based on the history of the people it belongs to. On the surface of it there i-s nothing wrong with this view. Each of the national cultures is rooted in the life of the nation and is inalienable from the destinies of the people it belongs to. II is all quite true. But the people who propagate this view fall short in their understanding of the correlation between the national and general laws of development in Soviet culture. There are probably no purely national laws of development. Even a refusal to associate with other cul tures or consider their experience is part of a definite paltern that is by no means exclusively national in character.
What do we mean, then, by national laws of development? Do we mean traditions, specific features cultivated in the course of years, and the future course of culture, decided to some degree by past experience? The past from which the present has grown still exerts an influence on the present state of culture and forms its original artistic Ireasure-store. But is the progress of Soviet literatures and _-_-_
~^^1^^ A. N. Maslin, ``International Character of Communist Culture'', published in the collection, Stroitelstvo kommunizma i problemy kultury (Communist Construction and Problems of Culture), Moscow 1963, p. 25.
82 their aesthetic and ideological character ruled by national laws of development alone? What of the general laws of Soviet and socialist realist literatures? Or the general patterns of the people's spiritual life evolved from the general principles of socialist society? Must they be classed with the national laws of development, neither influencing nor changing them in any way?The problem of national identity in art must not be ap proached from narrowly sectarian, vulgarly simplified or morbidly dogmatic positions. It is a live element. Sometimes it remains itself and at oilier limes can even become unrecognisable, because it is alive. It does exist and will not die, in spile of Ihe gloomy forecasts made by Ihe muddlers. National wealth and variety is anything but a drawback in the creation of an international communist culture.
When Lenin said that internalional culture was not unnational, he predicted that genuinely dialectical balance between Ihe national and the international which is being achieved so naturally in conditions of socialism. The necessary shedding of some national features is no cause for alarm. Such is the logic of history. Nor should Ihe sighl of thriving national features cause astonishment. A correct understanding of the qualitative balance between the in lernalional and the national will save us from falling into unnecessary extremes. Let us not clutch at everything that looks national to us, but on Ihe other hand let us not take Ihe logical slages of hislory in leaps, skipping over them and predicting a quick death for national identity.
[83] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Pavel TirofimovThe rapid economic, political and cultural progress of the constituent Soviet republics and the flourishing of the culture of the Soviet nationalities have created favourable conditions for a mutual enrichment of their literature and art, and for closer collaboration among writers, artists, actors and musicians. The origin and development of this phenomenon is based on the objective laws governing a socialist society, on the nature of the social order, the specific features of the socialist national ilies and their new relationships. In the Soviet Union the ``cultural achievements of one nation are made available lo others. This leads to the mutual enrichment of the national cultures in the U.S.S.R., to the consolidation of their internationalist principles, and to the formation of an eventual single human culture in a communist society".^^1^^
Reciprocal influence and enrichment of the national cultures and arts on the basis of socialism develops the relations that existed in pre-socialist epochs, notably under capitalism.
In 1848 Marx and Engels wrote in their Communist Manifesto that with the development of capitalism ``the intellectual creations of individual nations become common properly. National one-sidedness and narrow-- mindedness become more and more impossible, and out of the numerous national and local literatures there arises a world literature.''^^2^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ The Road to Communism, pp. 258--59.
~^^2^^ Marx and Engcls, Selected Works, Vol. I, p. 38.
84What has been said of literature may fully be applied to art in general.
Economically, the basis for the emergence of a world literature and art under capitalism was the establishment of a world market, due to which production and consumption in all lands acquired an international nature, the disappearance of nationally-bound industries, and the advent of new branches distinguished by features common to all nations.
A great part in the iiiternationalisation of all aspects of the life of bourgeois nations, including their cultures, was played by the emergence of new social demands, to satisfy which it was necessary to obtain products from the remotest countries of the world. The old pattern of isolation was replaced by manifold ties between peoples, by their interdependence and an international division of labour.
Improved means of communication and the building of big railway and shipping lines, have drawn all nations and nationalities into the orbit of civilisation. The political centralisation that accompanied these changes and was actively conducive to the formation of bourgeois nations helped to extend and consolidate economic and cultural relations between peoples. Under capitalism these relations take a contradictory, antagonistic form. The nations that are more developed economically and politically (or rather, the ruling classes of these nations) strive to slow down the development of the culture and arts of other nations, to impose their own culture on them and to dominate these nations both politically and culturally. However, owing to universal ties between nations (economic, political and cultural), the literature and arts of every nation contribute not only to their own national culture, but also to the universal treasure-house of world culture, influencing the literatures and arts of all other nations and enriching them. The differences in the content and form of national literatures and arts inherent in the specific features of the nations themselves are a prerequisite to this enrichment. Every nation has something to learn from others. At the same time, the national element in the culture and arts of any nation is closely linked to the international culture of mankind as a whole.
85During llieir formation all the European nations absorbed much of Ihe cultural heritage of the ancient peoples of Egypt, China. India, Greece, Rome and others; this heril age was critically adapted to fit in with the national character and special features of the historical development of the given nations. In analysing the concrete historical conditions under which various cultural phenomena appeared and developed in separate lands (the emergence of Italian Renaissance art, the development of the creative faculties of Goethe, etc.) it is not difficult to point out the connection of these phenomena with the cultural processes of other lands and peoples: the connection between the art of the Renaissance and that of the ancient Greeks, or between the works of Goethe and the French Enlightenment, etc. On the other hand, there are certain common laws inherent in national literatures and arts that govern the development of both content and form. For example, realist writers in different countries concentrate on portraying the innermost riches of man's soul, his behaviour, thoughts, and emotions bearing different, but quite distinctive features at different historical periods. The same genres of literary creation are employed: the novel, short story, etc., as well as methods of artistic typification that are generally alike. Composers of different nations, writing music that is national in character, employ traditional musical forms and genres, the accepted composition of string quartets, symphony orchestras, piano trios, and so forth, that have evolved over the years.
Presenting a scientific conception of the development of national literatures and arts under capitalism, Marxist-Leninist science reveals the existence of two cultures in every national culture: reactionary and democratic.
In a socialist society, where every vestige of national oppression has been exterminated, a single national culture of the working people exists, owing to which the influence exerted by the literature and art of one nation on that of another takes a different form than it does under capitalism. Under socialism the culture of one nation directly affects and enriches the national culture of another nation. The reciprocal influences and enrichment of the national literatures and arts are not hampered here by the 86 processes ensuing from the struggle between antagonistic classes in a capitalist society.
Lenin stressed that ``socialism, by organising production without class oppression, by ensuring the well-being of all members of the state, gives full play to the ' sympathies' of the population, thereby promoting and greatly accelerating the drawing together and fusion of the nations.''^^1^^
Under socialism two interrelated progressive trends operate. On the one hand, each separate nation undergoes rapid and comprehensive development, on the other, the socialist nations draw closer together under the banner of internationalism. This ensures an uninterrupted growth of mutual influence and reciprocal enrichment of the cultures of the socialist nations; contributive factors are the intermingling of the population and the interchange of specialists in various fields.
The Soviet system, a system that by its very nature encourages the friendliest of relations among the working people of the diverse nationalities constituting the Soviet Union, is a mighty factor conducive to uniting all the socialist nations into a single family, thus furthering the closer association and mutual enrichment of their cultures.
Thanks to the Soviet system, the economy and culture of a number of autonomous republics have developed. Take Yakutia, for instance. Complete illiteracy reigned there before the revolution; there was not a single theatre throughout the territory. Vast cultural development is in progress there now. The republic has its own repertory theatres of drama and music in which over a hundred plays by Yakut playwrights have been performed. Many plays translated from the languages of other Soviet peoples and of foreign lands have also been staged. A folk choir has been giving performances in the republic since 1936; its members are both Yakuts and Russians. The local Russian-language drama theatre has been contributing to the progress of Yakut culture for over 40 years; on its stage over 200 plays by Russian, foreign and Soviet dramatists have been performed. Alongside the development of modern forms of art the traditional Yakut folk art of bone _-_-_
~^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 22, p. 324.
87 carving has also developed, acquiring a new, modern expression in the process. At present there are 1.573 amateur art groups with a membership of over 20,000 in Ihe re public. Much attention is paid to training people for work in the spheres of art and culture. Together with Russians and representatives of other nationalities the small Yakut people actively participates in the development of Soviet literature and art as a whole.An important part in the process of the mutual influence and enrichment of the Soviet national literatures and arts is played by the common aesthetic principles of so cialist realism that are the basis on which our multi-- national artistic culture is developing.
During the phase of the transition from socialism to communism in our country the literatures and arts of all the -Soviet nations have advanced considerably. The form crly backward nationalities now have their own professional writers (of essays, novels, short stories, etc.) and professional musicians, actors and artists. In the fields of literature, painting and music important works have been produced by small peoples such as the Udmurts, Adygei. Tuvinians, Chuvash, Abkhazians, and others. These works include The Word of on Arat by the Tuvinian Salchak Toka, Spring in Saken by the Abkhazian Georgy Gulia, The Mountain Pass by the Chuvash Yakov Ukhsai. and Five Letters from Valya Kramarenkova by the Chukcha Yuri Rytkheu.
The national literatures and arts that were highly developed before the October Socialist Revolution (Russian, Ukrainian. Byelorussian, Georgian, Armenian, Latvian. Lithuanian, etc.) have made significant progress. Never before have literature and art had such a wide range of appreciative and responsive readers, spectators, and listeners as modern multi-national Soviet literature and art. The prestige of Soviet literature and arts in the world at large has also increased. In France, Britain, the Latin American countries, and the United States, Soviet performers arcgreeted enthusiastically.
One of the results of the development of the Soviet nations is the expansion of creative collaboration among the fraternal literatures and arts, and of their reciprocal influences.
88The mutual enrichment of literatures and arts takes a variety of forms: study of artistic cultures of other peoples; exchange of opinions and practical experience (through the demonstration of artistic achievements during art festivals which the various national republics and territories give in Moscow and other cities, exchange visits of representatives of the arts from the various republics, exchange of art exhibitions, etc.); creation of works in the fields of painting, cinematography, theatre, and music based on forms specific to other nations, etc.
All these activities are inseparably connected, they supplement and develop one another.
Let us characterise them briefly.
The first of the afore-mentioned activities already existed in pre-revolutionary Russia; it attained its greatest advancement in Soviet times. Utilisation of the artistic accomplishments of all nationalities has become universal. For example, the works of Maxim Gorky are studied extensively not only by writers, but by a wide circle of Soviet readers as well. A profound influence exerted by the works of Gorky has been an important factor in the ideological and aesthetic education of a number of prominent Ukrainian authors (Pavlo Tychina, Alexander Korneichuk, Maxim Rylsky, and others). The famous writer imbued Ihem with a poetic conception of the essential nature of socialist humanism, and helped them to develop an active attitude toward reality.
The beneficial influence of Gorky is easily detected in the works of Byelorussian, Lithuanian, Latvian, and other writers.
Andrej Upits, one of the oldest Latvian writers, stated that ``none of the Russian classic or modern writers has had such a profound influence on the development of Lettish revolutionary thought and literature as the great ideological fighter and master of words Maxim Gorky".^^1^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ Andrej Upils, ``The Role of Maxim Gorky in Hie Development of Lettish Revolutionary Thought and Literature" in Collection: Literalnrnti-krilichcskiyc stati/i (Articles on Literary Criticism), Riga. 1955, p. 7.
89The. Kazakh novelist Mukhlar Auezov declared that the writers of Kazakhstan look upon Gorky as their great teacher, and that the whole of modern Kazakh literature developed under the strong influence of Gorky. Sadriddin Aini, the prominent Soviet Tajik novelist, says that he learned much from Gorky concerning the structure of literary images, outline of characters, simplicity of expression, etc. The artistic principles of Aim's novel Bukhara are reminiscent of Gorky's autobiographical trilogy. The author himself points out that this book was written under the direct influence of Childhood, My Apprenticeship, and other works of the great master.
The works of Vladimir Mayakovsky have also exerted considerable influence. In the words of Samed Vurgun, the Azerbaijanian poet, ``the poetic heritage of Vladimir Mayakovsky---the mighty voice of the new epoch in poetry--- has greatly influenced and continues to influence the work of many Soviet poets. We poets of the fraternal republics all look upon Mayakovsky as our mutual friend and teacher.''
Mayakovsky's poetry encouraged poets of many of the Soviet nations to turn to themes reflecting the construction of socialism. His innovatory school influenced the development of national forms of Soviet poetry. The broad metaphorical and philosophic generalisations in Mayakovsky's poetry, its historic concreteness, the ability of the poet to portray his hero against the background of outstanding historic events and to poeticise the everyday phenomena of Soviet life have influenced the works of leading poets in the national republics of the Soviet Union. Mayakovsky's vocabulary and the peculiar intonational rhythm and style of his verse have noticeably influenced the work of the Ukrainian poets Mikola Bazhan and Andrei Malyshko, the Byelorussian Arkady Kuleshov, and many other poets.
In the process of overcoming the conventional and archaic canons of old feudal poetry the poets of Soviet Uzbekistan. Turkmenia, and Kirghizia follow the creative principles of Mayakovsky's school.
Gorky and Mayakovsky, while influencing the work of many writers in the various Soviet republics, themselves utilised and developed in their works the best 90 accomplishmeiils of Ihe literature and art of many Soviet peoples. Gorky look a particular interest in the folklore of the non Russian peoples (Ukrainians, Georgians, Byelorussians, and others), drawing upon it for themes and for the artistic embodiment of his characters and ideas, lie made ample use of the poetic legends and myths of various peoples for creating a number of romantic revolutionary characters. Even before the October Revolution, speaking of the relations between himself and the outstanding Ukrainian democratic writer Mikhail Kotsyubinsky, Gorky pointed out their mutual influence on each other.
Mayakovsky repeatedly turned to the Ukraine, Georgia and to other Soviet national republics, extolling their new. free life in his poems. To gain a deeper understanding of the poetry and culture of the Ukrainian people Mayakovsky made a special study of their language, and called on other Russian poets to follow his example.
An important part in the mutual enrichment by the literatures and arts of the Soviet nationalities, as has already been indicated, is played by direct personal contact and exchange of experience between representatives of the artistic cultures of the different nations.
Many writers, artists, composers or actors of one Soviet republic go to work for long periods, or even permanently among the art workers in other Soviet republics. While helping them in their creative work they themselves also draw inspiration from the national traits of the people among whom they arc living.
It is widely known that many writers of the Soviet national republics have developed as a result of direct personal contact with Gorky. So extensive were the personal ties maintained by Gorky with writers from the various Soviet nationalities that no precedent can be found in either Russian or world literature. Gorky's personal concern for the ideological and artistic growth of the young authors of the Soviet national republics was instrumental in raising a whole generation of personalities in the multi national artistic culture of the Soviet Union.
These personal contacts with the national writers were beneficial to Gorky himself. The life of the peoples of the Soviet Union and their culture was of great interest to Gorky; he was deeply concerned over the details of all 91 events in these republics. The Tajik writer Abulkasim Lakhuti once wrote: ``Gorky was magnificent in his undeviating interest in the cultural progress of the peoples of the Soviet Union. Every lime we met he invariably returned to this subject, questioning me for hours about the literature of the Soviet Orient.''^^1^^
A typical example is the composer Kcinhold Gliere. People's Arlislc of the U.S.S.R.; he lived for long periods of time in many of the Soviet national republics and regions, studying the music of these republics. Gliere also gave freely of his time and knowledge for training musicians. His operas Shah-Senem and Gi/ul-sar(t had a profound effect on the development of opera in a number of national republics (Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan and others); at the same time they enriched both Russian music with the national elements of the music of other Soviet peoples, and the music of these peoples with the achievements of Russian classic opera (by complex means of musical expression, notably polyphony). The enrichment of Russian music through the direct personal contacts established between Gliere and the musicians of Uzbekistan and Turkmenia is most obvious in a number of concert works of this composer.
Gliere's concerto for coloratura soprano and orchestra, distinctly Russian in its musical form, carries the imprint of the music of the Central Asian national republics, creatively re-arranged. Gliere's music is a convincing demonstration of the beneficial effect of direct personal contacts between musicians of different peoples. It is noteworthy that certain Russian, Ukrainian and Byelorussian composers devote themselves to the development of the music of other Soviet peoples.
In their turn certain composers of non-Russian nationalities actively participate in the development of Russian Soviet musical culture, introducing specific, features of their national music (the works of Aram Khachaturyan, Vano Muradeli, and others). Soviet composers of one nationality make extensive use of poetic and musical subjects and themes created by other Soviet nations among _-_-_
~^^1^^ ``Great Friend of the Soviet Orient'', Literaturnai/n Gazcta, June 26, 1936.
92 whom they live and work. These works include the vocal cycle of the Russian composer Yuri Sviridov to the lyrics of the Armenian poet Avetik Isaakyan, and the Moldavian Suite by the Ukrainian composer Nikolai Peiko in which a number of Moldavian intonational features (prevalently harmonies) in the structure of certain episodes merge organically with the specific features of Ukrainian ballads (``dumas''). This suite also includes melodic elements characteristic of Russian music (the ``Slow Dance'', the ``Doina'').An important factor in the mutual enrichment of the national literatures and arts of the Soviet Union are allUnion and republican congresses and conferences of writers, artists, composers and architects. Problems associated with the development of the Soviet national literatures and arts are widely discussed at these meetings at which the participants acquaint themselves with the achievements of the national artistic cultures of the republics and regions of the country. Discussion of urgent issues related to artistic work in the all-Union, republican, and regional press is also a highly important feature.
An outstanding phenomenon contributing to the reciprocal enrichment of Soviet national literatures and arts arc the soirees and festivals of literature of the peoples of the Soviet Union in Moscow, and festivals of Russian literature and arts in the fraternal republics. No less important are the performances of national literatures of the Russian Federation: Daghestan. Ossetian, Chuvash, Buryat-Mongolian, etc. Such events are a demonstration of the friendship and fraternity of the peoples of the Soviet Union and are conducive to a further mutual cultural enrichment. These phenomena are characteristic of the Soviet socialist system.
The festivals of literature and arts of the Union and autonomous republics held in Moscow are always true festivals of multi-national Soviet culture, as well as important tests of the maturity and skill of the people working in the sphere of culture; they arc a school for the workers of culture of all the Soviet nations where they share their knowledge and where numerous groups of writers, artists, actors and musicians of the national republics report to the entire Soviet people. The Soviet 93 populalion judges the accomplishments in literature and arts achieved hy the Soviet national republics. Meetings with the public at large are organised for the participants in the festivals. Rejoicing over the achievements attained by the national theatres, writers, composers and artists, the public voices its advice and wishes, thus enriching its own artistic tastes and conceptions.
Artists, composers and actors of different Soviet nationalities frequently work together in producing a single piece of art. Thus national restrictions are eliminated, the work of Soviet writers and artists is enriched and becomes accessible to broader sections of the Soviet public.
Examples from Soviet music (primarily opera) are particularly illustrative. Thus Buran, an Uzbek opera, was a joint creation of Mukhtar Ashrafi and Sergei Vasilenko, an Uzbek and a Ukrainian. The first Turkmen operas were written by Veli Mukhatov, Ali Kuliyev and other Turkmen composers in close collaboration with Russian and Ukrainian composers. Shasenem and Garib, a popular Turkmen opera by Shaposhnikov and Ovezov, has been on Hie Turkmen stage for over ten years. Its distinguishing features are authenticity of folk character both in stage personitication and national musical language. Permeated with deep lyricism and feeling, with tense drama and pathos, the opera sparkles with vitality. The Turkmen melodies in it soar to new heights under the influence of Russian classical musical forms, which are modified to conform to the national features of the Turkmen melody. Despite the fact that this opera is based on age-old Turkmen folklore and songs its music is entirely modern. At the same time, it also represents a certain achievement of Russian musical culture developing in unity with the music of the fraternal Soviet republics.
In the Soviet Union outstanding works of literature are translated into almost all the other languages of the Soviet peoples; works of musical and dramatic art created byrepresentatives of one people are performed on the stages of all the Soviet national republics and regions. In addition to presenting the Soviet reader with a broad selection of the literatures of all the peoples of the Soviet Union, the translations also enrich the language of writers of prose and poetry in all these nations. Through translations 94 they acquire a new wealth of poetic forms and comparisons, learn new poetic rhythms and melodies. For instance, the translation of works of prose, say, from the Russian into the Kazakh language or vice versa, reciprocally enriches both languages by the many proverbs, sayings, idiomatic expressions, etc., that exist in them. A good example is the translation of Mukhtar Auezov's novel Abai from the Kazakh language into the Russian, rendered by Leonid Sobolev. Every sentence in the Russian text sounds clear, precise, and euphonious while at the same lime it also carries the general imprint of something specifically Kazakh and generally Oriental. Thus Sobolev's translation is a binding link between the Kazakh and the Russian languages, endowing both with new riches.
It is particularly important to dwell here on the place occupied by the Russian language. The Programme of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union states that the Russian language has become a means of communication eagerly studied by the peoples of the different Soviet nationalities. The Russian language is the medium through which representatives of one nationality learn of the achievements attained in the spheres of culture and literature by the other nationalities; thereby the Russian language is conducive to the intellectual and aesthetic enrichment of all the peoples of the Soviet Union. Knowledge of Russian is becoming synonymous with the concept of a cultured person among all the Soviet peoples. In the apt words of the Tatar novelist Rafael Mustaiin, the Russian language has become an integral part of the intellectual culture of all non-Russian peoples, their second native tongue.
Writers and artists of the Russian Federation, the Ukraine, Byelorussia, the Baltic and Central Asian republics portray not only the lives of their own peoples but of other peoples as well; this extends the bounds of their aesthetic cognition of reality and enriches their works with descriptions of the life, character, culture and geography of the fraternal peoples populating the vast Soviet Union. The Last of the Udeghes, a book by the Russian novelist Alexander Fadeyev, describes the life of the Udeghes, a small people barely known before the October Revolution. A col lection of delightful verses devoted to the natural beauty 95 of Georgia and the life of its people was written by the Russian poet Nikolai Tikhonov (Georgian Spring). Ivan Lhe, a Ukrainian, in his gripping novel Uclnn'cn Mountains depicted the struggle of the Uzbek people lo reclaim the Hungry Steppe. In the book The Future the Byelorussian novelist Eduard Samuilyonok painted a vivid picture of the fight for Soviet power in Georgia and of socialist construction in this republic, while the Georgian writer Konstantin Lordkipanidze published a collection of Byelorussian stories marked by a deep admiration for the Byelorussian people.
The national forms of Soviet literature and arts are complex and manifold.
Every people possesses its own specific qualities; the most progressive aspects of these qualities constitute the contribution this people makes into the treasure-house of world culture. Leading representatives of culture in the Soviet Union have deep regard for the specific features of the different nations, always ensuring that the characteristic elements of their cultures, languages and customs receive due emphasis. The use of specific national features in literature and arts is both natural and necessary. But leading personalities in literature and arts support only the viable, positive, and progressive aspects in the life of a nation, criticising and rejecting all that has become obsolete. Their protests against barbaric survivals of the past among some of the Transcaucasian peoples, such as sell flagellation during the ``Shakhsei-Vakhsei'' festival or the custom of vendetta, were voiced many years ago.
The concept of national definitiveness, or specific trails in works of literature and arts, includes the national Ian guage, a most important feature in a national culture. The specific properties of a language are evolved during the long histories of the people that use it; these properties are undergoing constant change in our time. Such changes are in a great part due to the influences the national literatures exert on one another, in the process of which the national languages are mutually enriched. Such enrichment is not effected by the deliberate invention of new words, nor by an ``aesthetical'' game played with the national traits of language and style, nor by stringing together various archaic words, terms and names. It is 96 effected through the birth of new words and expressions that reflect new phenomena in Soviet life and the higher cultural level of the Soviet people as a whole. These changes are also accompanied by certain changes in methods of verbal artistic portrayal, in certain stylistic techniques, and so forth. Metaphors, forms of artistic comparison, and other properties that were quite in place in their time and conformed to their content gradually fall into disuse, giving way to new language forms and similes.
Under the influence of modern life and the languages of other peoples, particularly of the Russian language, the conventional archaic flowery language and canons of the old poetry of feudal limes in Uzbekistan, for instance, have been replaced by the living language of the people, by new stylistic means capable of expressing the phenomena of Soviet reality. Similar factors have also wrought a marked change in the forms of post-revolutionary Kirghiz poetry: the traditional structure of its verse has disappeared together with the constant comparisons with a rose, the moon, a nightingale, and so on. Kirghiz verse is now written in the new popular language and in various metres that were formerly never employed in the poetry of the Asian peoples. Kirghiz Soviet poetry now speaks directly in the living language that bears no resemblance to the archaic, monotonous language of pre-revolutionary official Kirghiz literature. Tautology, verbosity, and long periods have vanished from the poetry of the Yakuts. Yakut verse is now becoming syllabo-tonic, and is acquiring a lively and sonorous rhyme. Today the Kabardinian language has become; a modern, in the full sense of the word, literary language capable of vivid and versatile reflection of reality; these changes are the result of the penetration into the Kabardinian language of rhythms of the Russian language that have now become its native, national, rhythms.
Besides its language, another factor affecting national forms of literature and arts is a common mentality, manifested by specific traits of culture. The cast of mind of a people, its psychological character, reflects the conditions of its life. It is a condensed mass of impressions derived from the environment. Hence national character cannot be alienated from the socio-economic conditions governing its formation and development in the past and __PRINTERS_P_97_COMMENT__ 7---862 97 present. National character is manifested most forcefully in the positive and viable qualities acquired by peoples over the long process of history.
The national character of the Soviet peoples and its reflection in Soviet literature and arts, however, undergoes continuous change and is constantly enriched throughout the course of communist construction.
A decisive part in this process is played by the development of the socialist peoples themselves. The Soviet people, their spiritual qualities, and their cultural level have also changed and are continuously changing. The transformations that took place in all I lie Soviet national republics were accompanied by changes in Hie intellectual life of the Ukrainian, Byelorussian, Georgian, Tajik, and other peoples. The socialist nations are being built on a common social foundation: common interests unite all the nations into a single family.
The heroes of many new works of literature and the arts, despite their national distinctions, already have many features in common that characterise them as representatives of Soviet reality. Such are the heroes from the Russian novel Enter Every Home by Yelizar Mallsev, and the Ukrainian novel Truth and Falsehood by Mikhailo Slelmakh, and many others.
The works of a number of young Soviet composers also have much in common, notwithstanding individual traits: N. Nikolayev's First Symphony, M. Vainberg's Fourth Symphony, E. Mirzoyan's Symphony for String Instruments and Kettledrums. These symphonies all reflect optimism, lyricism, a profound perception of reality and romanticism. It is not socialist content alone that unites them, but also certain aspects of form, international features of artistic expressiveness. In the final analysis, the latter are defined by a community of content reflected in Soviet literature and arts, by the common ideologies of the writers, artists, and musicians. Thus, for example, a vital modern issue, the struggle of the colonial peoples for independence, has been reflected in a similar manner in the works of composers who differ greatly in their national aspect: Kara Karayev (The Path of Thunder), Julius Juzeliunas (African Sketches), Lev Knipper (selections from his symphonic 98 suite Letters to Friends), Vasif Adigezalov (symphonic poem Africa Fights), and others. The same is true of the treatment of such concepts as the People, the Party, or Lenin in music and in the other arts. These concepts, says Dmitry Shostakovich, are beacons illuminating the creative horizons of every Soviet artist, be he a Russian, Ukrainian, Tatar or Bashkir.
Soviet artists strive to create national characters as Soviet characters, as characters embodying traits inherent in all the Soviet people: collectivism, patriotism, internationalism and many other qualities. This is easily confirmed by reading, say, the Uzbek novel Stronger Than Storm by Sharaf Rashidov, or the Kazakh novel Karaganda by Gabiden Mustafm. The heroes of these novels belong to different Soviet nationalities, but they have much in common---general Soviet features that link them to the heroes of other Soviet literatures. Disregard of character traits common to the heroes of all Soviet national literatures inevitably leads to the national traits in these characters neither being understood nor revealed. In general, national qualities not only in content, but in form as well, do not exist in isolation. They are always interlinked with general Soviet features. Hence it is wrong to look upon specific national features, upon national forms of Soviet literature and arts, as being something purely national, fixed once and for all, unchangeable. Actually, ``the forms of national culture do not ossify; on the contrary, they develop continuously. Outmoded and inconsistent with the task of communist construction, they drop away, and new forms emerge.''^^1^^
However, in reality we still encounter archaisms, idealisation and conservation of the old, moribund national forms; this is frequently due to the survival of nationalistic elements in the minds of certain representatives of literature and the arts.
Nationalism, as applied to the present issue, is essentially the denial of the progressive value of the drawing together and mutual influence of the Soviet national literatures and arts for their development, and the assertion that closer lies and mutual influences do not enrich the _-_-_
~^^1^^ The Road to Communism, Moscow, l>. 259.
99 Emacs-File-stamp: "/home/ysverdlov/leninist.biz/en/1969/POMA347/20070812/199.tx" __EMAIL__ webmaster@leninist.biz __OCR__ ABBYY 6 Professional (2007.08.12) __WHERE_PAGE_NUMBERS__ bottom __FOOTNOTE_MARKER_STYLE__ [0-9]+ __ENDNOTE_MARKER_STYLE__ [0-9]+ Soviet national lileralure.s and arts, but that they make them poorer by depriving them of their national uniqueness. A manifestation of nationalism is the idealisation of obsolete, outmoded elements of specific national characteristics; such idealisation invariably leads certain Soviet writers and artists to turn from the real life of their peoples to a schematic, false reflection of reality. Moreover, this type of idealisation is also detrimental to the national qualities of artistic form. This may be illustrated by the creations of certain Russian architects, modelled on the lines of ancient Russian church architecture, or by those Ukrainian painters, the so-called ``boichukists'' who, proceeding from a false interpretation of national form, painted in the style of ancient Byzantine frescoes for a long period of time, claiming that this style expressed a new socialist content.In combating nationalism the workers of Soviet literature and arts also resist all attempts to ignore specifically national traits in the development of multi-national Soviet artistic culture, to undermine the principles of equality among the national cultures and arts of all the Soviet peoples.
In their work the writers and artists of all the Soviet peoples continue to proceed from Lenin's behests concerning the need for paying particular attention to the specific features of the different nations, and the impermissibilily of ignoring such specific traits in culture, language, and customs. Without this, stressed Lenin, it is absolutely impossible to attain any degree of success in the development of all that is valuable in modern world civilisation.
To belittle national traits of culture and arts is an insult to national feelings, it undermines the confidence of the peoples of our country in each other, thus isolating the arts and literature of one Soviet people from the beneficial influence of the artistic cultures of all the others and encouraging nationalism.
Experience gained in the development of multi-national art in the Soviet Union proves irrefutably that international, humanistic art originates and develops on national grounds.
Art common to all of humanity, international in both content and artistic form, will develop on the basis of a 100 world communist society through reciprocal influences, closer ties, and enrichment of all national literatures and arts of the world. This will be a profoundly realistic art, permeated with the noble ideas of brotherhood and friend ship among nations.
However, this remote future is linked by many ties to our time, to contemporary events. At the present moment mutual influences and enrichment of national cultures involve not only the Soviet peoples, but also the peoples belonging to the world socialist community. Similar conditions of life and a unity of aims in their struggle for peace, democracy and socialism are the basis on which the literature and arts of these nations are already developing traits that draw them closer to one another and to the artistic culture of the Soviet Union. This development is not only a powerful source of cultural progress, it is also a potent means for educating peoples in the spirit of internationalism and mutual respect.
Reciprocal influences and mutual enrichment of litcra tures and arts likewise develop among leading progressive writers, artists, and musicians in the capitalist countries, and also between them and Soviet writers, artists and musicians. As history marches on these mutual influences expand and become more various. In develop ing realistic art Soviet writers, artists and composers make extensive use of all Hie best qualities in the arts and literatures of all peoples.
[101] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Nikolai SilayevOwing to historical conditions, art was for a long time the only sphere of human activities aesthetics concerned itself with. So much so that Hegel---that eminent thinker of the past---set down a rigorous demarcation line for this branch of philosophy, naming the fine arts as its sole subject.
Until quite recently, this view was shared by Soviet scholars as well. And while the presence of beauty in nature and human life was acknowledged, it was also held that it could only be perceived incident to, and by means of, art. Practice, however, has made obvious the necessity for an aesthetic examination of the vast sphere of material production, labour and everyday life. Today, labour and production at large have finally come within the purview of aesthetics. As a separate branch of knowledge, labour aesthetics encompasses a wide range of problems such as the beauty of work products, work places, work apparatus (mechanisms, machine-tools and implements), various materials worked, etc.
The present paper deals with the aesthetics of Hie labour process.
The ``aesthetics of labour" and ``beauty of labour" have become household words with us. But what do they denote? What are their implications? ``Labour'' is so stupendous and inclusive a notion that its beauty may be considered from various standpoints.
Mostly, they speak of the beauty of labour to the onlooker. Artists would often discuss the impact the intrinsic and exterior beauty of workers makes on their senses and 102 emotions, and the thrill and inspiration they gel from scenes of labour unfolding before their eyes.
Sometimes they speak of labour as a source of man made beauty, a vital creative force, which has fathered ``a second nature'', striking and enjoyable to the human eye.
No books can ever exhaust this subject, for it is limit less. It will persist while there is human life on earth. Indeed, it is hardly possible to think of labour as a mere subject, since work is synonymous with life, and life has always determined the content of art, and will ever continue to do so.
In considering the essence of labour in its philosophic aspect, Karl Marx wrote of the aesthetic content of the labour process and of creative endeavour following the laws of beauty* meaning above all ``material labour'', that is, man's activities directed at the ``formation of matter" for the satisfaction of his vital needs. Indeed, the aesthetic pleasure itself and the ``musical ear" and `` form-conscious eye" that go with it had appeared and developed in the course of man's labour practice long before art emerged as a specific form of activity. Therefore, aesthetics ---unwritten and uncodificd---was produced by 'the working people.
One of the best works of the great humanist Romain Holland, his effervescent Colas Breugnon, is dedicated to a common working man who could make marvellous things with his hands. Work had endowed him with glowing physical and mental health and made him proudly conscious of his dignity. Said Colas, ``A good king's not a bad thing, but me, I'm the best king myself. . . . And should the King chance here. I would say to him: `Welcome to this house. Your health! Here, take a seat. Cousin, all kings are the same.'~"
The old craftsman knows the genuine poetry of work. The very moulding of the passive, unyielding material to his will fills him with delight: ``How good it is to be before Ihe bench, tool in hand, sawing, cutting, shaving, carving, boring, stopping, filing, daubing, grinding the beautiful firm stuff which resists and succumbs; the chunk of hazelwood, supple and smooth and quivering to the touch like the back of a nymph. . . . The joy of Ihc sure hands, the clever fingers, 103 the thick fingers about to bring forth a fragile work of arl! The joy of the spirit that commands the forces of the earth, that inscribes in wood, metal or stone the caprice ordained by noble fancy. My hands are obedient workers steered by my co-partner, my old brain, which---being itself subordinate to me---arranges the game as it pleases my mood.''
It would be rash to insist that the craftsman's emotions constitute the aesthetic feeling. But we should note there the pure enjoyment of the very process of work, which is a feature peculiar to the aesthetic feeling.
In works by Marx one finds a number of statements on the aesthetics of labour, which are of fundamental significance. It is first of all the notion that the aesthetic content of work entirely depends on its being free and creative. Marx wrote that in its historical forms labour---the slave's, the serf's, the hired worker's---was ever repellent and ever done under compulsion, while non-labour was, conversely, ``freedom and happiness''. Marx remarked that that was true in two respects. First, that it was antagonistic labour; and, second and related to the first, that it was labour which had created for itself neither subjective nor objective conditions which would make it attractive and a means of selfrealisation of the individual. That, however, did not at all mean that such labour was mere play or unadulterated pleasure, as Fourier naively supposed it to be.^^1^^ So we see that aesthetic pleasure in work is possible, given certain objective and subjective conditions.
The objective conditions are tantamount to the mode of production, which decisively affects the aesthetics of la bour. Thus in the Middle Ages a manufactory worker was able to do everything. Anybody who wished could become a craftsman. ``Thus there is found wilh medieval craftsmen an interest in their special work and in proficiency in it, which was capable of rising to a narrow artistic sense.''^^2^^ Under capitalism, conditions of production are such as to preclude any aesthetic pleasure in work, since the worker _-_-_
~^^1^^ Karl Marx, ``Principles of the Criticism of Political Economy'', a manuscript of 1857--58. Quoted from Bolshevik No. 12, 1948, pp. 31--32. The reference is to Fourier's proposition to the effect that in socialist society labour will become play.
~^^2^^ Marx and Engels, The German Ideology, Moscow, 1961, p. 67.
104 becomes a mechanical appendage of the machine while both labour itself, sold to the capitalist as a commodity, and its product, are completely alienated. Instead of becoming richer spiritually and having their aesthetic feeling developed and refined, workers at a textile mill, for instance, with its unbearable conditions, had to ``pay with all of their five senses'',^^1^^ as Marx put it.Communism alone creates favourable conditions for a free and unbovinded development of labour activities, since everyone is given an opportunity to develop and perfect his propensities and talents in keeping with his personal inclinations. Therefore, labour, when it is attractive, is the `` self-realisation of the individual''.
Work in material production and the work of an artist are of the same nature, both being an organic blend of the intellectual and the sensuous.
The enjoyment of labour and the emotional elation it gives are general, purely psychological characteristics, so far devoid of any specific evidence of the aesthetic feeling. In fact, exhilaration may well be felt at the completion of some dull, tiresome job or one promising good money.
Enjoying work ``as something which gives play to ... bodily and mental powers"^^2^^ is how Marx defines the aesthetic content of the labour process. Nor does he use the word ``play'' accidentally.
The aesthetic principle is precisely that which makes work and play germane. When at play, one takes pleasure just in the free unfolding and apt application of one's bodily and menial powers. One enjoys a game of chess because it takes ingenuity, rugged purpose and rational resolutions---all involving a search for definite formal patterns. In other games the stress may be on physical prowess. But in any game a certain purpose is present, embodied in a tangible or sensuous form. Every game is genuinely aesthetic in that its specific aim (the checkmate in chess, the goal in football, etc.) determines the conscious behaviour of the participants, providing the opportunity for relevant manifestations of ability on their part. Insofar as play is devoid _-_-_
~^^1^^ Karl Marx, Capital, Vol. I, Moscow, 19G5, p. 457.
~^^2^^ Ibid., p. 178.
105 of any utilitarian purposes, its sole motive is pleasure. (In this instance, however, the connotation is that of `` gratification of the mind" rather than ``of the senses'', for aestheticpleasure is derived even in the presence of physical discomfort or mental strain such as may often he involved in a game, for example).An aesthetic emotion can only spring from direct physical perception of a substantial, meaningful form. Thus in chess, which is reputedly the most speculative of games, the concrete sensuous form, the visual materialisation of thought, emerges most graphically, creating the effect of beauty. I. Linder, in his book on chess, asks: ``What is the greatest point of attraction to a chess player in a game?" And he answers: ``We should not be wrong, if we say that it is the combination. It is that which enraptures audiences at national and world meetings, making them burst into enthusiastic applause in their thousands. It is that which gives chess lovers aesthetic pleasure in perusing the records of games played long ago by world-famous chess masters."^^1^^ An unexpected original move altering the position on the chessboard or the sacrifice of an important piece deciding the outcome of the game---all contribute to the emergence of striking, aesthetically meaningful forms. Football, too, knows its ``fine shots" and ``brilliant defence and attack''. The progress of a game is actually the development of a form---a spectacle---immediately perceived and appreciated.
Finally, play and work both imply the concentration of will-power, which determines the specific character of the aesthetic feeling born out of action. By its very nature will-power belongs among the higher, typically human traits. It is consciousness passing inlo action, whose form and direction arc subordinated to a definite purpose.
One's individual features---personal experience, interests and inclinations---influence the ability to perceive beauty both in everyday reality and in works of art. But the peculiar Self plays an even greater role in the formation of the aesthetic feeling in the process of action, be it at play or _-_-_
~^^1^^ I. Linder, Va.tha lynbiinai/n if/rn? Shakhmnli/ (I Love Chess, Do You?), Znmiiye PuljJi.slic.Ts, Moscow, 1962, p. (>().
106 at work. We mean here the subjective altitude to the object of action. Aesthetic pleasure in work is only possible provided there is an active emotional striving for the goal, which does not spring from any speculative considerations but is actually one's heart's desire. This striving, however, cannot remain private. By being crystallised in the product of work and the concrete effort, the subjective becomes objectified and turns into a real force, full of social significance.Work after one's own heart must needs give pleasure; it is more than a means to satisfy one's present need but something which makes life worth living.
In communist society, one does the kind of work which suits one's ability and calling and corresponds to one's personal inclinations.
Only eternal poverty and a haunting fear of the future forced working people in the past to choose their trades for nothing but the sustenance and relative security they might promise. Often young people had no choice at all but were glad to take what jobs came their way.
In Soviet society the choice of occupation is increasingly guided by aesthetic considerations, which people express in such simple phrases as ``Just the thing for me" or ``That's the job I like''.
But does the free choice of occupation never clash with the social interest? Is there no contradiction between people's personal preferences and aesthetic emotions on the one hand, and society's current needs on the other? Long ago, Plekhanov answered these questions in the negative. He wrote that there was no antagonism here, for the utilitarian approach historically preceded the aesthetic approach. The notions of beauty are clearly related to the needs of society. This comes out especially clearly in the sphere of everyday life and production. Jobs and occupations which have served their time inevitably lose their aesthetic appeal while new forms of labour possess a fascination which is not seeming but quite real, for beauty is life ever progressing towards perfection. As to the choice of a career, the door to any branch of study and work is open wide to everybody, young people above all, as new lines of activity keep springing up in science, technology and the building industry.
107A country lad now is no longer prepared to lake up any such time-hallowed village trade as that of a harnessmaker, glazier or felter. No, he would rather drive a combine harvester or a bulldozer, be a soil improver, a builder or an architect. And it is not just that these jobs are necessary which makes them so much more attractive than the old trades but that they are of immeasurably greater interest and scope. Hundreds of entirely novel trades and professions have appeared lately following the emergence of new sciences and industries. They are aesthetically attractive because they open up unbounded vistas for the development of ability and talent, for the fulfilment of the most romantic plans.
These are precisely the objective conditions which socialist practice provides to make labour aesthetically meaningful.
Nevertheless, the emergence of aesthetic emotions in the process of work also depends on subjective factors. Pavlov called one of them---connected with activity---the reflex of purpose. He wrote that ``the entire human practice, its progress and culture arc results of the reflex of purpose, of the efforts of people who strive to achieve a purpose they have set themselves in life.''^^1^^ This refers precisely to the emotional-aesthetic aspect of activity. Pavlov describes the reflex of purpose as a pure, unselfish passion which can sway a person to the point of self-abnegation but which can also become inhibited.
Regularity of actions directed towards the goal is of tremendous significance. Orderly and regular manifestation of the reflex not only preserves energy and makes achieve ment easier but it also serves to maintain the interest and the desire to act. Unless the reflex is exercised with rhythmical regularity, the compulsion to act---which is the source of pleasure---will flag and be inhibited. If properly developed and trained, the reflex of purpose gives inspiration to one's life. And, conversely, ``if one's major impulses fail to be gratified time and again, if the function of the principal reflexes continually diminishes, then even the instinct of life, the attachment to life, become affected,'' Pavlov writes.
_-_-_~^^1^^ I. P. Pavlov, Twenty Years of Objective Study of the Higher Nervous Activity (liehavioiir) of Animals, Gosi/dat, 1028. p. 280.
108It is characteristic, of the reflex of purpose that major goals and continuous tasks are broken up into smaller and specific ones which are subordinate to the whole and, in the total, establish a definite rhythm.
Pavlov's conclusion that the ``complete, proper and fruitful unfolding of the reflex of purpose involves a certain effort"^^1^^ is of paramount significance, both practically and theoretically. It means that the very enjoyment of creative activity, the inspiration and unselfish devotion to labour do not visit a person as some mysterious influence or divine afflatus but, other conditions being favourable, must be gained by an effort of will.
Having established on the strength of his experimental study of the mechanism of reflex actions the unity of the living being and the environment in the broadest sense, Pavlov staled that social conditions were paramount to the formation of the human intellect and of the reflex of purpose. Thus he writes that serfdom made the ``landlord a parasitic do-nothing by absolving him, at the expense of others' gratuitous labour, from the normal and natural practice of finding a subsistence for himself and those near and dear''. His reflex of purpose remained ``idle as far as the main spheres of human life were concerned''. Serfdom ``made the serf an utterly passive creature expecting nothing from the future".^^2^^ As a true patriot, Pavlov was confident (and so he wrote just before the October Revolution in Russia) that ``laziness, lack of enterprise, an indifferent arid even careless attitude to any kind of work" were not native Russian traits but ``noxious scum''. He believed in the future upsurge of ``our creative forces".^^3^^
In the same work, Pavlov postulates that ``the main thing is to aspire to a goal while the goal itself is of secondary importance".^^4^^ It may seem odd at first. But everything becomes clear as soon as we understand that what Pavlov means by the ``main thing" is the interrelation between actions and emotions. Certainly, Manilov and Oblomov, those classic characters created by Gogol and Goncharov, had their goals and were much given to imagining _-_-_
~^^1^^ Ibid., p. 281.
^^2^^ Ibid.
~^^3^^ Ibid., p. 28'_>.
~^^4^^ Ibid., p. 277.
109 wonderful, if somewhat outlandish, pictures of life as they would like it to be---at some time in the future. But neither of them ever stirred a finger. Oblomov was quite sincerely proud of his aristocratic inability to do the least thing for himself. His idea of happiness was to avoid all effort. That is the illusory happiness of those dead at heart.A well-developed and trained reflex of purpose means that even simply progressing towards the goal is a source of keen pleasure. Then action becomes spontaneous and vitally necessary.
An apple dropping to the earth suggested the idea ol universal gravitation to Newton just because his thoughts ran in a definite direction. Once it is set, a purpose becomes a spontaneous feeling, not a mere idea. This refers to all creative workers: scientists, inventors, artists, etc. As soon as an idea takes shape in the artist's mind, he is urged to try it out on paper or canvas. lie picks up the smallest details of his surroundings, always with an eye to his future production. His elation extends to everything that has to do with the creative process. The droning response of the canvas, tight as a drum in its stretcher, when he touches his hand to it is like music in his ears; he runs his fingers happily through the silky resilient brush; and the very reek of oil and paint so many people find disagreeable warms the cockles of his heart.
Spacemen's biographies tell us that at every successive stage of their progress they were greatly interested and even engrossed in their work, which, though impossibly hard at times, always made them see the joy and beauty of life.
The life and work of famous contemporaries evidence a clear purpose and an iron will that never fails.
Labour is self-realisation of the individual, ``which does not at all mean that such labour is mere play or unadulterated pleasure''. This statement by Marx is extremely important in explaining the nature of aesthetic pleasure in the process of work.
Indeed, is there anything aesthetic in hard, exhausting work; in work which inflicts physical and moral suffering, and yet makes one feel supremely happy?
First of all we should take note of the commonly ac cepted proposition of aesthetics that the aesthetic feeling 110 is strictly spiritual; purely physiological sensations as such are not aesthetic.
The aesthetic apprehension of labour is commonly syiionymised with the sense of beauty. This, however, is just only so far as the sense of beauty is characteristic of emotions arising in the process of labour activity. But to limit the aesthetics of labour to the sphere of the beautiful is to rob man's aesthetic feelings of their amazing richness.
In everyday life, the aesthetic is often associated with, if not altogether restricted to, what is pleasant and agreeable. But our aesthetic appreciation is not, in fact, so limited. Pushkin wrote: ``The yawning chasm, the ocean wild, the fierce combat yield delight.'' It has long been believed in aesthetics that the apprehension of the tragic or noble is fraught with emotional strain and suffering. And this conflict between the object and its percipient is not only mental but physical as well. The aesthetic element in labour has its analogue not only in what is beautiful but often in what is noble, heroic or tragic.
People engaged in such colossal endeavours as space flights or having to work in an inclement climate are subject to massive influences, some of them involving considerable stress and discomfort. Hardship may waste their bodies, but their spirit will be jubilant. This triumphant feeling goes beyond a mere awareness of the hard-won result, being a much more complex emotion, a synthesis of all the experiences leading up to that result.
What gives the aesthetic feeling its distinctiveness and its profoundly human quality is precisely the fact that it transcends petty egoistic pragmatism and the biological ``base nature" and furnishes an objective point of view pertinent to man as a social being.
Since labour processes are greatly varied both in form and content, they naturally engender feelings of a very wide range.
The heroic element in labour is also expressed in a great variety of ways. We know of people performing exploits at work which lake a supreme effort and may involve sacrifice.
But basically, life consists of systematic constructive labour subject to an exact and undramatic rhythm of the ``ordinary routine''.
111Is there any heroism in such labour? And is it heroic in the aesthetic sense?
Unlike displays of heroism on single occasions involving instant choice between life and death, regular labour activities, pursued year in and year out, have nothing spectacular about them. But this labour, too, is distinguished by a peculiar harmony, and its forms have an authentic force which attracts the artist's attention. The main thing about this labour process is its lofty meaning and indispensability.
In his Road to the Stars, Yuri Gagarin wrote: ``But we liked the kind of heroes about whom people say: 'His whole life was one great exploit'.''
__*_*_*__Expediency is the major law of beauty, which explains, among other things, the emergence of beautiful forms in the plant and animal world. Beauty in nature is the result of continuous evolution of organisms. They have been perfected in the process of the struggle for survival, adaptation to environment and natural selection. The amazing expediency of their ``layout'' has been proved by time and the fact itself of the continuing existence of the particular species.
It is, however, possible to trace various degrees of beauty among the endless variety of species. Though it is the source of the beautiful, expediency by itself does not always produce beauty which needs to be embodied in some specific ways.
The point is that in the process of evolution the aesthetic form is subdued or even obliterated. There is mimicry whereby some insects resemble a tree leaf or twig. There is protective colouring, which makes the green grasshopper ``disappear'' in the grass. Here expediency consists in preventing the perception of the object. The aesthetic form, however, stipulates not only that all the significant formal elements should be perceived but that they should be invested with a vividness of their own and should be capable of impressing.
In the same way, besides expediency and the principle of ``taking the measure from the object'', creating in 112 conformity with the laws of beauty is subject to the fundamental law of form.
In speaking of beauty Marx had in mind the vital content, the meaning, of the object, its intrinsic logic as a necessary measure of the beautiful. But there can be no beauty without form. Marx expressed this idea simply and explicitly: ``For the starving man, it is not the human form of food that exists, but only its abstract being as food; it could just as well be there in its crudest form, and it would be impossible to say wherein this feeding-activity differs from that of animals. A care-burdened man in need has no sense for the finest play; the dealer in minerals sees only the mercantile value but not the beauty and the unique nature of the mineral. . . "^^1^^
Therefore, the aesthetic feeling cannot respond to the ``abstract being" of a thing, for one can perceive only an integral and harmonious form while ``stark practical necessity" is indifferent to it.
Speaking of the emergence of feeling connected with pleasure, and also with aesthetic pleasure, Marx mentions a ``musical ear" and an ``eye for beauty of form''. `` Musical ear" implies an ability to apprehend sounds not merely as a physical phenomenon but also to perceive their harmony, which Hcrzen called ``aesthetic reality''.
Form acquires its relatively independent being from its connection with the beauty of an object which acts on one's aesthetic; sense. The definite quality of this sense depends on the concrete material shape of an object. According to Marx, that is the reason why the physical properties of paints and marble do not lie beyond the sphere of painting and sculpture. This means that stereometrically identical forms like sculptural portraits executed in different materials (wood, clay, marble, etc.) cannot be identical aesthetically. ``Music alone awakens man's sense of music'', is a law which extends not only to the physical material of music, the sounds, but to all other man-- produced materials, including language.
That ``alone'' (music alone) explains why genuine beauty will not tolerate any imitation, any substitutes, anything false.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Karl Marx, Economic and Philosopliic Minwscripts of 1844, Moscow, H)!>7, j>. lit).
__PRINTERS_P_113_COMMENT__ 8---862 113Proceeding i'roin (he Marxisl-Leiiinisl theory of reflection modern scientists have experiineiilally proved thai man's external senses relied not only the outward appearance but the inherent properties ol objects and their various relationships as well. That is why technical devices even more sensitive than the human organs of perception have no sense of the beauty of things.
The aim of all creative activity is to produce a new object, very broadly speaking. To create is to synthesise elements actually present in nature so that an entirely novel phenomenon results. Man the creator builds ``another nature'', which is the entire objective world made by him. The creative principle is not the privilege of some exclusive or exalted professions---it is common to every kind of labour, whether in material or intellectual production.
Any socially useful labour is creative by its very nature, since, in achieving the purpose he has consciously set himself, the worker devises the appropriate form or method and employs his knowledge, craftsmanship, and talent.
Any man-made object, however plain it seems, bears the imprint of the national spirit and historical period. Things are not immutable: their life reflects man's changing male rial and spiritual needs.
The higher the aim of creative activity and the harder its attainment, the greater the joy of victory and the aesthetic delight in creation.
The concept of beauty as harmony appeared a long lime ago. Philosophers of ancient Greece saw the secret of beauty in harmony. This phenomenon was Ireated differently in different aesthetic theories but practice invariably said: to create a perfect, desirable Ihing means to find a harmonious relation of the components. This concept can hardly ever become obsolete. As Ivan Zholtovsky, a wellknown Soviet architect, wrote, ``Harmony has been the groundwork of art throughout human history. True, it is always embodied in concrete styles. But style is a transient thing, and every style is but a variation on the one theme which keeps human culture going, the llieme of harmony.''^^1^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ Mastcra souietskoi tirkhilcklnnj oh ttrkhitekturc (Prominent Soviet Architects on Architecture), Ukrainian Academy of Architecture Publication, Kiev, l'J5;i, p. 03.
114All examination of a series of photographs showing the evolution of the airplane from Ihe earliest designs will clem onslrate how its appearance has been improving along with ils Hying characteristics. Even so, every design, how ever primitive to modern eyes, was new in its time and look much effort to develop.
The creative process is excellently described in Anatoly Agranovsky's documentary story Open Eyes dealing with the development of the first Soviet jet fighter.
11 is a problem wilh numerous unknown quantities. The speed---560 miles an hour---is the only known specification. Another thing they know about is the type of engine but that may well prove yet another headache. The rest must be devised.
The task of the development team is to combine an assortment of antagonistic elements into a harmonious whole.
Assignments have been distributed, everybody concerned is on his toes, arguments flare up, passions clash.
The group responsible for complete designs say thai, with the airframe that puny size, there won't he room enough to swing a cat in Ihe cockpit. There's no inside room for the guns---are they to be left outside or what? The wheels of the landing gear are too big to go into the wings as they must.
Meanwhile the landing gear team are submitting that in view of the speed larger wheels are necessary.
The weight experts have calculated that the wings (those which won't hold the wheels) must by all means be made lighter, that is, smaller.
The strength experts also raise objection to the wings as Ihey are, finding Ihem loo flimsy---not what you'd expect good solid wing units to be, not thick enough by half.
The aerodynamic engineers quite agree that the wings are no earlhly good. If they are to agree with the speed, they ought to be ... thinner. The fuselage design is worthless, anyone can see that. We want a smaller fuselage.
And here comes the equipmenl group with a list of more instruments to he found room for in the body. Do they think it can stretch?!
With ``a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together" all the solutions were found. The designer who had been complaining the loudest that ``there was no driving a whale __PRINTERS_P_115_COMMENT__ 8* 115 iulo a mussel shell" came out with a brilliant idea, lie sug Bested pulling the retraelion jack right in the leg. That did Ihe I rick. 'Hie plane was constructed, and it was goud. and everybody saw that nothing could be simpler. But what the man had gone through to achieve that simplicity.
The author, who was personally acquainted with his characters and observed them at work, notes the significance of Ihe emotion which possessed the creators of the new plane. He writes: ``One should firmly believe that the solution must be found. One who has lost this feeling is losl to his work.''
Emotionality is not only characteristic of, but also necessary to, any kind of creative endeavour, which is purposeful activity connected with a search for suitable solutions. Lenin said that ``there has never been, nor can there be any human search for truth without human emotions.''^^1^^
The aesthetic feeling is a typically ``human'' emotion.
Is il actually indispensable to Ihe creative process? Is the human feeling for the beautiful, elevated or heroic objectively significant to the product of labour? As we mentioned earlier, this feeling is one of the strongest stimuli to action. It .stems from man's will, without which no work can be performed.
The aeslhelic feeling not only serves to mobilise the will; it arouses fantasy and sharpens one's vision of the image of a tiling. This animation opens to the creative individual broad vistas of paths running to the goal, of which he can choose the best. It also awakens intuition--- that ability not controlled by consciousness---which is the necessary companion of creative endeavour.
Thus, the aesthetic reaction, a highest and most specific human pleasure, emerges at the same lime as a creative force.
As sensuous cognition, aesthetic appraisal or reaction always has to do with form and cannot lake place without its apprehension. And from the point of view of form the apprehension of the beautiful appears as an integral unity of harmoniously connected and meaningful elements. In other words, the aesthetic form is a palpable, ``fleshly" _-_-_
^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 20, p. 2(iO.
116 slruclure similar lo a living body, in which Ihe perfect balance and interaction of the organs produce a synthesis which is life. In this sense, the phenomenon of beauty is germane to life.Certainly, the aesthetic form musl be present in the labour process as well. If it is not, then we cannot speak of labour as a source of aesthetic feelings, for the sheer consciousness of the work being useful or important, or one's pride in it, or Ihe awareness of the duty performed or, finally, physical pleasure in the process of labour and moral satisfaction in it have nothing in them characterising specifically aesthetic experience.
Which, then, is the aesthetic form the worker perceives and enjoys in the process of labour? Just as one observing the external harmony of forms and colours in a picture or of sounds in a melody apprehends beauty, so does a worker perceive it in his own actions and motions, in the tensing of his will, mind and muscles, in his consciousness of the spirit and texture of the material---in a word, in every expression of craftsmanship, which ilself is a form of harmony.
One should not, however, think that aesthetic pleasure in labour is a kind of self-happiness, concentrated wholly in the subject himself. Hegel's ideas are of great interest in this respect. In writing about the artist's work, in which, it might seem, the subjective principle should determine the very forms that are created, Hegel puts the object first, lie believes that the ``artist's creative process does not follow from the exclusively spiritual form of thought but from the observation and sensuous perception of the material of the elements integrated in his production".^^1^^ Nor is inspiration ilself, the creative impulse, the child of the purely subjective creator, but it imperatively stipulates the mastery of the object, that is, of some actual vital content. ``When, however, the artist has, in his way, made (he thing completely his,'' Hegel writes, ``he must know how to shed his subjective distinctiveness and its incidental peculiarities and immerse himself completely in his material; for he as the subject is but Ihe form, as it were, for the shapes and images of the content that has taken possession of _-_-_
~^^1^^ G. W !'. Ilcgcl, S(imlli,-lic \Verkc, I.eip/.ii;. 1<K!I, Hum! Xa, S. :i73.
117 him.''^^1^^ So long as every labour process is the implementation of a definite goal, the worker (whether an artist or a plumber) becomes a means, and his mental and physical powers the form, which is experienced by the creative worker and which stems from the object; that is to say, external reality appears as an aim posed by man's (society's) need. For example, the absence of a dense atmosphere around the moon makes soft landing with the help of a parachute impossible there. Whether or not designers like it, this is an objective fact. So the direction of man's activities and the nature of the solutions are dictated by the object. But this does not happen automatically. Here is where man's creativity comes in---his will, his knowledge, his practical experience, all that comes under the head of craftsmanship and is far more than just the sum total of practice and technology.Craftsmanship in this sense is principally the ability to solve finite problems and this, above all, hinges on accumulated experience, which is not simply repeated but, even in the case of the most elementary points of the labour process, modified through selecting the needful elements and evolving new expedient combinations.
True craftsmanship is not only the rational knowledge of the material (matter) which is to be processed in conformity with the purpose, but it is also the sense of material, the aesthetic feeling which brings within grasp the infinitesimal connections existing between its properties and the form, function and designation of the thing. The craftsman selects the material and chooses the method of its processing.
But what about labour skills and high technique? Psychologists have established that highly skilled work---with reactions having become practically automatic---has hardly any emotional impact on the worker. However, it is precisely his high standard of technique that is the necessary prerequisite of aesthetic pleasure in labour.
Metaphorically speaking, the will and attention expended on the mechanism of motion and the methods of work are like the scaffolding that obstructs the view of a beautiful building you are admiring.
_-_-_^^1^^ Hegel, op. cil., S. ;!71-VJ.
118Therefore, the aesthetic purpose of what is known as technical skill is precisely to cut down lo a minimum the worker's physical and mental effort while the speed and precision of his movements remain at the same high level. This requires:
1) simple and exact movements (nothing extra or unnecessary):
2) continuity (any interruption involves additional impulses) ;
3) utilisation <>l natural interdependence of motions;
4) utilisation of coordination of motions;
5) development of unified motive impulses or the ``dynamic stereotype".^^1^^
Therefore the proper aesthetic pleasure in work derives from the perception of an intricate complex of actions, in which volitional and mental efforts form a balanced whole corresponding lo Ihe purpose of labour. This harmony becomes peculiarly objectified, as if by transformation, and is impressed on the thing being made and the appearance of the worker making it. The prominent Soviet sculptor Nikolai Tomsky recalls how he was disappointed at meeting in the factory manager's office Ihe famous smith, whose sculptural portrait Tomsk}' had been commissioned to make. The smith was a thin, unprepossessing-looking man, with a diffident manner: not much of a model lor the portrait of a labour hero. ``But,'' Tomsky goes on, ``when I was being laken over the factory afterwards. I was simply thrilled by the sight of a young smith at a steam hammer. His strong, rhythmical movements were full ol plastic beauty. Not only that. 1 was astounded by the inspired enthusiasm which radiated from his figure. And I resolved there and then to sculpt this man and no other. Imagine my surprise when I learned he was the very smith I had just mcl al the manager's office.''
That is why creative work, which sways a man entirely, involving both his physical and intellectual powers, does more than anything else to engender aesthetic feelings. Labour instils a sense of harmony and makes aesthetic intuition keener, for all that the worker may not be aware of il himself.
_-_-_~^^1^^ E. Li/iii'.'ky. I'siklifilotjia tnuUi (Psychology of Labour), Leningrad, lOL'li, ]). !()<).
119The intensity and depth of aesthetic reactions in Hie process of labour is the result of the active interaction of the subject and object. Bernard Bosanqucl is right in thinking that it is mistaken and idealistic to believe that ``the artist completes in his mind every stroke of the brush before he makes it on the canvas'', that ``the very use of the brush does not add anything lo the work of art he has already created intrinsically or mentally''. The creative worker not only responds to the nervous models of things produced in his brain or imagination; he is also subject lo a kind of feedback which depends on the resistance of the malarial, the effect of the lool on the worker and all return signals coming from the object of work.
[120] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Victor Romancnko The sense of beauty in rn/m
mi bounds or limits.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ A. Chekhou
The beauty of nature, as commonly perceived and understood, always presents itself to us as a quite definite living rcalily. something that goes without saying and does not require any special proof.
Most of us, however, do nol even suspect how many surprises, theoretical and other, the concept ``beauty of nature" will reveal when spelled out; and how difficult it is lo grasp il as an historical concept.
Indeed, il is nol enough to know thai Ihe beauty of nature, like works of art, is capable of exercising a definite effect upon man. II is nol enough lo asserl lhal ``the formation of children's aesthetic attitude to nature is, in its turn, a prerequisite for cultivating love of one's country" (Valentina Shatskaya). One musl know in what way Ihis and olher objecis can be achieved.
Talk about the beauty of nature will necessarily be declarative and tiresomely didactic unless conducted on a broad basis and unless the historical contenl underlying lhal concept is revealed to the reader (if only roughly, in bare outline).
__*_*_*__That the beauly of nature has long served as a powerful stimulus lo art everybody knows. On Ihe granile socle of Ihe Tsarskoye Selo monument lo the vouthful Pushkin 121 are engraved the following beautiful lines from the eoneluding chapter of his Eugene Oner/in:
``One spring, when swan cries set aquiver The placid mirrors of the river, Deep in that mystic valley glade There came to me Apollo's maid.''^^1^^
The inspiration of first poetical essays in the mind of Pushkin is inseparable from his earliest, still childlike, delighted impressions evoked by ``the gardens of the Lyc\'ee''. Poets past and present usually dedicate their first word to the beauty of their native land.
But that the beauty of nature also inspires people lo scientific exploits and that our perception of the beautiful is somehow dependent also on the development of natural science as a whole---are things that we still speak of as being something new and not quite proven.
When, in the days of natural science's rapid and victorious development during the ISfiO's, the young scientist and doctor Ba/arov threw out his challenging ``nature's not a temple, but a workshop and man is a workman in it'', many people look this lo be a defiant challenge lo the beauty of nature. Turgenev's hero acquired the reputation of a destroyer of beauty, and whether he meant lo or not. became the mouthpiece of such views which, in one form or another, have survived lo this day.
As the recent ``physicist-and-lyricist'' controversy has shown, there are still plenty of people who believe thai Ihe beauly of realily and art have litlle in common with the logic of scientific deeds aimed at the practical modification of the world. And not just ``have little in common'', but often clash with each other, and have a dangerous gap between Ihem.
The Irulh, however---as it quickly transpired---lies deep er than the surface level on which Ihe polemic between ``physicists and lyricists" raged.
Recently, the aesthetieians started a vehement dispute among themselves. About what? About Ihe very existence of the beauly of nature, that is, about its true being. As a _-_-_
^^1^^ A. Pushkin, KIKJCW Ont'tjin, lr. ]>y \V;illiT Arnclt. New York, I'.Ki.'i, p. 19').
122 mailer of facl Ihis is a very old philosophical dispute, but never before has it assumed such significance for our aesthetics as it has now.I believe Kornely Zelinsky overlooked something very imporlant in Ihis dispule, when, in his inleresting article ``On Beauty" he expressed himself literally as follows: ``I think no one doubts the fact that beauty in nature exists, lhal it is an objeclive phenomenon independent of our subjective emotions.''
The point is lhat people do doubt it. Some of our writers voice this doubt and quote aulhorilalive sources in support of their arguments. The point is that until the idea of the objectivencss of fhe beautiful wins the day and rids us in practice of eclectic confusion, we shall have to argue again and again.
The mosl abslract of our disputes are always based on definite causes dictated by life, which are often unexpected and for many of us unsuspected.
What are these causes?
The times we are living in have heightened our perception of nature lo an extraordinary degree. We owe this largely and primarily to labour and science. We would hardly go wrong in claiming thai il was only wilh Ihe advent of the age of space flights fhat the great majority of people became acutely aware of Ihe vaslness of Ihe universe, although men had visited outer space long before the launching of the Earlh's first artificial satellite---on Ihe pages of scienlific ficlion, of course. Nalural science and technology, which are closely linked wilh the stale of society's productive forces, transform their ideas into facts of reality.
Practical contact with nature makes all distinguished natural scientists extremely sensilive lo the beauty of the world around them, makes them real poets (both in a direct and figurative sense). Einslein called Ihe Russian physicist Pyotr Lebedev the grealesl poet of the twentieth century, who had ``caught'' and ``weighed'' the sun's ray, thai is, delermined Ihe pressure of light.. . . The same thing, albeit in less vivid form, can be said of all people.
We are at the threshold of a predesigned modification of our planet's climate. We: are already able today to turn back the current of rivers and direct them into the desert. 123 We are creating man-made seas and cullivaling millions of hectares of age old virgin soil. More and more people, are becoming involved in the grandiose plans for remodelling nature, in which they are brought face to face with the scenery of their native land, with its established and changing beauty. There is something truly symbolic about the fact that the first man who broke his earlhbound environment and looked down upon our Earth from outer space could not suppress an exclamation: ``How beautiful!''
We are becoming richer, but in a certain respect we are losing, and then the more far-sighted of us year by year raise their voices in defence of nature, reminding us that her reserves cannot be considered inexhaustible. Need we emphasise that our cares in the matter of nature conservancy are dictated also by considerations of an aesthetic order, for on an earth shorn of beauty there can be no happiness for future generations.
Does the aesthetic feeling of our contemporary remain unchanged, within certain fixed limits, or does it acquire? a new meaning under the influence of those powerful fac tors of scientific and social development we are dealing with? There can be no two answers to these questions. When all is said and done, all our theoretical disputes about the aesthetic qualities of reality, about the objective char acter of the beautiful in nature and society, arc merely a reflection of life's processes, an index of the complex relations between science, art and ideology, all of which are equally called upon to serve as levers of social progress.
Our aesthetic thought has long been striving to explain beauty from positions of materialistic monism. Consequently, in the very approach to the problem there are revealed principles which are of a general theoretical significance. Indeed, how can one avoid here dealing with general philosophical questions?
Here is the first link in the chain of cause and effect we arc dealing with: man and nature.
In Engels's Dialectics of Nature we several times come across a very important reference to the unnatural and meaningless idea of a slate of opposition between man and nature, which we inherited from the Middle Ages and which found its highest expression in Christianity. Reason cannot be in conflict with nature, because, hi [he words of 124 Kngcls. man bv his very flesh, blood and brain belongs to her and is within her and it is in man alone that nature becomes aware of herself. Man commands nature, but how? By accepting her own laws and correctly applying them. By subjecting production to their purposeful will, together willi new spectacular advances in natural science, people will not only feel but realise their unity with nature more and more as lime goes on.
Not even at the time these words were being written were they so meaningful as they are loday, when the march of history is confirming their profound truth.
The idea of man's unity with nature not only pervades present-day natural science, but has received its highly artistic embodiment in art. An example of this are the works of such Russian writers as Turgenev, Tolstoi, Prishvin and Paustovsky. Naturally, this does not exhaust the general aesthetic significance of the idea of man's unity with nalure.
Idealislic aeslhelics in one form or another has always insisted on the absolute independence of beauty, its complete estrangement from the external world, and has been trying to prove its self-generation in man; in a word, il considers beauty merely the manifestation of man's spiritual essence. Such aesthelics appears as a direct successor of the religious myslical theories of beauty whether propounded by Theodor Lipps, Benedetto Croce or Jacques Maritain.
Here we simply cannot do without Hie ``nalure'' point of view, and this docs nol in any way make us vulgar malerialisl metaphysicians. On the contrary, il is the slarlinypoint of our aesthetic theory.
The feeling for nalure, like Ihal of love, is an historical category.
Man's aesthetic feeling in one way or another is bound up with his feeling for nature. This is undeniable. The difficulty of the problem lies in being able to discover, from a large number of facts (hence the complexity of their selection and appraisal), how exactly our aesthetic feeling for nature arises, how it develops, how it becomes a fact of consciousness, that is, how il affects people's convictions and practical activities, and how il submits to their analysis.
125Man's separateness from the animal world, his apartness, is only possible in society. It is to social labour that we owe our sense of the beautiful. In creating the material conditions for his existence, in modifying nature, `` humanising'' her, in extending the framework and changing the forms of his social life, man is becoming himself more and more. In other words, man's age-old labour contact with his own kind and with an endless variety of material sen suous things sharpened and cultivated his live physiologic al senses and thought-patterns, and only by this means did he develop also his aesthetic feeling.
Those qualities, properties, specific features and values of real life which we call aesthetic must have existed before man and independently of him, before man learned to assimilate them, apply to them a special measure, name them, and reproduce them consciously, deliberately, with a definite social purpose.
With the appearance of art the latter itself began to play an exclusive role in the development of our aesthetic feeling. But even today we do not ascribe to it the intrinsicsignificance which is attached to it by idealistic aesthetics. It is merely part of a whole, just as science is, merely one of the forms of social consciousness, which by no means covers the whole aesthetic content of reality.
Pride of place for us is still held by nature (Marx, by the way, sometimes used the concept ``nature'' in a sense that included all materiality, consequently society as well).
In this connection one cannot help recalling the remarkably trenchant words of Mikhail Prishvin in ``The Mirror of Man": ``Art and science are like doors from the world of nature into the world of humanity: through the door of science nature enters into man's world, and through the door of art man enters into nature, and there he finds himself and calls nature his mother.''^^1^^
It all adds up to what at first glance is a simple question: does beauty exist objectively, that is, independently of man, or was it first engendered only by man's social practice, and outside of this practice, outside of man's ``psychology'', outside of art, it does not exist at all? This is the point of difference on which the spokesmen of the _-_-_
~^^1^^ M. Prishvin, Nezabudki (Forget-Me-Nots), Vologda, 1900, p. 310.
126 two opposite camps in aesthetics the idealist and the materialist camp cannot see eye to eye.These (inferences have recently arisen also among Soviet aeslhelicians.
None of them doubts that man owes the development of his aesthetic judgement to social practice. Nor does anyone doubt the objective existence of beautiful social phenomena, since they are called into being by the same social practice and serve it in one way or another. What they doubt is the objectiveiiess of natural beauty. They also doubt whether the aesthetic can be separated from the material, seeing that we rightly consider art (as the basic sphere in which the beautiful in social life is manifested) to be a form of ideology.
``A study of the essence of aesthetic qualities in the light of Marxist leaching concerning society convinces us that they (and the beautiful as well) are not a product of nature, but represent a product of history.''
``People believe the beauty of nature to be a thing apart from society, since the phenomena of nature were not created by man.. . . But the naturalness of their aesthetic essence is an illusion.''
''Basically it is impossible to discover the natural essence of beauty. It is objectively non-existent, just as nonexistent as the 'elixir of life', the 'philosopher's stone', or phlogiston and similar phenomena which misguided scientists as well as alchemistic charlatans were trying to discover.''
``By herself, irrelative of labour, nature does not produce beauty.''
These are quotations from V. Vanslov's book Problems of the Beautiful (Gospolitizdat, 1957). Y. Borev mentions the author first among a dozen other names of people who, in his opinion, develop the only really scientific ``social'' view on the nature of the beautiful. True, he does mildly criticise Vanslov for his rather downright deductions. The clarity with which Vanslov postulates the basic theses of the ``social'' point of view apparently disconcerts Borev, although the book itself contains glaring philosophical contradictions, and the views quoted above are accompanied by a hundred reservations. The point at issue, however, is not these reservations, nor is it a question of ``inaccurate 127 formulations''. If there is any inaccuracy here, it is in the author's point of departure.^^1^^
Be that as it may, we have here a definite point of view which, with diverse variations and shadings, is upheld by many authors and which accuses all those for whom the beauty of nature is a quality objectively inherent in her (not an illusion at all, but a realityj---accuses them of the shameful sin of ``aesthetic fetishism''.
Before embarking upon a further theoretical discourse, let us grant ourselves a respite and open the book of the poet:
These laconic verses by Sfepan Shchipachov I would call a model of modern philosophic lyric poetry. To the gaze of the artist or the natural scientist (according to their iield of activity) the world is revealed as it really is, and therefore they are often nearer the truth than some philosophers. Not without reason Lenin said that reality itself made many natural scientists become materialists in practice, although they shied at the very concept ``materialist''.``The blue expanse sees nothing of Us grace,
Nor, enveloped in their eternal cold,
Can mountains ever see their own proud face,
Nor can a flower its loveliness behold.
And it is sweet to know---whether you walk
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ through forests,
Or climb a pathway winding serpentwise:
Nature, the chastest, the divinest and the fairest
Admires herself through your insatiable eyes."
What is the philosophical meaning of Shchipachov's verse? It is not only in the expression of the idea of man's unity with nature. The poet asserts that beauty is inseparable from the material diversity and wealth of the world, that it objectively exists as a ``thing in itself''. Then along comes man---the ``receptor'' of nature---and the ``thing in itself" becomes the ``thing for us'', and it is only to man that the eternal charms of nature are revealed in all their fullness. What a calm, clear, wise answer to our ``social aestheticians"! But poetry aside, theory is now waiting for us.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Y. Borev, ``The Method and System of Aesthetics'', Voprosy Literatury No. 2, 1961.
128``The beauty of a landscape depends upon geographical, climatic and other natural laws. But it does not exist outside the emotional significance of this landscape. That is how things stand with any natural phenomenon,'' we read in Vanslov's book.
The ``but'' is astonishing! What does it leave to the share of beauty's objectivity? Is it not clear to everyone that ``emotional significance" is a phenomenon of our feelings, of our human attitude to our environment? Yet here we learn that apart from our emotions no beauty in nature is possible. Come, come, does that apply only to nature?! We may go further, because in what way does this assertion differ from the thesis of idealistic aesthetics, which regards the aesthetic as purely emotional, as a projection of our feelings, of our consciousness, into the outer world.
We might just as well affirm the primacy of matter, its objective reality, while at the same time suddenly declaring that the materiality of the world does not exist at all apart from its emotional significance....
In other words, the investigator in his searchings for the beautiful in nature does not go beyond the limits of its emotional significance. Whereas from the materialist point of view the beauty of nature, the qualities of nature, which we perceive and comprehend aesthetically lie precisely beyond the limits of our feelings, our consciousness.
Frankly, dialectics here is turned into its opposite and becomes merely a fake. Its real name is eclecticism.
Let us try, however, to discover whether the authors of other works have anything more to say on the subject, if only because the ``social'' theorists dispute among themselves and do not agree on all points. S. Goldentrikht, for one, emphatically rejects the scientific validity of the concept ``aesthetic qualities" which Vanslov, Stolovich, Borev and others so readily employ. In his opinion this is a risky concept, since it suggests that the beautiful qualities of nature are an objective reality and that they do not exist apart from the natural material qualities. . . .
Goldentrikht claims that even such ``formal signs of beauty" as proportion, symmetry, rhythm and harmony first arose as a result of man's purposive activity. By themselves, the forces and objects of nature, if they are not 129 correlated with the activity of people, do not affect us aesthetically.^^1^^
This latter feature, incidentally, is common to all who adhere to this point of view on the beautiful in nature.
Borev, in the above-mentioned article ``The Method and System of Aesthetics'', briefly sums up this view. Aesthetic qualities and the natural (material) qualities of reality lie on different planes. Nature is the arena of man s socio-historical activity, hence, he argues, there are no phenomena of reality that are socially indifferent. The beautiful is the social value of phenomena conditioned by social but not natural laws.
And so we have here the same, only more obscure, expression of the familiar thesis that in nature herself there is no genuine, real beauty independent of man.
In Aristotle's Metaphysics (Book 14) we read that if the mathematical is not to be found at all in tilings sensuous, then why is the quality of the mathematical inherent in things sensuous?
The secret of the mathematical has long ceased to be a secret, whereas the secret of the aesthetical would still seem to remain....
But if it has been proved---and it really has been convincingly proved---that mathematics and other sciences abstract one aspect of the body, phenomena and life---if this is true, then why must aesthetics be an exception to these sciences.
I have honestly set forth the views of authors, whom it would be wrong to call ``social'' theorists---the time has come to mention this, too---just as it would be wrong to call their opponents ``nature'' theorists on the grounds that they hold other views.
Whatever theoretical shifts the critics of natural beauty may resort to, the beauty of a contemplated rose, for instance, is a real and not illusive beauty as far as the human consciousness is concerned. In the space age it is still capable of exciting our emotion and wonder, as it apparently did two or three thousand years ago in the age of ``man's infancy'', although it can no longer be an object _-_-_
~^^1^^ S. S. Goldenlrikht, Ob estctichcskom osuoycnii dcistuitclnosli (On the Aesthetic Assimilation of Reality), Moscow University Publication, 1959.
130 of worship for us as it was during certain periods of the Middle Ages. We admire a flower, its most tender shades, proportions and forms, and our sense of delight is all the keener for knowing that this beauty is not the work of human hands, but a natural fleeting beauty. From the desire to learn the biological mechanism of this beauty and diversify it, there developed the cultivation of roses and other flowers (recently blue and black roses blossomed for the first time at the Botanical Gardens in Warsaw). But in this case, too, we are not creating anything anew, and are merely helping nature at her natural points of growth. And, of course, the beauty of minerals, flowers, shrubs, trees and woods and entire landscapes exists objectively, prior to and independently of man.Yes, man historically had to become what he is in order to be able to perceive this beauty, modify it, and so on. Yes, he owes this to social labour. But there comes a moment when this very social position of man may not only develop his aesthetic feeling but deaden it. ``The dealer in minerals,'' Marx said, ``sees only the mercantile value but not the beauty and the unique nature of the mineral.''^^1^^
Yes, of course, the beauty of tulips becomes a national mania in seventeenth century Holland; it not only advances hybridisation, cultural practices and botanies, but influences even the country's economy, becoming an article of commerce, of import and export, that is, an item of the national income.
We would seem to be confirming the very conclusions we intended to disprove. Not at all! Is the question of man's (society's) attitude to beauty and the question of the objective source of beauty one and the same question? At any rate, to confuse them is unpardonable.
Ernst Haeckel, the distinguished biologist, displayed a truly titanic capacity for work when he made hundreds of skilful drawings of those microscopic creatures---- radiolaria. He was actuated not only by the intellect of the scientist, but by a sense of the beautiful. Looking at the flint-like armour of the radiolaria one docs not cease wondering at the wealth of chiselled harmoniously _-_-_
~^^1^^ Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 18-U, Moscow, 1967, p. 101.
__PRINTERS_P_131_COMMENT__ 9* 131 developed forms, at their expediency, symmetrical precision and plasticity. Nature is a great master and eternal source of the beautiful both in the micro- and macrocosm. Bruno Pontecorvo, in his article ``The Mysterious Neutrino'', wrote that there exists in nature a very beautiful symmetry, which has been confirmed in recent years by a number of fundamental researches showing that every particle has its counterpart---an antiparlicle. Who would venture to declare that this ``very beautiful symmetry" was the scientist's own idea which he introduced to the world himself?The beauty of the microcosm, however, is appreciated by only a few specialists; let us return to the world of beauty, which we perceive with the naked eye. The famous French speleologist Norbert Casteret has gathered a unique collection of what he calls ``natural works of art which it pleases nature to create in her dark and secret subterranean workshops''. These are limestone, gypseous concretions, crystalline formations, pisolites (cave pearls) and so on. Casteret remarks that this collection (which was shown at an exhibition), and still more so the natural subterranean decoration of such caves as the Grotto de la Cigalere or the Gouffre d'Esparros (Pyrenees) are capable of exciting universal wonder and delight and clearly demonstrating how remarkable and beautiful natural objects can be, how varied and inexhaustible.
These wonderful concretions, he writes, ``resemble the most rare and most beautiful flowers and even excel them in purity of colours and elegance of form. Side by side with microscopic stalactites and gigantic crystals of ideal transparency could be seen crystalline concretions, lustreless and sparkling, smooth or thorny, milk-white, red. black and even green. I would mention two more phenomena never before known or accounted for: extremely long needles as fine as spun web, quivering and breaking at the slightest breath, and silvery narrow strips resembling silk yarn hanging and swaying from the vaults and walls. These extraordinary mineral formations are so flexible that you can wind them round your finger and even tie them in a knot.''^^1^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ Norbert Casteret, Trcntc tins sons terre, Paris, 1954, pp. 46--47.
132Nature worked a long time on her masterpieces, but the process by which these decorative anomalies arose and formed in violation, as it were, of certain physical and chemical laws, still remains a mystery to mineralogists. In the absence of a scientific explanation we can ``only admire the beauties which nature has hidden in the depths of the earth, and admit that they are in no way inferior to the beauties that adorn her surface''.
I think that this resume of Casteret's, which bears the hallmarks of an aesthetic judgement, obviously implies his recognition of the reality of aesthetic objects of nature. He does not for a moment question the scientific and aesthetic value of the subterranean wonders he had discovered and which had existed, of course, prior to and independently of this discovery. He warns against a possible repetition of the vandalism that was displayed in the case of the Cigalere grotto, which was destructively ransacked. He protests against such ``outrage to nature" and demands that certain caves be treated as museums of nature, inviolable storehouses of natural riches.
From time immemorial, caves, in folk legend, were peopled by mythical beings, haunted by fantastic apparitions. The mystificatory idea in time disappears, giving place to a developed aesthetic feeling for nature.
Down the ages man has marvelled at the exquisite pattern, the delicate coloration and vivid plumage of the peacock, the argus pheasant and the bird of paradise. The form of plumage of these and many other birds exists objectively apart from our consciousness, and naturally is not involved in the labour or economic process either directly or indirectly; nevertheless, as an object of aesthetic appreciation it is no less real than the biological nature of the birds.
The beauty of nature, by complex associations, is capable of calling to life a complex world of aesthetic ideas. Before the writer Trigorin (Chekhov's Seagull) could note in his pocket diary that ``a cloud floated past resembling a grand piano'', mankind had to travel a long road of development.
But there was also a time when nature aroused in man largely negative, instead of positive emotions, when she appeared to him terrible rather than beautiful, and was not 133 a mother to him but a wicked stepmother, and all because ``the human feeling for nature, the human sense of nature, and therefore also the natural sense of man, are not yet produced by man's own labour.''^^1^^ The aesthetic properties of nature, as her natural properties, were revealed to man gradually, in proportion as he became aware of his unity with nature, and were the consequence of his socio-- historical practice. The point of view which we are here criticising attempts to pass off effect for the cause of the existence of natural beauty.
Academician Alexander Fcrsman, the distinguished Soviet scientist, a man of high aesthetic culture, speaks about the real beauty of minerals. The delighted gaze of man sees in the sparkle and radiance of semi-precious stones a miracle of nature, ``the embodiment of nature's peerless colours and imperishability, which only the hand of an artist, burning with the flame of inspiration, can touch".^^2^^
Vanslov remarks in this connection that here too the point made is that the beauty of the stone is essentially human. ``It is not a question of the physical or chemical properties of the stone, but of the peerless nature of its colours expressing the imperishability of nature.''
Still (we must be consistent!), in what way in this and similar cases can the beauty of the stone be separated from its physical, chemical properties or the optical effect which they produce?!
Incidentally, Marx has shown conclusively that it was not by accident, but because of their natural properties, that gold and silver became a symbol of wealth both in their hoarding and monetary forms. They have the further advantage of acting as a form of surplus and wealth, inasmuch as their ``aesthetic properties make them a natural material of luxury, adornment, lustre and festive use. ... In a manner of speaking they are native light extracted from the bowels of the earth, silver reilecting all light rays _-_-_
~^^1^^ Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, Moscow, 1967, p. 114.
~^^2^^ A. Y. Foreman, Iz istorii kultury kamnya it Rossii (From the History of Stone Culture in Russia), Academy of Sciences Publication, 1946, p. 64.
134 in their original spectrum, while gold reflects only the colour of the highest intensity---red. The sense of colour is the most popular form of aesthetic feeling in general.''Characteristically, it is this statement of Marx's that you will not find in Vanslov's book. Is it not because it leads most definitely to the conclusion that precious stones, precious metals, pearls, and so on, in themselves possess aesthetic qualities. Nowhere, neither in the early nor later works of Marx and Engels, will definitions he found which negate the objective character of the beauty of ``pure'', ``unhumanised'' nature.
It is fair to say that we are not the only ones who cite authorities. Authorities are cited also by those with whom we happen to disagree. They cite, among others, Maxim Gorky, who once wrote about ``man's admiration for the beauty of nature, a beauty which he imparts to her by the power of his imagination. For there is no beauty in the desert, beauty is in the soul of the Arab. Neither is there beauty in the bleak landscapes of Finland, it is the Finn who has imagined it and endowed his rugged land with it. Someone has said: 'Levitan discovered beauty in the Russian landscape which no one before him had seen.' No one could have seen it, because this beauty wasn't there, and Levitan did not `discover' it, but contributed it as his human gift to the Earth.''
Yes, this is written beautifully, with the true Gorkian concern and activity. But alas! Gorky's idea would not appear indisputable even to an eclectic. Beating about irresolutely, hedging, saying openly neither ``yes'' nor ``no'', the eclectic, true to type, ends up by throwing himself into the arms of his favourite compromise formula: beauty in nature exists, but only so far as it serves as the objective milieu of social practice and is drawn into the social process.
Gorky's statements contain reference to a very important circumstance, namely, that the presence of a beautiful object does not in itself signify that its reflection, its reproduction will be beautiful too. Here comes into play the power of the artist's imagination, his talent, skill, the due measure of fidelity and perfection he employs in his work. What is more, die artist's aesthetic ideals remind us also of his social position and world outlook, the spirit of 135 the times and requirements of the age. Broadly speaking, this is a question of art's attitude to reality.
As it happens, the very gist of Gorky's statements concerns the question of the beautiful in reality. The great writer, it seems to me, has sinned against the truth in subscribing to the false thesis that ``there is no beauty in nature---beauty is in the soul of man''.
From the subjectivist interpretation of nature it is often only one step to the construction of a vulgar-sociological scheme. We know of an Ukrainian critic who quite seriously tried to prove the superiority of the socialist realist Vasily Azhayev over the critical realist Pushkin simply because The Captain's Daughter gives a passive contemplative description of a snawstorm whereas in the novel Far From Moscow it is described with active counterstruggle.^^1^^
No better is Goldentrikht's contention that the vast tracts of virgin land acquired the power of exercising an aesthetic effect upon man only after they had been converted into blossoming fields. How naive life was in the old days with such people as Gogol or, say, Chekhov who was inspired by the virgin steppeland and hoped, by his story, to draw the attention of his contemporaries to the beauties of his native land.
Fortunately, both our poetry and our prose in the person of such wonderful ``landscapists'' as Sholokhov, Prishvin and Paustovsky give us a far more sublime idea of the beauty of nature and its aesthetic essence.
The young writer Anatoly Pristavkin reported once what a great demand there was at the building site of the Bratsk Hydro-Electric Power Station for a photograph of the now non-existent Padun rapids showing a solitary (`` Lermontovian'') pine-tree on a cliff, and below the tempestuous brimming Angara and the foaming crests of Padun. One is reminded of the magnificent verses of Tvardovsky, the austere dialectic of his poetry: ``And we shall pass these banks not without loss''. The poet carries on his imaginary earnest conversation with the Padun:
_-_-_~^^1^^ N. Ravlyuk, ``On the Artistic Methods of Socialist Realism'', Souietskaya Ukraina No. 10, 1958.
136 ``For this great dam to stand for aye
We'll have to pay with you,
With your frothy tresses, silver-greij,
With the charms of mountains blue.
But the cunning camera and brush
Hurry to capture all your grace:
The boulder's poise, the water's rush,
The mood and colour of your face.
Another kind of beauty will
Alight on these wild parts
But, evidently, both kinds find
A place in human hearts.
And so I too with simple words
And rhymes of simple tune
Will now compose a farewell verse
For you, old man Padun."
The beauty of reality, the beauty of nature is anything but static. It changes substantially, as does our conception of beauty under the impact of time and circumstance.
And further: the concept of the beautiful keeps expanding all the time, taking in things that formerly did not appear and were not considered to be beautiful---this is borne out by the whole course of human history.
Where then are we to seek the criterion of the validity, the correctness of our judgements? Only where the logical is backed by the historical. The truth of the contention that the beauty of nature is objective may be verified by the practice of history, science and art. But if it is to be verified it must not be done the way the eclectics do it--- phenomena and things which are organically related cannot be placed in a casual, purely rational relationship; one cannot assert that since we are verifying the objectivity of beauty by our social practice, then only social practice can be the source of beauty.
In this connection we cannot help recalling an argument used by Stolovich in his article ``Two Conceptions of the Aesthetic" (the magazine Voprosy Filosofii No. 2, 1962).
In the ancient Greek epos of Homer, as philologists have long established, the aesthetic appraisal of reality is given with perfectly obvious consistency and, one might say, quantitative dcfmitencss. This appraisal is most often 137 and most fully applied to the characters of the epos---the heroes and gods, their garments, weapons, various structures, the paraphernalia of daily life, etc.; to a negligible degree it is applied to the geographical sphere; and sol dom. if at all. to the animal and vegetable kingdoms. Each of those throe groups has its index showing the number of corresponding appraisals: 1---800 times, II----70 times. Ill--- only 24 times.
Stolovich believes that these figures speak for themselves and that he has found in them irrefutable evidence against the reality of beauty in nature. ``If the aesthetic qualities are in nature, why does man's aesthetic attitude arise originally not to `pure' nature, but to the results of human activity?" he asks. I think this happens to be just the case when a rhetorical question, containing as it were its own answer, turns into ordinary perplexity despite the author's expectations.
Somehow Stolovich has contrived to pass by the wellknown truth concerning the role of mythology in the lives of people of the Homeric age. What is mythology? It is the unconscious artistic reproduction of the phenomena of nature and social forms of life by the popular imagination. Mythology, as Marx emphasised, was the prerequisite, the soil and material of all Greek art. The development of ancient Greek society involved the mythologisation of nature as an essential condition for surmounting and su bordinaling the forces of nature in the imagination and by aid of the imagination. The mythological attitude towards nature necessitated her personification, when man regarded everything in his own image. Imagination independent of mythology becomes possible only when actual power over the forces of nature, that is, economic and technical progress, puts an end to mythology itself.
The crux of the matter is that a mythological attitude to reality actually excludes a direct, immediate aesthetic appraisal of the phenomena of nature (strictly speaking, it also excludes their scientific appraisal). Here alone lies the clue to those aesthetic judgements which we find in the Iliad and the Odyssey.
Just as in social life man first creates a variety of things and then adopts an aesthetic point of view towards them (incidentally, we would observe that the possibility of 138 consciously and deliberately creating aesthetic values appears at a fairly high level of development of civilisation) ---so must he in nature, too. first win the necessary material and productive freedom, he must abandon mythology, and subsequently religious notions, he must win his first appreciable scientific and practical victories in order to regard the aesthetic properties of nature as her natural qualities and properties.
I repeat, our feeling for nature deepens with every step of scientific and technical progress, while at the same time the bounds of our aesthetic attitude towards nature are widened.
Descriptions of nature are almost entirely absent also in the Nibelungenlied, the Chanson de Roland, and Russian bylina epic. In Russian folklore there are no landscapes, only strictly recurrent metaphorical images and epithets constantly applied to plants and animals: wild wood, white birch, hoarfrosted apple-tree with golden and silver fruits and leaves, berries while, red and black, flowers scarlet, and so on. Wind, water, wolf, woods, for example, are distinguished by a constancy of active ( verbal) characteristics and definite functions. Thus, the raven warns of danger, cheers the hero in his grief, fetches the water of life and death, and so on. The swan turns into a maiden, bees build a church from wax overnight.
Man's limited economic and historical influence on nature inevitably limits also his aesthetic attitude towards nature, retards the development of his feeling for nature. Christianity, as it were, sustains and conserves such a world view, because religion plays down nature, reduces her to the position of a most Christian subject of the allmighty creator. But this only so long as science is in its infancy and still under the guardianship of religion, while technico-economic progress is mustering strength, as it were, within the ``old world''.
The eventful age of great geographical discoveries, like the great age of European Enlightenment, was a turningpoint in the development and enrichment of man's feeling for nature. But the very fact that the concept ``feeling for nature" itself came into wide scientific use only in the nineteenth century and henceforth became a category of 139 natural science, philosophy and aesthetics, confirms its generalisation precisely at this period.
By the end of the nineteenth century we already possess considerable literature and special aesthetic researches. Some of them have such characteristic titles that they might have appeared only yesterday: ``Historical Development of the Feeling for Nature" or ``Art and the Feeling for Nature''. Valuable factual material may be found not only in Humboldt's famous Kosmos, but in the works of such authors as Guyau, Emerson, Ribot, Letourneau ( naturally, given a critical approach to their premises and deductions, which are often falsified by an idealistic interpretation of history).
It is said that to get at meaning one must always discard something. But sometimes too much is discarded, for example, the civilising role of human culture for the sake of beauty of nature abstractly understood and isolated from social being (Y. Schultz)---and then we get reactionary naturromantica. Side by side with this we find an exactly opposite tendency, when nature is discarded instead of civilisation and culture.
A well-chosen boutonniere is the only link between nature and art. This graceful paradox of Oscar Wilde's need not, of course, be accepted as philosophical gospel. Not so the aesthetics of modernism with its extremist demands calling for the complete elimination of the authority of nature, which scientific knowledge has raised to unheard-of heights. This does not prevent it in our day, when it fails, to beat a retreat and itself appeal to the authority of nature and science, and while not abandoning its nihilistic principles, to speculate in the concepts ``atom'', ``cybernetics'', ``space age" and so on.
The development of the aesthetic feeling for nature and its understanding has its difficulties. Just as there are contradictions and disparities (mostly external and temporary), for instance, in the development of science and art. Byron said of the telescope that it restricts the flight of man's fantasy. In the age of space flights, however, we speak of the achievements of science itself, which are more and more fantastic. Science and art are two forms of knowledge equally subject to the objective laws of human thought. Aesthetic feeling is not contraindicated to a 140 scientist, no more than an analytical mind is to the poet or the painter. Science and art are interpenetrative. Is it not an eloquent fact that for Darwin, Przhevalsky, Timiryazev and Obruchev the beauty of nature was an objective properly inherent in her? Without for a moment questioning the lofty purpose of art, they nevertheless gave preference to its primary source---the beautiful reality. Each of them in one form or another repeated the lines from Fanst:
``Grau, teurer Freund, isi ulle Thcorie Und griin des Lebens goldner Baum."
Darwin said that owing to his close contact with nature the sense of beauty of nature developed in him at a very early age and lasted all his life, whereas other aesthetic feelings (poetry, music, partly painting) which did not receive the necessary nourishment owing to the conditions of life and work, gradually became atrophied, a thing of which he writes with regret in his Autobiography.
Darwin was perhaps the first scientist employing strictly natural-science methods to arrive at a negation of the theory that beauty is created for its own sake. As a natural-science counteractant to the mystico-religious theory of beauty, the aesthetic views of Darwin have lost none of their significance to this day. Everything, which before the days of Darwin had borne the stamp of ``divine origin'', the beauty of nature included, was passed down to the earth from heaven. The idea of man's unity with nature, since the days of Darwin, received particularly wide recognition, and his evolutionary theory, his methodology and the principles of his historical approach began, in the latter part of the nineteenth century, to exercise a revolutionising influence on a subject so remote from exact natural science as aesthetics.
Timiryazev's views cannot be set forth here in detail. They deserve to be specially dealt with. I can only say that the entire logic of his reasoning is based on the recognition of beauty as a real effective factor of the external natural environment. A noteworthy contribution in this respect is his article ``Photography and the Feeling for-Nature''.
Timiryazev contends that photography can serve man in 141 two ways: both as a new instrument of scientific research and as a means of artistically expressing reality. For when it lakes as its object the beauty of nature, photography vies with the fine arts. By disseminating among the mass of the people an aesthetic feeling lor nature and raising this mass to the level of an active artist, photography serves the purpose of demoralisation of art and creates new conditions for the aesthetic development of man and his perception of reality. No wonder Timiryazev's pro found ideas agitaled Ihal great landscape painter Levilan, who, while sharing the scientist's views, spoke about the tremendous aesthetic importance which photography would acquire in the future.
The development of landscape photography (including colour photography) in our day affords striking confirmation of the views expressed by these two distinguished representatives of Russian culture.
To perceive beauty and discover the meaning of nature arc two sides of man's attitude to her objective properties and qualities. And Timiryazev was right when he said that there exists an inner, organic connection between the logic of an investigator of nature and the aesthetic feeling of a connoisseur of her beauty. It follows that a scientist may not only be ``a genuine poet in science'', as was Timiryazev himself, but a poet, so to speak, de facto.
Obviously, nature demands a poetic attitude towards herself. And so we find (how symptomatic!) such men as Pyotr Semyonov-Tiaiishansky, Vladimir Filatov, Yevgeny Pavlovsky and dozens of other scientists and doctors, each according to his poetic endowments, paying tribute to landscape lyricism. The study of this question has only just started and will continue, and aesthetics, it is to be hoped, will not stand aloof.
If, in his individual development, man's close contact with nature in the process of scientific investigation has its effect upon his aesthetic and artistic development, then, maybe it is confirmed also by man's historical development? Is it not a fact that those great pioneers of natural science of the modern age---Galilei in the West and Lomonosov in Russia---were at the same time fine writers, poets. Let us say at once---this is confirmed, and confirmed in the most striking manner.
142When did landscape arise as an independent genre of the fine arts? Strictly speaking, neither Antiquity, nor the Middle Ages, nor the early Renaissance had any idea of landscape. Landscape appeared at a time when criticism of the religious world outlook had ripened in the minds of men, who more acutely than ever before became aware of their unity with nature, while natural science had won its first palpable victories---this was at the end of the sixteenth and in the seventeenth centuries. Realistic landscape, however, reached a flourishing stage in the nineteenth century and again its development was definitely related to the rapid advance in all fields of natural science, especially geography, biology, geology, etc. One and Ihe same historical tendencies along the paths of cognition of nature apparently act upon both the scientist and the artist, albeit in different ways.
D.~I. Mendeleyev at the end of nineteenth century wrote: ``Just as natural science can look forward to a still higher development in the near future, so can landscape painting among the objects of art. Man is not lost as an object of study and art, but he appears now not as a lord in the microcosm, but as a unit in a number.. . . And our centuries will some day be characterised by the appearance of nature study in science and landscape in painting. Bolh draw from nature, outside of man.''^^1^^
If Mendeleyev's general conclusion is correct and corroborated by history, then his analogy can and should be applied to the whole sphere of art. The last hundred years ---a century of grandiose scientific achievements---have been marked by man's truly outstanding ability to reproduce the beauty of nature by means of the fine arts, photography, films, literature, and, finally, music.
Perhaps the most surprising discovery here is that the beauty of nature is so multifarious that painting and literature alone are not enough to reproduce it artistically, to give it full expression. It needs also music, which, by the rhythmo-melodic means at its exclusive disposal (and not simply imitation of natural sounds) achieves remarkable results. Indeed, how developed man's feeling for _-_-_
~^^1^^ D. I. Mendeleyev, ``Before a Picture by A. I. Kninji'', Golos No. 314, November 13, 1880.
143 nature had to be to make him feel as intonations and hear as music those objects of sensation and sight which he rendered in colours or words. No wonder Darwin with the insight of the true scientist compared the feeling for the beautiful in nature to the exalted feeling akin to that which music evokes in us.If we account for the multiplicity of the beauty of nature by the fact that this beauty is expressed by different kinds of art, we may find the same multiplicity within the scope of a single kind of art. Music, in the words of Academician Boris Asafyev, holds power over everything that moves us as a manifestation of the beautiful in nature's majestic moods. Our feeling for nature finds itself here in a multitude of reflections--from the sweet song of the lark to the grim utterances of the storming sea, from the soft breath of warm night to the uproarious clamour of spring waters.
In nature man sees the reflection of his own historically developed essence, his socially conditioned life activity. And if natural conditions have any bearing on the development of culture---and they do have a substantial bearing---then culture in turn places its indelible stamp upon nature.
With landscape man, for instance, begins to associate his mythological, religious, poetical, moral, national ideas and prejudices---and so on down to the political. With the development of nations and nationalities the feeling for the beautiful in nature is definitely attended by a feeling of country. And similarly the aesthetic properties of nature begin to appear in the light of historical, religious and moral distinctions, in their social, utilitarian aspect, in the light of good and evil, love, utility, etc., etc. Is this not what we read in the excellent article ``Landscapes'' by the young Engels, which is full of subtle humour and scathing satire?
``Bearing in mind the religious nature of localities, the Dutch landscapes are essentially Calvinistic. The prosy, uninspiring air that hangs, as it were, over the Dutch views, the grey skies that fit them so well---all this evokes the same impression as those produced on us by the infallible decisions of the Synod of Dordrecht,'' Engels writes in this article.
144The ``spiritual impressions" of man in nature are relative, historically transient, impermanent, whereas the reflection of nature in the human mind is absolute and intransient. There is conformity to an established law in the recurrence of many manifestations of natural beauty, although they occur against an historically changing human background.
Engels in his article often speaks about beauty being objectively inherent in nature. How characteristic is his observation to the effect that only after he became familiar with the North-German plains did he really understand the Fairy Tales of the Grimm brothers. ...
We have said almost nothing so far about the fact that under the influence of works of art, under their irresistible fascination, man increases tenfold, as it were, his sight and hearing, cultivates his aesthetic feeling, and, consequently, is able to perceive the world anew. This reverse influence of art on our feeling for nature and her beauty is indisputable and obvious, and it will steadily increase in proportion as the vehicles of expression of art itself become more and more powerful and multiform.
We often use the expression ``a Levitan landscape'', meaning that if we did not have the magnificent canvases of Levitan or of many other fine Russian landscape painters such as Vasiliev, Shishkin, Polenov, Vasnetsov, Gerasimov and Saryan, our appreciation of our native countryside would be far from complete. The same applies to the landscape of seventeenth century Dutch painting, to Turner, Constable or Corot, to the splendid masters of impressionism and post-impressionism Monet, Sisley, Pissarro, Marquet and others.
It was in this sense that we said that life that is not reflected in perfect works of art is in one way or another incomplete. It is not the whole of life, so to say. With surprising consistency art endeavours to make up for time lost by previous generations of artists, to bring out all its creative potentialities and inexhaustible reserves both as regards its living content and its great variety of forms.
The literary landscape is only one of the ``cells'' in the great and ramified system of modern art covering a multitude of types and genres, but even this ``cell'' has a __PRINTERS_P_144_COMMENT__ 10---862 145 quite definite, though poorly studied logic, or rather, dialectic of its development.
This may seem improbable, but Pushkin is far more liberal with landscape sketching in poetry than he is in prose. And not only more liberal---he describes nature in his verses more surely, more freely and more vividly. Pushkin's prose seems to studiously avoid the landscape, as if ashamed of the ``florid style" that is required for landscape, and therefore it is extremely restrained. Push kin has just two or three lines where one could have expected a landscape: ``Autumn came" or ``Dusk had long fallen''.
It is hard to believe, unless one has reread the whole of Dnbrovsky, that there is practically not a single landscape in it. Prince Vereisky, an ardent supporter of the irregular English system of parks, is said to be a lover of ``so-called nature" (I have underlined this on purpose), and there fore his house was surrounded on all sides by a ``spacious''' park, and belled cows grazed on the lush-green meadow right in front of the house. From the windows of the house, his guests Trockurov and Masha saw the Volga. ``The Volga flowed past the windows, bearing on its cur rent loaded barges with taut sails, while tiny fishing-boats, so expressly named `death-traps', darted about on the surface of the water. Beyond the river was a wide prospect of hills and fields, enlivened here and there by small villages.''^^1^^ And that is all.
Generally speaking, landscape appears in Pushkin's stories only in cases of necessity, and, as a rule, it is connected with the plot of the narrative, with the unfolding of the action or the characters' lives, as in Blizzard or The Captain's Daughter. The connection, however, is a hidden one. Nature here exists, as it were, by herself, and the human being with his moods, hopes and cares by himself, making it appear as if nature and man are opposed.
For all that, Pushkin's landscape is accurate and ponderable, as we all remember from our school days when reading his description of the snowstorm in The Ca[Main's Daughter: ``He drove rapidly ahead glancing ever and anon towards (he east. The horses galloped with a will. _-_-_
~^^1^^ A. S. Pushkin, Dubrovskg, Moscow, 19,r>.r>, p. 104.
146 The wind grew ever more violent. The little cloud grew, rising ponderously, till it gradually covered the entire heavens. A fine snow began to fall, and suddenly the air was filled with big flakes. The wind howled, the blizxard was upon us. In less than a minute the dark sky had become one with the ocean of snow. All landmarks vanished. 'There you are, Master!' yelled the driver. The blizzard---we're in for it!'~"^^1^^When, after Pushkin, we turn to the landscapes of Gogol, Turgenev or Tolstoi, we are amazed at the changes that have taken place in literature. Of Pushkin's ascetic restraint in the face of nature not a trace would seem to remain.
Gogol's landscapes, for example, are steeped in vivid metaphor, crowded with smells, sounds, colours and blinding light. Here even exaggeration and inaccuracy of detail are appropriate as a means of enhancing the general impression. One is not surprised at the image of a land in which one only has to stick a shaft for a tarantass to grow out of it.
The landscape in Tolstoi's works has no direct bearing on the development of the plot, but a very close bearing on the inner life of the characters, on all their emotions and thoughts. The sky over Austerlilz and the oak-tree on Ihe Rostovs' estate which Bolkonsky passes twice (in the spring and early summer) have a direct bearing on the emotional and intellectual state of mind of Prince Andrei. The thunderstorm in Boyhood appears so terrifying to us because we see it with the almost morbid impressionability of the boy Nikolenka. Consequently, nature in the works of Tolstoi does not stand aloof from the human being as it docs in the prose of Pushkin. The need for it is artistically justified in a manner different from Pushkin.
Turgenev, that admirable master of literary landscape. is seldom able to conceal his delight and entrancement with nature. And, of course, the first thing one thinks of is his Woods and Steppe.
``You climb the hill. . . . What a view! The river winds its way for some ten vcrsts, faintly blue through the mist; beyond it lie the watery-green meadows; beyond the _-_-_
~^^1^^ A. S. Pushkin, The. Captain's Daughter, Moscow, ISHiii, pp. I'.I-L'O. 10*
147 meadows are the sloping hillsides; in the distance lapwings circle, crying, over the marsh; the distant landscape stands out clearly through the moist brilliance of the flowing air ---not the way it does in summer. How freely one breathes, how quickly one's limbs move, how braced one's whole body from the invigorating breath of spring.
``And a summer morning in July! Who, apart from the hunter, has experienced the delight of wandering among the underbrush at dawn? Your feet leave a green track in the pale dewy grass. You part a wet bush, and the stored warm scents of the night assail you. The air is laden with the honeyed scent of buckweat and clover; in the distance stands an oak-wood, glistening ruddily in the sunshine; it is still cool, but the nearness of the heat can already be felt. The head is faint and dizzy from the excess of sweet scents.''
The landscape of Gogol, Turgenev or Tolstoi is always a picture landscape, an elaborate description of objects, which is openly given an emotional appraisal either on the part of the hero, or on the part of the author, and where the general prevails over the particular. Clearly, such a landscape would seem to repudiate the ``protocolist'' style of Pushkin's landscape.
But already Chekhov found such phrases as ``the head is faint and dizzy from the excess of sweet scents" to be a mere literary cliche. He is emphatic in his demands that stock phrases and author's comments are to be rigidly avoided. Let the beauty of nature speak for itself. Absolute accuracy of detail is necessary, and from these details it will be easy to imagine and conceive the whole. It is enough to write that the neck of a broken bottle glitters on the dam and the dark shadow of the mill wheel lies on the ground, and there you have a completed picture of a moonlit night. One is free to express one's delight with nature, but such raptures should not speak for nature, therefore they must be hidden away beneath the surface as an undercurrent. Back to Pushkin's objcctiveness! Back to Pushkin's laconism! (It was Tolstoi who said that Che khov was a Pushkin in prose.)
With Chekhov, the concreteness and pithiness of imagery combined with its economy and immense emotional impact make nature ``resemble'' herself. Yet Chekhov did 148 not sacrifice either metaphorical treatment or vivid colours for the sake of simplicity and brevity. Landscape is so organic to his stories and short novels that they are simply inconceivable without it. This applies equally to ``The Lament'', ``The Reed'', ``Happiness'' or to ``The Black Monk'', ``The House with the Mezzanine'', not to mention ``The Steppe''.
In his later years Chekhov recognised only the simplest of definitions in landscape, definitions, as Bunin and other writers who knew him testify, like ``the sea was large" or ``the sun set''. . . .
Meanwhile, a new shift, seemingly leading away from the achievements of Chekhov, was in preparation. First there appeared the ``romantic'' landscape of Gorky, and then again the picture-landscape, the description-landscape drawn in careful and elaborate detail in the works of Prishvin, Paustovsky and Sholokhov. We have but to remember the elemental power and breathtaking sweep of the scenes of spring in And Quiet Flows the Don or the exquisitely delicate description of the lily of the valley which Aksinya saw just before her death---a landscape that is inseparable from the psychological mood and message of this epic novel.
In Prishvin we find an entirely different type of literary landscape, one that is always evaluative, forming a connective bridge between the world of nature and the world of the human spirit, of social and civic cares. Prishvin carries on, as it were, a ceaseless dialogue with nature, but without the ``abstract sensitiveness" of Turgenev, if one may use such a term.
Here is a specimen of such a philosophical landscape: ``I went into the wet forest. A drop from a tall fir-tree fell on the ferns closely surrounding the tree. The fern quivered from the impact and I noticed it. After that the trunk of the old tree, furrowed as if a plough had gone over it, and the ferns, so sensitive that a single drop had made them droop and whisper to one another, and all around a thick carpet of liveforever---all disposed themselves in order, forming a picture.
``And before me arose the old question: What had created Ihc picture in the forest before me, the drop that had fallen on (he fern and drawn my attention, or was il an 149 orderly slate of mind thai had made everything arrange itself in order, forming a picture? I think il was the drop drawing my attention. . ..
``When my soul opens out towards the beautiful in nature I believe that the beautiful exists in the world by itself and I merely receive it into myself" (Fort/el-- ntcNots).
Prishvin never dwelt on the moment of ordinary con templation of the beautiful in nature. He always held that people's creative action in the name of the beautiful springs from their belief in the objective existence of the beautiful on earth. The creativeness of nature and the crealiveness of man, he said, are distinguished also by the attitude to time: nature creates the present, man the future.
Prishvin's landscape, as we see, deals with the same philosophical problem that we are dealing with---that of the reality of beauty in nature---and he solves it more than satisfactorily. Prishvin to the very last strived after an organic union of both methods, the scientific and the artistic---a sign of our times---and he achieved impressive results.
The modern landscape itself is now becoming the plot and subject-matter of works such as The Mcshchera Country or Yellow Lif/ltt or other of Paustovsky's numerous works.
A characteristic feature of the present-day literary landscape is that it is developing for the first time as an independent genre, a genre that is infinitely important and interesting to us.
The realistic fidelity and breadth of this landscape are akin to the landscapes of Turgenev and Tolstoi, but il also has the objectiveness of Pushkin and Ihe emolional concreleness of Chekhov. This is a mid-twentieth century landscape, with its grandiose scientific achievements, synIhesising all that is best in the Russian literature of the past. Nature appears in il with unprecedented graphic power and expressiveness.
``Il grew dark. Flying low, with disturbed cries, the slarlled birds sped inlo Ihc deplhs of Ihe wood. A sudden flash of lighlning slabbed the sky, and I saw above the Oka thai smoky bank of clouds which always rolls slowly ahead of a violent thunderstorm.
150``Then it grew still darker, so dark that the fingernails on my sunburnt hands seemed daz/lingly white, like Ihey do at nighl.
``The sharp chill of world space drew from Ihe sky. And from afar, creeping closer and closer and bending everything in its path, as il were, thunder, slow-paced and important, began to roll along. It shook the earth violently.
``Scudding clouds hung over the land like dark scrolls, and suddenly a miracle happened---a sunbeam burst through the clouds, glancing over Ihe woods, and in the same instanl the rain, whipped up by Ihunderclaps, came down hurriedly in a slanling downpour.
``Il roared, made merry, polled Ihc leaves and flowers, galhering speed and trying to outrace ilself. The woods sparkled and sfeamcd with sheer joy.''
``And I realised,'' Paustovsky adds from himself, ``how lovely our land is and whal few words we have lo express its charm" (``A Hut in the Woods'', 1960).
The plastic quality of Ihis passage is remarkably picluresquc, and mankind will cerlainly go farlher in its search for Ihe necessary words and ways to express the beauty of nature. This complex and contradictory process of search must necessarily be a natural process once it is established that the aesthetic views of society do not stand aloof from the general tendencies in man's cognition of the external world.
Now, when we can say that the development of landscape depends not only on subjective designs, the aesthetic inclinations of individual artists or even whole schools and trends, but is based also on objective tendencies of which the artist is unconscious, a development in which dialectical laws are paving a way for themselves ( development in a spiral form, ``negation of negation'')---now we are entitled to speak about the reason why the prognostications predicting the ``disappearance of the landscape'', the final exhaustion of all artistic methods for ``describing nature" and so on, were not, and could not be, justified.
Vladimir Stasov, the well-known Russian art and musical critic, prophesied in his Nineteenth Centuri/ Art: ``I believe I hat Ihe further and longer art progresses, the more independent. Ihe more fully and all-embracing will be the portrait of man coming from Ihe painter's brush; on the 151 other hand all the less independent will be the portrait of nature.... In my opinion landscape, sooner or later, will have to revert to its original and true role---that of being merely a scene of human life, a constant companion, friendly or hostile to man's existence. Landscape must cease to be a separate independent picture".^^1^^
Stasov and Mendeleyev were coevals and contemporaries, and both expressed conflicting opinions on the future of landscape. Stasov's demand (the very categorical ``must cease to be'') is dictated almost exclusively by his personal inclinations. Mendeleyev, on the other hand, held a more profound general-philosophical and historical point of view when he linked the development of landscape as an independent genre with the further development of natural science and the entire sphere of man's interaction with nature, when he predicted for landscape "a still higher development''.
Turbin's book Comrade Time and Comrade Art (1961) strikes a note of concern at the aesthetic ``depreciation'' of the modern landscape. He believes that the art of the future, in abandoning the classical method of reproducing nature "in the forms of nature itself'', will have to discover "the creative principles inherent in it'', "nature's labour" process itself----
Whether this means, according to Turbin, that up till now the "creative principles" of nature as expressed, for example, in dawns, sunsets, seasons, etc., were not reproduced by art at all, we do not know. And whether it means that art is to claim from science (from bionics, let us say) priority in the reproduction of the "creative principles" of nature, it is difficult to say.
The possibilities of reproducing, recreating the life of nature, its philosophical poetical interpretation in art, are infinite, as endless as the manifold manifestations of beauty in reality itself. One or another artistic method, vehicle of expression, or possibility in the "description of nature" may perhaps be exhausted by an individual artist or an individual trend, but not by art as a whole, art which is perpetually developing and renewing itself, like life itself.
So it was and so it will be, and no technological _-_-_
^^1^^ V. V. Stasov, Selected Works, Russ. ed., Vol. 3, Nfoscow, 1052, pp. 546--47.
152 revolutions can destroy this aesthetic determinant. The aesthetic recreation of nature "in the forms of nature itself" is an objective necessity for all real art, it is absolute from the point of view of gnosiology (for man is but a part of nature itself) and relative only within the historically, socially delimited bounds of separate epochs, trends, artistic styles and individual possibilities.Inasmuch as radical changes in man's general cognition of the world around him, and consequently also technological revolutions, are most likely every time to modify and broaden our attitude to nature and our interaction with nature, our feeling for nature cannot remain unchanged, and for that reason no literal repetition of nature's aesthetic reflection in art is possible.
The conventional methods of portrayal, ``description'' of nature, peculiar even to the great artists of the past (Rubens, Poussin, Brullov) is the conventionality of an aesthetic feeling for nature that has become a thing of the past; it is also a conventionality of the artistic methods and means themselves.
There is a continuous and steadily increasing aesthetic concretisation of our feeling for nature, and the concept of the concrete is by no means identical with the concept of the ultimate. On the contrary, all concreteness is interminate in the wealth of its interconnections and the growth dynamics of both the object and the subject that reflects and cognises it. It is this dialectic that makes for the inexhaustibility of the content of our feeling for nature and our aesthetic attitude to nature.
Only in this way can we imitate nature and continue nature in art---art, which can never exhaust itself, its possibilities, not even in all the forms and kinds which now exist. Who can say what unheard-of new possibilities may be revealed tomorrow for our truly miraculous imagination, for our artistic delight with the world, with the beauty of nature. And the cinema, say, which, in sounds, colours and movement, has suddenly brought the roaring forties close to the very heart of the continent, to towns and villages thousands of miles removed from the ocean--- perhaps this cinema of our day is merely a harbinger of the marvellous transformations that art will undergo in the future.
153And so---our first deduction. The fact that nature is really included in social practice, that the beauty of nature in the mind of man assumes the character of human requirements and properties, becomes a phenomenon of art and has a detinile social value---all this actually creates the illusion that it is engendered for the first time only by social practice or human consciousness. It is on this illusion that the whole of idealistic aesthetics is based.
The beauty of reality existing prior to and independently of man, and which at times seems opposed to man (the beauty of a storm, a gale at sea, etc.); the beauty of transformed, ``humanised'' nature (when man, according to a preconceived plan, ``forces'' nature to be beautiful); finally, the beauty of man himself or the beauty created by the human mind and hands and realised also in artistic phenomena---all these arc the beautiful in its diverse forms and types.
Natural and social beauty---this is the very unity of opposiles which the eclectic mind is simply unable to grasp.
Our second deduction is directed against those who advocate the complete detachment of the aesthetic from the physical, the material.
True, we have no physical or mathematical methods of investigating the interrelation between the material and the aesthetic. The musical laws of "harmony of the spheres" which the Pythagoreans discovered stand almost on the same level of scientific signification as the Orphean myth. But it is a remarkable thing---music, which does not exist in nature in its "pure form'', and owes its existence to the inventiveness of social man as an expression of his sipiritual interests---this music turns out to be a powerful factor influencing biological processes---it noticeably stimulates plant growth. Mimosa, near which music was performed daily, was fifty per cent more advanced in growth than a similar plant which had not been subject to the influence of music. The discovery of the Indian scientists Singh and Panniach aroused the interest of world science.
Clearly, this is a case of music's material, not spiritual, influence. But inasmuch as il is praelically impossible lo 154 separate music's sound background from its significative, aesthetic plane, and inasmuch as the plants, apparently, do "not suspect" the existence of these "two planes" and are aficcled by the music as such, we are entitled lo speak of the really complex interrelation between the aesthetic and (he material.
Obviously, we have not yet fully solved the riddle of the mythical Orpheus with his marvellous music, which transformed the world! Being strict in theory, let us not say ``no'' where an accumulation of material is taking place, let us not declare beforehand that the attempt of Ivan Yefremov's young hero (in his novel Andromeda) to discover the musical laws governing the mechanism of heredity is improbable, semi-mystical nonsense. In our day measure and number are penetrating more and more into new fields of knowledge and human activity, and who knows but that we shall soon be able to "believe the algebra of harmony''. Do not the mathematical methods of investigating Russian verse now being devised by one of the greatest mathematicians of the age, Academician A. N. Kolmogorov, point to the same thing? We have taken an intricate example that has not been sufficiently studied, but it fully serves the purpose of our question.
Even when we take art---a phenomenon qualitatively distinct from natural beauty and subject (as a specific form of consciousness) lo the laws of society and not of nature ---we say thai form in art is, strictly speaking, nothing more than the cxlernal malerial expression of human ideas and feelings that are in one way or another socially conditioned.
Nowhere is there any insuperable barrier or gulf between the aesthetic and the malerial. The sculptor who, with the aid of hammer and chisel, overcomes step by step the resistance of a six-foot block of marble for a statue, that is, the resistance of material, wilhout which he is unable lo embody his conceplion, feels Ihis, perhaps ralher crudely and visually, but with thai definileiiess which is simply beyond the ken of some theorists.
Our third deduction would be impossible outside the positive experience which natural science lias accumulated for aeslhelics.
155Aesthetics must at last widen the framework of its investigations and enrich itself with new facts and new deductions. You cannot go on repeating the same thing from year to year: there is no art in nature. Indeed, there is not. But then all nature is the focus, or, to use a highflown expression, the realm of beauty.
Our last (fourth) deduction is a summary, as it concerns the substance of the very concept of ``beauty''.
We shall hardly meet with success if we seek a one and only ``everlasting'' formula of beauty. Marx ridiculed Proudhon, who all his life searched for formulas in science without having done anything for science. Everything possible should be done to develop our concrete conception of beauty---that, I think, is our main task. This happens to be the most difficult path of all, since dialectical materialism regards the concrete as a combination of numerous definitions, as unity of the diverse.
Beauty in the exceptional diversity and infinity of its manifestations is always concrete. No man anywhere has succeeded in seeing and apprehending beauty as such, beauty generally, but only some concrete separate manifestation of the beautiful. It was due to the existence of the abstraction of beauty that doubt could arise as to the objective existence of beauty, as it had often arisen in general in the case of matter, motion, time, space and so on. Why does it not occur to any of us to determine man's aesthetic feeling with the aid of the latest biophysical methods of investigation as some sort of sixth sense? Simply because we tacitly accept the unalterable fact that our aesthetic feeling is merely a special form of `` sensation'' inseparable from our thinking and existing on the basis and within the limits of our natural five physiological senses. So why, the moment the question of the reality of the beauty of nature crops up, do we begin to shout that this reality cannot be measured by compasses, cannot be weighed on scales, cannot be seen in an electronic microscope or determined with the aid of radio-active isotopes? Is it not enough that we perceive this reality with our mind and feeling?
As Engels says, "this is the old story. First of all one makes sensuous things into abstractions and then one wants to know Ihcm through flic senses, lo see lime and 156 smell space.''^^1^^ Incidentally, that is how the desire arises lo equate the real meaning of the concept "beauty of nature" with the meaning of such concepts as ``phlogiston'' or the "elixir of life''.
The concept of the beautiful is a logical combination of the specific and concrete features of multiform reality or, in other words, an abstraction from a multitude of the most diverse sense-perceived things. This concept is essential to us, as it embraces the most general properties, namely, the aesthetic properties of qualitatively heterogeneous objects and phenomena of nature and society.
_-_-_^^1^^ V. Engels, Dialectics of Nature, Moscow, 1906, p. 235.
[157] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Ivan AstakhovThe i'act that aesthetic feeling is treated in almost every work on aesthetics might lead one to suppose that the subject has been submitted to exhaustive study and that no room has been left for arguments or doubt.
This is by no means the case, for the philosophers, biologists and archaeologists who have touched on these questions in one way or another have usually interpreted them quite differently.
To begin with, let us examine the biological theory according to which aesthetic feeling is rooted in the biological nature of living beings and, hence, is present in both higher and lower animals.
Darwin held that aesthetic feeling was not exclusively confined to man. Certain colours and sounds afford pleasure both to people and lower animals; chlamydosauria have taste and a notion of beauty; female birds appreciate the bright colours, beauty and fine voice of the male, and so on.
In his Origin of Species Darwin explains his views on how objects of beauty originated in nature. As it happens, he draws some very important conclusions. He points out how from earliest times beauty in nature has not been created for the satisfaction of man's feelings, and that many objects of beauty appeared long, long before man and thus independently of him.
In Darwin's view there were probably as many objects of beauty in nature before the appearance of man as after. Nature does not create flowers to provide a pretty sight 158 for man bill to attract insects, with whose help they reproduce. In other words, flowers appeared on the earth considerably earlier than human eyes. Nature does no I produce beautiful shells, the armour of dialhomies, holly berries and so on, for man. Like everything living, she is above all concerned with sell' reproduction.
Darwin's ideas here are an assertion of the objectivity of beauty in nature, and an outright rejection of objective and subjective idealism, according to which beauty does not exist in nature, and the sphere of Ihe beautiful is cither an absolute, divine idea, or pure subjectivity. In the light of modern scientific knowledge enriched by the great discoveries made since Darwin's time it is easy to show the falseness of the .suggestion that aesthetic feeling is found in both higher and lower animals, that chlamydosauria are aware of beauty, and female birds can appreciate the bright colours and beauty of the male and so on. Darwin was not aware of the fact that side by side with the laws of nature there exist socio-historical laws, and that side by side with animal feelings there are purely human ones. His assertion that some animals have a feeling lor and appreciation of beauty was not just a casual remark made in passing, for later on in the same work lie clearly states: "In the same manner as various animals have some sense of beauty, though they admire widely different objects.''^^1^^
Just how far Darwin is prepared to take this idea can be seen from the following: "Judging from the hideous ornaments, and the equally hideous music admired by most savages, it might be urged that their aesthetic faculty was not so highly developed as in certain animals, for instance, as in birds.''^^2^^
It should be noted that this statement cannot be reconciled either with the principles of the scientific historical method or with the theory of evolution advanced by Darwin himself.
It (night surely lo be obvious that the feelings of the savage arc incomparably more developed than those of even the higher animals, let alone the lower animals. If _-_-_
~^^1^^ Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man, London, 1875, p. 9'J. (Il: ilicisod hy Ihc author.)
^^2^^ Ibid., p. il.'i.
159 Darwin, Miklukho Maklai and oilier scholars of prehistoric culture are unanimous in declaring the music of stone-age man unpleasant and even hideous, this does not mean that savages have less developed aesthetic feelings than lower animals, but merely that in the savages they are indeed not very developed while the animals lack them altogether.If the ancestors of the earliest men had not learned to fashion tools and thus improve their working techniques, life on earth would never have broken out of the grip of the biological laws, and what arose and developed as man would have never become humanised. It was only due to labour and the social institutions created through its development that the ape gradually became man.
Marx and Engels showed how human history, as such, emerged through labour, which brought with it the humanisation of feelings and abilities. Production of the tools of labour represented a turning-point in man's development, assuring his stabilisation as a physical type. From that time forth, man has been changing not so much physically as socially. In other words, human nature changes as he acquires new characteristics, for what we call "human nature" gradually loses its purely anthropological significance.^^1^^ Man's feelings, and his intellectual and creative abilities change and develop. Darwin fails to notice the qualitative difference between human and animal feelings, and thus loses sight of the fact that animals are unable to create aesthetic or any other concepts. All kinds of concepts belonging to the category of abstract logic are expressed in words, in language, which I. P. Pavlov rightly regards as the second signal system which animals do not have. The linguistic form of thought represents the transformation of animal thought into human awareness.
It is significant that Darwin himself did not consider his explanation of the nature of aesthetic feeling to be either convincing or exhaustive.
In The Origin of Species he makes the following noteworthy admission: "How the sense of beauty in its simplest form---that is, the reception of a peculiar kind of pleasure _-_-_
~^^1^^ P. F. Protasenya, Proisklwzlideniye soznaniya i zakonomenittsli yego razvitiya (The Origin of Consciousness and Regularities of Its Development), Minsk, 1959, pp. 86, 87, 94.
160 from certain colours, forms, and sounds---was first developed in Hie mind of man and of the lower animals, is a very obscure subject. The same sort of difficulty is presented, if we enquire how it is that certain flavours and odours give pleasure, and others displeasure. Habit in all these cases appears to have come to a certain extent into play; but there must be some fundamental cause in the constitution of the nervous system in each species.''^^1^^ Thus Darwin considers the origin of aesthetic feelings to be "a very obscure subject''.However, what seemed a very obscure subject to Darwin in the late eighteen fillies suddenly ceased to be obscure for certain writers a hundred or so years later. In Ivan Yefremov's novel The Razor's Edyc that appeared in the literary journal Neva in 1963, we find the biological concept of the nature of aesthetic feelings being advanced with remarkable insistence.
According lo Girin, the hero, what is needed to solve the secret of beauty is "the biological basis of psychology ---psychophysiology'', while "appreciation of beauty can be thought of as none other than instinctive... .''
Darwin linked aesthetic feeling with awareness. Girin connects it with instinct, which is an obvious vulgarisation of Darwin.
Girin explains the colourful plumage of the male bird as a means of delighting and winning the female. "Sima was captivated by Girin's amazingly wide knowledge. For the first time in her short life she had met a man for whom modern science in all its diversity was an open book''.
Girin tells the artists listening lo his lecture: "... in my opinion there has nol been one truly scientific attempt lo explain aesthetic feeling throughout the thousands of years the fine arts have been in existence.'' Like Moliere's bourgeois geiililhomme who doesn't realise he has been speaking prose all his life, Girin expresses a point of view without realising where, when and by whom it was firsl adopted and expounded. Thus the fact that we are supposed to be confronted by an outstanding expert on aesIhelics acquires the nature of a parody.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species, 6lh ed., London, 1888, p. 162. (Italicised by the author.}
__PRINTERS_P_161_COMMENT__ 11---862 161Another hero of the novel is the Indian artist Dayarama, who has created a statue of the woman he loves. His ap proach to beauty too is a vulgarisation of the biological theory: "Not a single drop must he lost of that valuable perfection created over millions of years of animal development" he says. And again: ''. . .only people came to understand the strength and beauty of their animal nature, which was illuminated by the thirst for knowledge''. In declaring beauty lo be "biological expediency'', the author forgets that beauty is also to be found in inorganic nature, which has nothing to do with biological expediency, and also that man possesses spiritual and moral beauty.
To treat human beauty merely as the development towards perfection of animal nature is lo admit ignorance of the facl that even man's physical beauty cannot he explained simply in terms of the perfection of animal nalure. Human nalure is much broader and more complicated. On the one hand, it is biological, or rather anthropological, on the olher hand, socio-hislorical. Man is Ihe sum of social relafions as well as Ihe resull of millions of years of animal development.
The aeslhelic ``revelalion'' of Ihe heroes of The Razor's Edge (and the author who shares their views) lies in Ihe asserlion that beauty is the producl of man's animal nalure. II is amusing lo nole how Ihe heroes and author oifer as the lasl word in scienlific progress a Iheory Ihal social Darwinism preached over a hundred years ago.
According to Yel'remov, man docs not create beauty but merely discovers it. He thus ignores Ihe crcalive role of the feelings, mind and imagination.
Marxist-Leninist aesthetics answers this one-sided thesis with the thesis of Ihe grealness and power of man's crealive aclivily, showing man as a successful rival of nalure in the creation of beauly. Indeed, il goes much further than this, and points out thai whal man creales according lo Ihe laws of beauly, in its turn serves to develop his capacity for underslanding and apprecialing beauly. These ideas have long since become an essential, generallyaccepted parl of Marxisf aeslhetics.
However, to relurn lo Uarwin. The Origin of Species conlains Ihe ralher interesting poslulale thai Ihe idea of beauly is nol to be thought of as inborn and invariable. 162 Darwin himself was unable lo explain this correct proposition. The need for such an explanation was sharply felt by an important successor of his. the biological male rialist Ernst Ilaeckel.
Ilaeckel made a comparative analysis of Ihe various forms of natural beauty---rhythmic, symmetric, biological, anthropological, sexual, and scenic---and rioted a connected line of development ascending from the simple to the complex and from the lower lo Ihe higher. This ladder also corresponds lo the development of man's sense of beauly, onlogenetically from child to adult, and philogenetically as he advances from savage and barbarian to civilised man and art critic. The hislory of Ihe development of man and his organs also applies lo the hislory of aesthelics and ornamentation; from il we learn how louch and taste, aesthetic feeling and art gradually developed.^^1^^
Ilaeckel thus arbitrarily draws a parallel between the development of man's sense of beauty on the one hand, and of natural forms of beauly---from lower lo higher--- on Ihe other, a parallel for which history gives absolutely no justificalion. To recognise development from lower to higher does not mean lo have discovered the explanalion for flic development of acsthelic feeling.
In comparing individual human feelings, Ilaeckel is constantly running into a contradiclion Ihal he is unable to explain: why is it that the physical is interrelated with the spirilual and whence does Ihe laller spring.
In examining sight, he correctly iioles that the eye is Ihe resull of a long process of development The eye " perceives a piclure of objecls of Ihe oulside world''. This faculty is shared by man and the higher animals.
For the remarkable spirilual aclivily of Ihe man of cullure Ihe eye is Ihe next mosl important organ after the brain. What would our spiritual life be if we could not read, write, draw, and perceive Ihe forms and colours of the oulside world? Yel Ihe priceless faculty of ``sight'' is merely the highest and most perfect rung of the long ladder of processes of development, whose lowest and simplesl poinl of departure is the sensitivity lo light of plasma.^^2^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ Ernst Iliicckcl, Die Lebcnsiviindc-r, Stuttgart, 1904, p. 214.
~^^2^^ Ibid., p. 343.
__PRINTERS_P_163_COMMENT__ 11* 163Although unquestionably sound on the whole, the biological explanation of the nature of sight is contradictory and limited. The contradiction arises when Ilaeckel attempts to deduce spiritual life from a purely physical requirement. There is absolutely no scientific foundation for such ``deduction'', for the physical is merely a precondition for the spiritual. The explanation is incomplete and limited in that several of the spiritual and physical functions of the eye are entirely overlooked. The human eye is not as sharp or long-sighted as that of an eagle, which can spot a mouse running on the ground from a great height, or as that of an aiil, which can perceive ultra-violet rays. However, due to the development of material and subsequently spiritual production, man has created numerous precise instruments which enable him to observe processes taking place on distant planets, and study tiny particles in the microcosm that are invisible to the naked eye, and see both ultra-violet and infra-red rays. Thus, man has developed his sight so that he is now able to see more than any animal. By improving his sight a million times over, man has pushed back the biological frontiers. More important, thousands of years of work have achieved what biology itself could never have done: they have turned an animal into man. Hacckel refers to this process as an act of self-begetting by man. Marx sees it as the humanisalion of man. Thus, world history appears as a complex process of overcoming animal crudity, the objectificalion of feeling, the development of awareness, the birth of new creative abilities unknown in the animal kingdom, and the formation of numerous new spiritual and material activities. The humanised eye is more than an organ of sight: it is also an organ of the human brain, appreciating the aesthetic features of colour tones and half-tones in all their countless combinations with remarkable precision and delighting in the beauty of nature and artistic forms. The human eye sees more on the ground, in the air, in the water, and in the sky than does that of any animal.
Man does not only change surrounding nature with his work: he changes his own nature too. All higher animals have an eye that reflects surrounding objects on its retina. Only man has an eye that is an organ of spiritual sight 164 which helps create things according to the laws of beauty, and man is by his nature an artist.
So much for sight. What about hearing? Ilaeckel holds that hearing, or the perception of noises, tones and sounds, is a faculty shared by part of the higher freely moving animals. The specific sense of hearing arises due to vibration of the medium (air or water) or due to vibration of hard bodies, such as a tuning fork, the string of a musical instrument and so on, which comes into contact with it. When the vibrations succeed one another regularly they are perceived as tones, otherwise as noises. When several tones come together (basic tone and overtone) producing a mixed sensation, they are called a ringing. The vibrations of sounding bodies are picked up by the hearing cells, which form the widening at the end of the hearing nerve. Thus the actual sensation of hearing boils down to the sensation of pressure from which it originated. Since the organ of hearing, along with the eye, is one of the most important instruments of higher spiritual activity, it is important to note that the point of departure is once more purely physical and represents a sensation of the pressure of mass, the power of weight.^^1^^
In his analysis of hearing, as in his analysis of sight, Haeckel is once again unquestionably right since the matter concerns a purely physical mechanism. But his natural history materialism does not go any further. When it is a question of the role of sight or hearing in spiritual life, Haeckel breaks with his materialism and reverts to the positions of fideism. "In Martin Luther's catechism, which our children learn by heart when they are still young as the foundation of the true philosophy of life, we find the following: T believe that God created me and all creatures, gave me a body and a soul, eyes, ears and all members, reason, and all feelings, and that I am in his keeping.' "^^2^^
Thus, faith in God and his almighty creation was offered as the foundation of the true philosophy of life. Haeckel's natural science materialism, just as all the other old brands of materialism, was materialism from below, as long as it _-_-_
^^1^^ Krnsl Haeckel. Die Lcbi'iiswundiT, pp. ;jf)7-.r>8.
^^2^^ Ibid., pp. 389--90.
165 concerned natural phenomena, but idealism from above when applied lo social phenomena. It was perfectly natural, therefore, that Haeckel was unable to say anything precise and convincing about the content of spiritual feelings. although one is constantly aware, sometimes more, sometimes less clearly, of a serious effort to discuss the history of the development of aesthetic feelings.Haeckel also had some important things to say about the development of love, a feeling that has become one of the sources of the highest forms of spiritual activity.
In Lebenxwunder he writes: "Weslermark showed in his History of Human Marriage how coarse animal forms of marriage among savages gradually developed into ... more subtle, psychological feelings of sympathy and affection, and finally outweighed them, love was ennobled and became the richest source of higher spiritual activity, especially in the plastic arts, music and poetry,"^^1^^ and hence in the development of aesthetic feelings. Love in the modern sense of the word is a feeling that is the product of the whole history of human development. It is quite wrong to imagine that the deep feelings and emotions, sympathy and affection, and the higher spiritual activities have always existed. In prehistoric times there was no such thing as individual sexual love and the feelings and emotions it generates.
Engels says there could be no question of individual sexual love before the Middle Ages. It goes without saying that physical beauty, intimacy and common inclinations aroused the urge to sexual intercourse in people of the opposite sex. But that is still a far cry from our idea of sexual love. In the ancient world, conjugal love was not a subjective inclination but an objective duty, not the basis of marriage, but supplementary to it. For that ancient bard of love Anacreon, sexual love in our sense of the word was as unimportant as the sex of his beloved. In those far-off times, married men were ashamed to reveal the slightest _-_-_
~^^1^^ Ernst Ilacrkd, Die r.cbun.iimindi'r, pp. 49.r>-9f>.
166 sign of affection for their wives. But the men paid for the humiliation of their women by humiliating themselves, indulging in perverse love for youths and disgracing their own gods and themselves with the myth of Ganymede.Our sexual love and the feelings it involves is essentially different from simple attraction, from the Eros of the ancients. Firstly, it presupposes reciprocal feeling on the part of the woman, which places her on an equal level with the man. whereas in the times of Eros she often wasn't even asked. Secondly, sexual love can be so intense and long lasting that separation and abstinence are a great tragedy for both partners. People are willing to take tremendous risks, and even lay down their lives, in the name of love. Thus love in its modern sense requires a totally new moral criterion. In ancient times, love affairs only took place outside the bounds of official society, for example among the shepherds, whose joys and sorrows of the heart were sung by Theocritus, Moschus, Longus (l)aphnis el Chloc) and so on.
The first form of sexual love that emerges in history as a passion, as the highest form of sexual impulse---which is precisely its specific feature---this, its first form, the chivalrous love of the Middle Ages, was by no means conjugal love. On the contrary, among the Provengals, it steers under full sail towards adultery, the praises of which are sung by their poets. The Albas (Songs of the Dawn) are the flower of Provengal poetry. They describe the knight's stay in the bed of his beloved, another man's wife. The northern French and the Germans also adopted this form of poetry along with the corresponding manner of courtly love.^^1^^
The Renaissance saw the creation of Petrarch's love lyrics and Shakespeare's poetic tragedy Romeo and Juliet. The latter provides a perfect example of the kind of love so strong that both partners are willing to take any kind of risk and even lay down their lives for it.
As Belinsky put it, the pathos of Romeo and Juliet is the idea of love, which is why the excited passionate words pour forth from the two lovers in ardent waves, shining with the brightness of stars. Romeo's and Juliet's monologues express not merely love for the other, but a _-_-_
^^1^^ Mnrx ;iml Kneels, Selected Works, Moscow, 1958, Vol. II, p. '_>'«).
167 triumpliant, proud assertion of love as a divine (higher) leeling.The Renaissance woman understood true love, love that involved reciprocation, equality, freedom, independence and self-respect, in short, all those things the ancient Greek woman could only dream of. Exactly what feelings and hopes love aroused in the heart of the Renaissance woman is seen from the following extract from Don Quixote where the beautiful Marcella addresses Ambrosio. friend of Chrysostom:
``Heaven, you say, hath given me beauty, nay, such a share of it, as compels you to love me, in spite of your resolutions to the contrary; from whence you draw this inference, and insist upon it, that it is my duty to return your passion. By the help of that small capacity which nature has bestowed upon me, I know that which is beautiful is lovely; but I can by no means conceive, why the object which is beloved for being beautiful, is hound to be enamoured of its admirer.... Honour and virtue are the ornaments of the soul, without them a body even beautiful, should not be considered wonderful; ... if chastity, then, be one of the virtues which chiefly adorns and beautifies both body and soul, why should she, that is beloved, lose that jewel for which she is chiefly beloved, merely to satisfy the appetite of the one who, for his own selfish enjoyment, employs his whole care and industry to destroy it?
``I was born free, and to enjoy that freedom have I chosen the solitude of these fields. The trees on these mountains are my companions; and I have no other mirror than the limpid streams of these crystal brooks. With the trees and the streams I share my contemplation and my beauty; I am a distant flame and a sword afar off: those whom my eyes have captivated, my tongue has undeceived. . . .''^^1^^
When she had finished and disappeared into the wood, Don Quixote remarked: "She ought to be honoured and esteemed by all virtuous men. . . .''
Marcella's speech contains the whole code of love as it was understood in Renaissance times. A woman who had _-_-_
~^^1^^ The History and Adventures of the Renowned Don Quixote, translated from the Spanish by T. Smollett, London, 1818, Vol. I, pp. 106--10.
168 cast aside the medieval prejudices that enslaved mind and will, proudly declares love to be a pure and noble feeling, only possible where it is mutual. Thus love and desire are clearly shown to be by no means identical. True love is impossible without equality. But equality of man and woman in itself, and their being fine people, do not necessarily entail love. True love allows no coercion. Absolute freedom of choice is another essential condition. An important part of Marcella's code is her affirmation that there must be purity and absolute honesty in the relations between two lovers. Purity and honesty in a relationship enhance and ennoble body and soul more than anything else.Thus Engels is quite right in asserting that love in the modern sense of the word advances new moral criteria. To speak of love outside of moral criteria is to deny its tremendous spiritual significance. When Don Quixote says that all virtuous men should honour and esteem Marcella, he has in mind not so much her physical beauty as her spiritual beauty. He is of course quite right, for spiritual beauty is more worthy of our admiration. It also enhances bodily beauty.
Whereas inequality of the sexes assured man the advantage, enabling him to lake all decisions himself, often without even asking so much as the woman's opinion, with Marcella the position has been radically altered. Cervantes, forever a champion of equality of the sexes and independence for women, justifies her proud refusal to accept a man's claim to her favours without her reciprocating his desire.
All this testifies to historically new, deeper feelings and moral criteria, spiritual likes and dislikes, ethical and aesthetic concepts. It would be wrong, however, to imagine that the new society that replaced feudalism gave the green light to the progressive development of the "divine feeling''. Hegel was quite right in saying that everything develops through its antithesis. Behind the attractive side of historical progress lurked the highly unsavoury age of early capitalism, with its reckless piracy and plundering of whole peoples and newlv discovered lands, and violation of all morality. Marital infidelity, and blatant or hidden prostitution became widespread. At the same time there 169 was development in the intensity of love, mainly outside matrimony. All this can be seen from Balzac's La Cousinc Bettc, Maupassant's Bel Ami. and a host of other novels, short stories, plays and films.
With the development of modern art and literature the theme of love has, by common consent, acquired an eternal character. Love is the subject of verse and prose, plays, paintings, and sculptures. Many of Pushkin's immortal lyrics bear eloquent witness to the way love had become a source of inner beauty and tenderness (poems like "I Loved You'', and "You Left Your Native Shore'').
Pushkin's love lyrics arc, as Belinsky put it, a mixture of touching human warmth and delightful artistry. The feeling the poet puts into these poems is always gentle and modest however deep. It is tremendously humane, and expressed in a calm, graceful form. Love and friendship usually appear as the feelings that most governed him, the direct sources of all his joys and sorrows. Somehow even his sadness, however profound, is always remarkably bright and lucid, and heals the aching soul and wounded heart.
Art provides countless illustrations of the heights of humanism to which love today has risen acquiring tenderness and moral purity on the ascent. It also shows how low love can fall when in the grip of King Cash, whose powers to buy, sell and corrupt are unlimited. Balzac, Zola, Maupassant, Victor Margueritte and Kuprin brought the reader stark, heart-rending scenes, which even so would in many cases have paled beside the harsh reality they drew them from. Thus Splcndeurs ct miseres des courtisanes, Nana and The Pit are but part of a whole series of novels and stories that reveal with a greater or lesser extent of frankness how the evil and ugliness, which the power of money produces daily, hourly, crushes and grinds like the wheels of the Juggernaut all that is high, pure and beautiful.
In view of what has been said above about the aesthetic and ethical importance of love it is difficult to find words to describe works whose authors insist on reducing the problem of love to a problem of sex and eroticism, intended for the satisfaction of a special category of people who look no further than this. Since it seems hardly necessary to analyse this sort of treatment of the eternal theme, we 170 will finish by taking a look at some love verses by Stepan Shchipachov, in which the Soviet poet speaks with justifiable pride of the builders of a new society and their love:
``We're buildinr/ communism. What can range above Our labour in Us nobleness and beauty? Then who is it that dares to sat/ our love Can be inferior to our will to do our duty?
Perhaps I am not worth it---yet I'm sure
It does exist, as lofty and as pure
A feeling as at any other time,
A sister to accomplishments sublime."
The facts prove beyond dispute Marx's proposition that love, like any other human feeling, is the product of the whole of history.
Feelings and emotions, spiritual attraction and moral criteria, generated by the development of love, testify to the very important role love plays in the sphere of ethics and aesthetics. But the essential thing about love in the modern sense of the word is that it helps man rise higher up the ladder of the humanisation of man's feelings. The history of contemporary art bears eloquent witness to this.
Firstly, let us examine briefly the views on the nature of aesthetic feeling held by some of the representatives of German idealist aesthetics.
In his Kritik der Urteilskraft (Critique of Judgement), which Schiller with good reason called "Critique of Aesthetic Judgement'', Kant maintains that the aesthetic is nothing but our own idea, and that it does not exist independently of our idea of it, for it is but an accessory of our idea.
In other words Kant denies the existence of the aesthetic object, of a beautiful object affording us pleasure. For him it is all in the mind.^^1^^ In short beauty exists purely as my _-_-_
~^^1^^ From tlii.s one mif,'ht assume that the existence of the aesthetic object depends entirely on wlielher a parlicnlar vohmlarisl recognises it or not.
171 aesthetic idea of a Ihiiig. Bui Kanl does not slop here. He goes on to postulate what is essentially a contradiction in terms: the aesthetic is not a feature contained in an idea, but a property which belongs to the idea only in relation to a particular ability within us. The aesthetic is the feature we add or join on to the idea.This theory has an elusive rational core, which Kant shrouds in the woolly abstractions of critical idealism. It is contained in the words: add or join on. In a so called "pure concept'', a concept that is not linked with contemplation of any object at all, there is not an ounce of what is known as the aesthetic. Kant maintains that no idea is, in itself, aesthetic. It can become aesthetic only through contemplation of what might be called the aesthetic object. Kant is not talking directly about the aesthetic object as objective reality, but about what should be referred to as the object as such. He refuses to recognise the objectivity of the aesthetic object, and takes refuge in long, drawn-out discussions of the consequences, trying to avoid naming the reasons. After all, if an idea is not aesthetic in itself, but only becomes so with the addition of something, there's no getting away from calling that something ``something''. This ``something'' is not a pure, empty abstraction, but expresses a certain feature of the condition of the idea, which is conditioned by the sensual content of the real object. However hard Kant tries to hide the feature of the objectiveness of the aesthetic, it nonetheless springs up all the time like the phoenix from the ashes. Something cannot arise out of nothing. The feature that joins on to the idea which until then had no object behind it, is none other than the feature of the object or the objective feature. Since without this feature the concept was not aesthetic and only became so with its addition, we are bound to assume this object as aesthetic. In Marxist terms what we have here is a case of objectification of an idea. Objectificalion of an idea or feeling means practical interaction, a concrete relationship, a connection between concept, feeling and object. Our notions and perceptions obtain their concrete content first and foremost from the practical interaction with certain objects and phenomena of the real world. The only content of thought is the real world and the laws of thinking. Aesthetic notions and perceptions only 172 become such through the existence of the corresponding object.
11 is wrong, therefore, to reduce Ihe aesthetic to human subjectivity and assert that it belongs exclusively to our mind. In actual fact, tlie aesthetic is both our idea and the object of our idea. What we experience subjectively as aesthetic pleasure is a stale engendered by the interaction of our feeling and Ihe object This proves once again that the aesthetic feeling, just as any other feeling, is objective.
In the lale eighteen titties Marx studied Meyer and von Vischer, and copied down extracts concerning the relationship between objects of an aesthetic nature and their aesthetic significance. Marx notes von Vischer's idea thai "beauly only exisls in Ihe mind'', which was lypical of idealism and was obviously unable lo explain Ihe essence of the aesthetic. Further on, Marx quotes a passage from von Vischer that renders Schiller's idea about the subjectivity and objectivity of beauly. Since von Vischcr's version of Schiller's idea is incomplele and inexact, we are quoting it in full.
``Thus,'' wriles Schiller, "allhough beauty really is an object for us, since reflection is a condition for us to feel beauty, yet at the same lime beauty is a state of our subject, for the subject is a condition for our having an idea of beauty. It is also form since we coiilemplale it, and at Ihe same lime il is life, since we feel it. In a word, it is simultaneously our state and our action.''
Schiller is here polemising wilh Kanl, "who denied the objectivily of beauly without sufficient reason''. For Schiller feeling, perception, is only a condition for our judging beauly. Yel beauly is an objecl for us, being al Ihe same lime our slalc and our aclion. Aclion in relalion lo what? Obviously to an objectively existing objecl wilh a definile form. Our sense of beauly is conditioned by the real existence of beauly. We are unable lo conceive of ``pure'' form, just as we are unable lo imagine ``pure'', formless contenl. Here il is nol a mailer of any form, bul of form that includes real life, for il is a means of Ihe aeslhelic expression of life. Beauty is thus a form of expression of objects and phenomena of life. Beauty cannot be imagined either as self-indulgent objective spirit or as the deity indulging in contemplation of itself, as Hegel sees it. What we 173 perceive through a feeling is not only the feature of the feeling itself; it is our stale, produced by the aesthetic object. It is not the feeling that conditions the aesthetic object but the aesthetic object that conditions the feeling. Thus the content of our ieeling, our enjoyment, is conditioned by the particular object.
Let us now have a look at the way certain modern aesthelicians treat the question of the aesthetic object and feeling. Moisei Kagan attributes the idea that "beauty only exists in the mind" to Marx, not to von Vischor, and asserts that Marx rejected the concept of beauty as a purely intrinsic objective feature of objects.^^1^^
This is quite incorrect. In the opinion of idealist philosophers the sole source of beauty is the objective or subjective idea, independent of the world. If beauty only exists in the mind, then it does not exist beyond the bounds of the latter or independently of it.
In his book Aesthetics and the Present Alexander Belik writes: "In aesthetic perception the object itself interests us, irrespective of its capacity to satisfy a particular need.'' Further on, he says: "hi aesthetic perception man shows interest not only in a particular side or feature characteristic of the object . . . but in the object itself. . . .''
The question arises as to whether there can be an aesthetic relationship to an object independent of its ability to satisfy an aesthetic requirement. An object cannot exist in itself or for us, irrespective of its inherent characteristics, and it is indeed only by virtue of these that it exists at all. The only way we can determine what a pudding or an apple tastes like, is to try it, that is, to eat it. In order to determine the aesthetic qualities of Anna Karenina or the Apussionuta, we must read the one and listen to the other. Our perception, our penetration of their content, comes through reading or listening to them. The aesthetic influence of works of art leaves an indelible impression in the sphere of our feelings, whose content will be altered according to the features and qualities of the works perceived.
_-_-_~^^1^^ M. Kagan, Lektsii po marksist.fko-lcninskoi cstetikc (Lectures on Marxist-Leninist Aesthetics), Part One, Leningrad State University Publication, 1963, p. 29.
174A. Belik tries to separate the characteristics of the object from the object itself. This leads him to examine our perception separately from the object perceived (and influencing us).
There is hardly any need to go into details proving the false, unscientific nature of such positions.
Although attempts to explain the nature of aesthetic feeling prior to Marx resulted in many a fruitful guess and assumption, some of which, as we have seen, indicate the extremely important role of historical causes, these theories did not provide a concrete analysis of the causes. This is not surprising indeed, for it was the founders of scientific communism that first set the materialistic understanding of socio-historical phenomena on a scientific footing.
Marx and Engels proved that labour is the real key to human history, and that human beings are formed under the influence of their work, and are in fact its historical product. History, both written and unwritten, confirms that human feelings also have a history. This alone is enough to refute the proposition that all human feelings arose simultaneously, a proposition that has its roots in religious theories. In actual fact, the appearance and development of human feelings at different limes depend on the appearance and development of the respective objective actiuiti/. Thus the history of a given feeling is to be sought in the history of the object it corresponds to.
As Marx sees it, the wealth of human Ieeling and the many related abilities developed under the influence of various forms of labour. Indeed, the theory of labour as an historically developing process of human auto-generation had been advanced even before Marx. According to this theory, man is no longer the abstraction he was for the philosophers of the eighteenth century, but an objective, acting being, developing under the influence of labour.
Marx elaborated the theory of the development of man under the influence of labour, establishing that human feelings arise and develop only as a result of objectively developing forms of labour. All animals have eyes, but 175 only man has eyes lhal can appreciate the beauty of an object. All animals have organs of hearing, but only man has an ear for music. The formation of Hie outer senses is the result of the whole history of the organic world, while the formation of the spiritual feelings is the work of the entire history of labour.
It is only thanks to various forms of activity that man developed an ear for music, and eyes sensitive to beauty of form.
Let us return to man's feeling for nature, and first of all to the question of how and why it developed.
Modern man admires nature, delighting in its beauty and the variety of its forms and moods. He sings its praises in poetry and prose, paintings and films, music and choreography. It is the subject of hundreds, if not thousands of masterpieces.
However, some scholars express amazement at the fact that none of the works of art of primitive man hitherto discovered express love for nature and delight in its beauty. Keinach and Plekhanov consider this one of the mysteries of the prehistoric world.
The search for love of nature in the spiritual world of primitive man is bound to be fruitless, for the simple reason that the feeling had not yet appeared historically. Those that continue the search are merely refusing to abandon the outdated concept of primitive man as being already fully developed spiritually.
To primitive man. who was just beginning to gain awareness of himself and his environment, i.e., nature, the latter could hardly be expected to appear as something beautiful. There could be 110 question of love for nature at that stage, or of extolling her beauty. Those scholars that incline to see the absence of feeling for nature as a spiritual anomaly of primitive man ought to direct their attention first and foremost to the anomalies and imperfections of the method they have applied in their studies of prehistory.
The scientific shortcoming inherent in their method consists in the tendency 1) to attribute spiritual and other characteristics of modern man to the primitive savage and 2) to ignore the differences produced by the whole course of history. Examples of this kind of anachronistic approach are to be found in the book Prehistoric Cave Paintings by 176 Ihe American Professor Max Raphael, who persists in the belief that paleolithic works are basically the same as those of today, and that paleolithic man was not essentially different from modern man.
A similar view is to be found in Lc Prehistorique by (iabriel and Adrien de Mortillet, Apollo: Ilistoire generate des arts plasliques by Solomon Reinach, The Old Stone Age by Miles Burkitt, Der Menscli der Vorzeit by Hugo Obermaier, Kunst der Primitiven by Herbert Kiihn, and a host of other works on the subject.
The ancient Greeks were right when they said that the gods are born of fear. In the pantheon of gods created by the superstitious imagination of the savage it is easy to recognise the embodiment of the various elements of nature, worship of which is the very essence of primitive religion. The primitive gods are a far cry from the beautiful Apollo, the majestic Zeus, and the hyper-feminine Aphrodite.
Beautiful personifications of nature could not arise until there was love for nature, until man had overcome his fear of nature, and by his labour produced a "human feeling for nature, the human sense of nature, and therefore also the natural sense of /nan".^^1^^
Man entered the historical arena one of the most defenceless of the larger animals, with a long, helpless childhood, and yet with lime he not only overcame his own bodily weakness and slavish dependence on nature, but even rose above (he whole animal kingdom, above Hie whole of nature.^^2^^ In other words the former slave of nature became the king of nature, learning her innermost secrets and laws, and her eternal, unfading beaut}'.
To become what he is today, man, unlike the rest of the animal kingdom, was to spend thousands of years changing rough and unmalleablc nature, and at the same time developing and perfecting his own nature, developing a feeling for nature, the human sense of nature, which we now call the natural sense of man. It is a natural feeling, though it was born no I of nature, but of labour history.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of /<V`/'i, Moscow, p. 12.'!.
^^2^^ P. I''. Prolasciiya, The Oriyin of Consciousness and Rci/ularilifs of Us Development, p. 08.
__PRINTERS_P_177_COMMENT__ 12--862 177The whole of human history only advanced through the development of labour, which changed the rich and varied world of nature, at the same time changing man's nature. One of the many results of man's labour was that he developed the ability to appreciate existing forms of beauty and create new ones.
Marx was the first to explain the difference between human labour and the labour of other animals, the problem which had given the biologists such a headache. His explanation was as follows. Animals as well as men do productive work; birds build nests, beavers make wooden homes skilfully adapted to living underwater and on land, ants, and especially termites build real multistorey ``skyscrapers'', and bees put quite remarkable precision work into building their hives. But the point is, animals only produce what they themselves and their offspring need, one-sidedly, whereas man produces not merely for his own needs but for those of others, universally. "An animal forms things in accordance with the standard and the need of the species to which it belongs, whilst man knows how to produce in accordance with the standard of every species, and knows how to apply everywhere the inherent standard to the object. Man therefore also forms things in accordance with the laws of beauty.''^^1^^
We have already quoted Gorky's idea that man is by nature an artist, and this is truly the case if one bears in mind that human ``nature'' is the product of the whole history of labour.
The aesthetic relationship to nature was similarly pro duced by the whole history of the development of labour, without which there is no aesthetic, or indeed human, relationship to nature. One can only speak of a relationship to nature in connection with a creature that possesses social consciousness, that is man, and man only. An animal is not related to anything, and cannot be since it has no reason. "Consciousness is, therefore, from the very beginning a social product, and remains so as long as men exist at all.''^^2^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Mamiscriplss of Jti`i't, Moscow, ]>. 70.
^^2^^ Marx and Engcls, The German Ideology, Moscow, 1904, p. 42.
178Awareness of nature and a relationship to nature are by no means two separate forms of interaction with nature. My awareness of nature represents my relationship to nature and vice versa. The deification of nature is also a definite form of relationship to nature, determined by the social system and the extremely low level of production. Here the limited relationship of men to nature determines their limited relationship to one another. This is mainly because nature; is as yet hardly modified historically.^^1^^
Thus, if we take the. relationship to nature of the man who deities it, and modern man's relationship to nature, we shall see poverty and bigotry in the former instance, and in the latter---wealth and variety, including a practical, scientific theory and aesthetic relationship in the formation of which poetry and prose, music, painting and the other arts play an important role. Each of the arts, with its own specific characteristics, also represents complex aspects of the aesthetic relationship to nature, which are appropriate to the given art form. Thus, for instance, if we study the development of landscape painting from its appearance in the early Renaissance down to the present day, in every new age; we shall find famous masters of (he genre revealing new aspects of their subject and apply ing new means of expression.
Thus, the sense of nature is not merely an adjunct to outward feelings. Unlike the latter, the sense of nature has a social significance, expressing as it does a social relationship to nature. It is a human social organ, whereby the character and direction of man's spiritual development may be judged.
Now let us examine feeling for music.
In Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 and also in fragments from his early works, Marx puts forward some very interesting ideas on the nature and essence of spiritual feelings. Marx advances the proposition that human feelings develop and often first arise due to the presence _-_-_
^^1^^ Ibid.
179 of a correspondiiKj object. His main point is thai a feeling is objective, in that a given feeling corresponds lo a particular object, and develops under its influence. The degree of a feeling's objcclilicalion is the degree of its development under the influence of a given object. This, in turn, means that a feeling is developed insofar as it has mastered the appropriate object. The more objectified the feeling the belter it understands the given object and the more it asserts its spiritual ``power''' over it. 11 should be noted, how ever, that the extent of power is purely cognitive and aesthetic. The object exists for me as far as mi/ feeling goes. Just as the human eye perceives and appreciates an object in a different way from the rough, non-human eye, so the human car appreciates a sound otherwise than does the rough non-human ear. The rough non-human ear indicates a rough non-human feeling for which the sense of a human object docs not exist. There are, of course, rare cases of peopfe having absolutely no feeling for music, and rather more frequent cases of people having a poor feeling for it. Here, it is not a matter of an undeveloped ear, but of no ear at all or a very poor one. For the person who has no ear for music even the most beautiful music is meaningless, and does not represent the object in which the person \vith an ear for music can assert one of his spiritual powers. The point is, the person who lacks an ear for music lacks the power that only develops under the influence of music. He is unabie to assert himself spiritually in the given object, for this object is not his, and an object can only be his if it has a meaning accessible to his sense. We are speaking of feelings which, according to Marx, have become '``theoreticians'', organs of the human brain, having a relationship to particular objects on account of the objects themselves, of their inherent features, and of enjoyment of them. These objects satisfy particular human needs, multiplying and enriching man's spiritual powers, without losing anything of their quantity or quality. In short, they are social objects, satisfying social needs, serving the development of social feeling. If the beauty of a piece of music was confined lo purely external sound, then there would be no point in considering the inaccessibility of musical sense lo the unmusical car. The whole point is lhat musical sound expresses a particular sense which we call 180 aesthetic;, and wilhoul which there: is no music, and indeed no art at all.The power man asserts in a musical work is mainly contained, strange though it may seem, in feeling for music. When we say lhat only music arouses a feeling for music and that it is only under its influence thai one of our essential powers is formed, we have in mind the whole of music as an arl form, with its own history made up of numerous national histories. In the light of this concept of an object we gain some idea of the complexity of its content and the great variety of its forms. It is difficult to judge Ihe nature of a concrete feeling or a concrelc objecl by referring lo the objectively of human feeling in general. Bui when we are referring lo feeling for music in relation lo Ihc particular objecl, we see Ihe objecl in ils correct proportion, and realise Ihe complexity of its contenl and Ihe variely of ils forms. When again we fry lo gain a more concrele idea of the process of objectificalion of feeling for music, il becomes clear lhal Ihis is nol a momentary act or series of acts, but an extremely complex and contradictory process that goes on for years. Even Mozart's talenl which blossomed oul at such an early age developed over a period of years.
Although the process of objeclificalion of a feeling shared by the vast majority is clearly of a typological character, il would be wrong lo imagine lhal it levels Ihe feelings of various individuals and makes them identical.
The well known proposition of the dialectics that similarity does not exclude dissimilarity applies here just as much as anywhere else. Even given more or less the same leaching process, one woidd still have lo lake into account the fact thai every individual has an essenlially differenl musical ability and will thus maslcr the objecl lo a grcaler or lesser extent accordingly. Moreover, there is no denying that some people arc lazier, or more favoured by circumstances, or heller read and generally beller prepared lhan others. People are different, and character is bound to influence a person's maslery of a subject.
Marx's idea then is that the sense a particular object has for a person extends exactly as far as lhat person's feeling goes. This testifies to the total dependence of the development of a feeling on its corresponding object. It 181 also shows the thesis that the development of a feeling is completely independent and spontaneous, to he completely unfounded. There can he no question of a feeling developing absolutely independently. The inner content of a feeling is determined hy the outer object of the content. Love does not develop without an object. Like any other feeling, it requires a concrete object. Feeling for music or poetry, and any other aesthetic ieeling enriches its content at the expense of outer objective content. Of course this does not exclude the creative reworking of objective content, but in this case it is not essentially a matter of the arbitrary whim of the bearer and the caprices of aesthetic feeling. Creative adaptation is a purely inner process receiving its impulse from the objects of the external world and developing according to the principles inherent in the object. Thus, the laws of beauty according to which creative activity is carried on originate in external objects.
The musical ``object'' is like a magic casket containing countless spiritual riches, which in certain conditions can become the property of every single social individual.
The concept of ``objectification'' which we have attempted to explain is an extremely important one. Scientific aesthetics reveals the secret of the emergence and development of the sense of music, which defies all attempts at definition by means of any theories other than those of the materialist view of history.
Our study of the nature and content of human feeling automatically brings us to the question of the differentiation of aesthetic feeling. When we speak of feeling for music, poetry, choreography, the theatre or the cinema, or of a sense of colour or plastic form, an ability to draw and so on, we are ipse facto saying that there exists an inner differentiation of aesthetic feeling. One of the art forms corresponds to each of these feelings in the quality of an object. However, it would be wrong to limit the process of differentiation of aesthetic feeling to the various art forms. We have seen how feeling for nature emerged 182 and developed not only, and indeed not so much owing to art as to man's concrete practical activity. Yet we can carry the dilTereiitialion of aesthetic feeling still further.
In one of his articles, Alexander Tvardovsky examines the role of the "outer senses" in the works of Ivan Bunin, paying special attention to Bunin's sense of smell.
``Indeed, Bunin's 'outer senses' as means of deep penetration of the world of the senses were phenomenal from birth, and were then exceptionally developed from his youth onwards bv constant practice for purely artistic ends.
``By no means all men who were born, grew up and lived their lives among burdock and grass are able to distinguish between the smell of dewy burdock and the smell of damp grass. Yet even so, when they hear it mentioned they will agree that it is so and that they themselves remember it.
``It would be worth while making a separate detailed study of the smells in Bunin's verse and prose, for they stand out among his other means of perception and description of the real world, lime and space, and of the social position and nature of his characters. In the wonderfully `fragrant', elegiac story 'Apple Fragrance' the author seems lo have been inspired by the smell of these autumn orchard fruits, lying in the drawer of his writing-desk in the study with windows giving onto the bustling town street. The story is full of the apple smells, of 'honey and autumn freshness' and the poetry of farewell to the past, whence only the tipsy song of days gone by comes iloating on the breeze from the impoverished country estates in the steppe.
``Apart from the seasonal smells connected with the cycle of work on the land and other country labours that cram all Bunin's works, smells we are familiar with from the descriptions of other classics---melted snow, spring torrents, flowers, grasses, leaves, plough-land, hay, wheat, kitchen gardens and so on---Bunin also perceives and recalls numerous smells characteristic of the time, so to speak, of the age.
``This side of Bunin's mode of expression, which makes everything he describes particularly natural and concrete---- at all levels, from the gentle lyric passages, to the bitingly sarcastic---has taken firm root and is being developed in 183 our present day lileralure, by writers of the most varying nature and talent.
``One could quite rightly point out here that Bunin was no innovator in this respect. Edmund Goncotirl complained in his Diary as long ago as the 1880s of the way the `nose' was appearing in literature, following in the wake of the `rye' and the `ear' as a means of perceiving reality. It was above all Zola he had in mind. Zola with his 'hunting-dog's nose', who had brought into literature the `anti-aesthetic' smell of the town market and so on. However, Bunin's `olfactory' devices have nothing to do with French naturalism and never strike one as `unsavoury' in the extreme.
``Modern Western literature by the way employs physiological `taste' along with other outer feelings (this would appear to come from Proust). Hemingway, Remarque, and Boll give an exact description of their heroes' sensations in masticating food, drinking, smoking, and so on. But here we can speak of senses being substituted for feelings to a certain extent, something which is entirely alien to Bunin.
``... We can say pretty much the same about Bunin's deep, intense, tirst-hand knowledge of life, as we can of his perception by ear, smell, and sight of all kinds of plant and flower, frost and snow-storm, spring slush or summer heat. Literature used not to mention such details, elements of the life of the people, possibly supposing them to lie beyond the artistic pale.''^^1^^
In this connection one is reminded of what Somerset Maugham has to say in The Moon and Sixpence of those who talk lightly and carelessly of beauty.
``... people talk of beauty lightly, and having no feeling for words, they use that one carelessly, so that it loses its force; and the thing it stands for, sharing its name with a hundred trivial objects, is deprived of dignity .. . and when they are face to face with Beauty they cannot recognise it. The false emphasis with which they try to deck their worthless thoughts blunts their susceptibilities. Like the charlatan who counterfeits a spiritual force he had sometimes felt, they lose the power they have abused.''^^2^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ A. Tvardovsky, ``Hunin'', Nnvij Mir No. 7, 1965, pp. '>'>(\-'28.
~^^2^^ Somorscl Maugham, The M<KIH and Sixpence, I960, p. l.'ifi
184The role and significance of details as a means of artistic expression is an essential part of any examination of the truth and beauty of art's form or content. This is very well illustrated by Tvardovsky's remarks about Bunin.
Some scholars still continue to ignore the indisputable fact that in the course of the history of human labour all man's sensalory organs developed and were differentiated, and the creative activity of his mind became perfected. Hand in hand with differentiation went specialisation, and feelings have gradually acquired a deeper awareness of their corresponding objects. This specialisation of separate organs takes place with animals too, but with man it goes incomparably further along the path of qualitative changes.
We have already seen how the ear as an organ of hearing appeared far earlier than an ear for music, which develops hand in hand with music. There could be no such thing as an ear for music before the appearance of music. There is no ground for speculation as to which came first -music or the musical ear. Music is no older and no younger than musical feeling. The inhabitants of the Malay Peninsula and New Guinea at the neolithic stage had "highly unmelodious singing'', which they accompanied on extremely primitive instruments that produced ear-splitting sounds. Karl Steiiien describes the music of the Brasilian Indians, who like the Papuans live at the neolithic stage, as being characterised by sharp rhythm, monotony and complete absence of harmony. The Bororo tribe, renowned for their savagery in the 1880s, made wide use of rattles producing a disturbing, grinding noise. During burial rituals the sound of various rattles, drums and pipes merged to make a "hideous cacophony''. Where rough-and-ready, ear-splitting instruments arc the rule, the human ear cannot but develop a preference for rough, piercing, whistling and howling sounds.
The earliest vocal music and instrumental music lacked musicality in the modern sense of the word. Melody and harmony did not appear immediately, but were the fruit of long creative efforts by mankind, stretching over thousands of years. As old is the sense of melody and harmony that marked the beginning of the development of music as an art. 185 The result of the dill'erenUalion and specialisation of man's sensalory organs was that sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch, which originally fulfilled purely physical functions, gradually acquired an additional role. This spiritual ``superstructure'' to the physical feelings made their function far more complex, enriched their content, and made them a kind of '``theoretician''.
Feeling is more than sensation, although the two are connected. Feeling is man's experience of his relationship to what he is aware of or performs; to natural phenomena, aspects of social life, other people and their behaviour, himself and his own actions. Joy and sorrow, or love and hate take vastly varying forms with man. Belinsky saw aesthetic feeling as the foundation of goodness and morality, and as one of the essential conditions for human dignity.
[186] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Alexander Myasnikov ``We do not so;/: 'Back to Goethe'.
We say: 'Onward to Goethe,
onward with Goethe'."
J. Becher
One of the ``eternal'' problems of literature and the arts is that of tradition and innovation.
The artist comes into a world already full of works of art created before him. He studies not only the real life of his contemporaries and ancestors, the whole complex and frequently contradictory system of human relations, but in addition the history of art stretching back over many centuries. His link with life is not simply a link with actual events but, as Johannes Becher emphasised, with the spiritual culture of society. When an artist considers how best to reflect life and which devices to use, he cannot avoid taking into account how those who lived before him reflected life. "Whatever we may think of ourselves we are all essentially collective beings,'' observed Goethe sagely as early as 1832. "We must borrow and learn from those who lived before us and those who live around us. Even the greatest genius would not get very far if he were to try to produce everything out of himself alone. But there are many good souls who do not understand this and spend the best part of their lives groping in the dark dreaming about originality. I have known painters who boasted of the fact that they did not model themselves on any of the masters, and that their work was the exclusive product of their own genius. What rubbish! As if anything of the kind were possible! As if the external world did not leave its stamp on them at every turn and shape them in 187 il.s own way, in spile of their stupidity!''^^1^^ In addition lo being a great poet, Goethe was also an eminent art historian and Ihe author of many classical works on aesthetics. His views on tradition and innovation summarise his observations on the history of art and are also based, which is most important, on his own many-sided artistic ex perience.
Let us now turn lo a dilferenl age and a different writer. Leonid Leonov recently remarked: "Of course, the wind of genius blows on all writers. Any boat that has a sail should catch it. All literature is bound to be a diagonal in a parallelogram composed of the individual author and the whole heritage of world literature.''^^2^^ Leonov seems here to be developing Goethe's idea: the individual writer is a collective being, a member of the great family of writ ers from all ages and countries. The talented Soviet writer is not afraid of drawing such bold comparisons: modern literature is defined as the diagonal of a huge parallelogram, one side of which is the whole history of world lil erature, and the other the literary products of coiilempo rary writers. Thus modern literature is an organic link in the development of world literature as a whole. This view was common to the classical writers of the past, and is shared by the outstanding writers of the present. It has been challenged by certain contemporary bourgeois nolions of the historical process, which frequently see the history of culture as nothing more than a chaotic accumu lation of unrelated artistic phenomena. The well-known French novelist, Francois Mauriac, was apparently influenced by these ideas when he wrote in 1960: "Rereading War and Peace I feel I am faced not with a stage which we have been through, but with a secret which we have lost.''^^3^^
The task of finding a correct solution lo the problem of tradition and innovation is further obstructed by the remnants of vulgar sociologism which are still apparent _-_-_
~^^1^^ .1. Eckprmann. Gesprachc mil Goethe, Weimar, 1918, liand II, S. 644--45.
~^^2^^ L. Bat, "Leonid Leonov on Writing" (Conversations with the Writer), Voprosy Litcralunj No. 2, I960, p. 187.
^^3^^ Quoted from N. Gei and V. Pisknnov, ,1/i'r, Chclovck, Iskusstvn (The World, Man and Art), Sovictsky Pisalel Publishers, 1956, p. 114.
188 here and there, and lead, as Konslaiilin Fedin so aptly put it, lo a dangerous splitting-up of the very core of literature into ideology and art, with the problems of subjecl-matter, composition, style and vocabulary being Irealed separately from Ihe ideological conlent of Ihe work. "As if the conlent of the work can exisl independenlly of ils embodiment in form. It is we, the opponenls of formalism, who do Ihis. Isn't this in fad formalism upside down?''^^1^^Those who support this approach argue that the lilcralure of the past exerls an influence on modern wriling only through its ideas, subject-matler and individual characters, not through Ihe whole complex of literary devices in which these ideas are given form. There is a very significant remark by Johannes Becher, which seems to me to pinpoinl Ihe weakness of Ihis "formalism upside down.'' Discussing Ihe relevance of our literary herilage lo modern wriling, he observes: "Tolstoi's War and Peace as well as portraying Ihe realily of historical evenls also depicls Ihe realily crealcd by Homer, which is lo be found in Ihe characlerislic features of the wriling of Tolsloi himself. Thus there is no reality capable of being depicled in literature which does not contain features of the realily created by lileralure itself.''^^2^^ It would seem thai Tolstoi was faced with two realities in wriling his epic: Ihe concrele, historical reality of Russia al Ihe lime of the war againsl Napoleon, and Ihe artificial realily crealed by Homer in accordance with artistic laws. (Some critics avoid referring fo works of arl as Ihe second realily, artificial realily, on the grounds lhal idealist aeslheticians make a contrasl belween works of arl and real life which, Ihey hold, bear no relalion to one another, art being the only Irue realily.)
The hislory of arl shows lhat arl is not only the producl of real life reflected through the prism of the individual artist, but of those aesthetic forms in which similar manifeslalions of real life were reflected at earlier stages in the developmenl of art which were, of course, also refracted in Hie prism of the particular arlisl. II goes without saying _-_-_
~^^1^^ First Constituent Conyress <>! the Russian Federation of Writers, Verbatim Report, 1959, p. 548.
^^2^^ Johannes R. Becher. Das poetise he Prinzijt, Berlin, 1957, S. 219.
189 that Tolstoi did not merely imitate Homer (just as lie did not simply copy lii'e in Russian society at the beginning of the nineteenth century), but made use of Homer in writing his epic scenes, creating at the same time a new form of the epic novel. Mikhail Bakhtin was, therefore, quite right when he wrote in relation to genre that: "A genre lives in the present, but is constantly aware of its past and origin, (ienre represents the artistic memory in the process of literary development.''^^1^^ The artistic memory does not exclude, but rather presupposes innovation. Lev Tolstoi shows himself to have been acutely aware of this in his article entitled "A Few Words on the Book War and Peace" (1868) where he said that he found it difficult to define the genre of his book in accepted terminology, and that the whole history of Russian literature was that of deviating from the generally accepted definitions of the novel, poem or short story. The leading writers in Russia and other countries have always created original works, each of them being an artistic discovery. But these discoveries far from disrupting the course of art went to form un identical links in the single chain of its development.The question of tradition and innovation in literature is closely bound up with the concept of artistic development. Can such a concept really exist, ask certain modernists, shifting the discussion from the field of aesthetics into that of sociology and philosophy.
For example, the father of existentialism, Karl Jaspers, said: world history is a chaotic jumble of random events, a flooding maelstrom. It goes on and on from crisis to crisis, from one disaster to the next, with brief spells of happiness, and small islands untouched for a while by the eddying stream until they are finally inundated by it. It is all like a picture by Max Weber: world history is a street which has been paved by the devil with ruined splendour. If world history is in fact nothing but chaos, an absurd conglomeration, a disconnected string of random events and phenomena, there can naturally be no question of consecutive literary development. This is also a valid point of view, but it is the point of view of people _-_-_
~^^1^^ M. M. Hiikhtin, Problemy Poetiki Dostoyevskoijo (Problems of Dostoyevsky's Work), Sovietsky Pisatel Publishers, 1953, p. 142.
190 who have lost all sense of direction in the complex world of life and art. They regard their helplessness as great strength, and themselves as original thinkers, who as it were stand above the fray calmly observing the futile social battles beneath them. But it should not be thought that their writing is indifferent, for this is by no means the case. By violent assertion of their beliefs they hinder the struggle of progressive forces for a belter future.There is another concept of literary development which has won great popularity among certain circles in the West, and which was expounded particularly forcefully in the speeches of a number of participants at the Leningrad Forum of Writers in 1963. The Italian writer, Guido Piovenc, announced, for example, that the work of such writers as Proust, Joyce and Kafka marked the end of a literary era and produced the blueprint for a new one, for modern man. Several participants at the meeting referred to Proust, Joyce and Kafka as their spiritual fathers.
However, those who attended the Leningrad meeting were by no means unanimous in their views. For example, the second address of the General Secretary of the European Community of Writers, Giancarlo Vigorelli, was full of contradictions. Vigorelli also spoke reverently of the "ranks of his spiritual fathers'', the works of Proust, Joyce and Kafka. However at the same time he observed: "The point must be made that in spite of our profound respect for these names and our unfailing gratitude for the discoveries of these writers, whose work laid the foundation of our culture and continues to influence it up to this day, the point must be made that we, their literary sons, are faced with a real crisis of spiritual values. We have reached a definite state of collapse, which no doubt contains its element of criticism. But all the same we have arrived at a state of collapse of the individual, society and the novel. To put it in childishly simple terms: we left the great Joyce and, in spite of all our respect for him, arrived at the little Beckett.''^^1^^ Such is the contradictory nature of Vigorelli's thinking, and this very contradiction is common to a i'air number of Western intellectuals.
_-_-_^^1^^ Quoted from Inostrannaya IJIi'ralura No. 11, 1903, p. 220.
191A third point of view was put forward by the Polish writer Ryszard Matuszewski. lie sees two lines of development in world literature. One is realist or traditional literature represented by the novels of Balzac, Tolstoi, Sholokhov and Leonov. The other is associated with the names of Proust, Joyce and Kafka. According to Maluszewski these two trends should not be opposed to each other. "I think,'' he emphasised, "that today we can refer to all the literary experiments of the great writers of the twentieth century from Sholokhov and Thomas Mann to Joyce and Kafka, as being our common properly.'' The Polish writer holds that "the reality which surrounds us is infinitely rich. Consequently realism has at its disposal an effectively inexhaustible store of objective material''. From this he draws the logical conclusion that there is no fundamental difference between realist and modernist literature, and that modernist literature can be included in this broad concept of realism. This was the reasoning which led to the formulation of the aesthetic system advanced in Roger Garaudy's D'un realiamc sans riuages. Maluszcwski's viewpoint is not a new one. As early as 1959 at the Third Congress of Soviet Writers one of the Italian guesls, Mario Alicala, made a speech in which he said that in Italy socialist realism arose from the struggle against "the decadent aspects of modernist art'', and that the Italian Marxist critic was faced with "the task of making an intensely profound study of avant-garde trends, with which some of Ihe greatest socialist realist writers such as Vladimir Mayakovsky and Bertolt Brecht were associated at the beginning of their literary careers. This is essential in order to be able to draw the line between genuine avantgarde literature and the false kind such as contemporary cosmopolitan abstraclioiiism.''^^1^^
Soviet writers felt compelled to disagree with the views which were propounded by certain members of the European Community of Writers in Leningrad. Both during and after the meeting Konstantin Fedin and other Soviet delegates drew attention to one feature which was most characteristic of the speeches of their opponents. Many of _-_-_
~^^1^^ Third Congress of Writers of llu- U.S.S.K.. Verbatim Kcporl 1959, p. 210.
192 the latter asserted lliat the approach of Soviet writers and critics to art was dogmatic, that they tried to impose set systems on it, and were .sectarian in their defence of realism. The question then arises: why should the defence of realism and progressive art be called dogmatic and sectarian, when the insistence of Ihc Wesl that writers should model themselves entirely on the works of Proust, Joyce and Kafka is not held to be eilher. Any unbiased reader will lell you which concept is broader, richer and gives more scope for independent arlistic enquiry. Proust, Joyce and Kafka are, of course, talented and original writers. II is a mailer of regref lhal until recently their work was insufficiently studied. They were sometimes over-simplified and subjected to unfair criticism. All this is true and musl be remedied. It is already being remedied. However, a serious study of the works of Proust, Joyce and Kafka does not support the suggestion lhal they (and they alone!) are determining the future course of modern world literature. To accept the views of our opponents would be tantamount to selling up a tyrannical dictatorship of this triumvirate, such as no supporter of dogmatism would ever dream of, a rigid set of rules which would paralyse all individual talent.As for the suggeslion that a special study should be made of those modernist schools with which some of the great modern writers were associated, this is a task in which Soviet specialists have been engaged for some considerable lime. Thej- have succeeded in establishing that Blok, Mayakovsky and Brecht became prominent writers not because their work developed according to the principles of symbolism, futurism, surrealism or expressionism, but because they managed to reject these principles and create their own aesthetic systems and literary forms. They were hindered, not helped by modernism, and became great writers only after they had won the fierce inner struggle to overcome its intluence on them. Consequently symbolism, surrealism, futurism and expressionism have no right to congratulate themselves on their brief association with these outstanding writers. There is little to support the assertion that the writing of Mayakovsky the futurist is as interesting as that of Mayakovsky the classical Soviet poet. We cannot obviously accept a form of __PRINTERS_P_193_COMMENT__ 13--862 193 realism in which genuine realism is united with modernist experiments: the two are organically incompatible. And when they do occasionally appear together in I lie work ol individual talented writers, such as some of Thomas Mann's works, the combination impedes the author rather than helps him, as the critics have already pointed out.
Certain representatives from European socialist countries offered us their own views on the development of world literature, in particular the Czechoslovak writers and critics.
We are all familiar with the fact that Gorky and manySoviet critics after him referred to progressive and reactionary romanticism. Our Czechoslovak comrades take the view that this concept can be extended to other literary methods. They speak not only of reactionary and progressive romanticism, but of reactionary and progressive critical realism and even reactionary and progressive modernism. According to them they use the term `` modernism'' differently from the way it is used in Hie Soviet Union, namely, to denote not only reactionary art but modern art in general. Therefore they distinguish between two types of modernism. According to them the term ''socialist realism" is not broad enough to cover all the riches of contemporary progressive art in Czechoslovakia, and they therefore suggest the use of what in their opinion is a more comprehensive one, namely, "socialist art'', which combines both progressive modernism and, as one of the trends in modern art, socialist realism. Some of our friends warned us not to confuse reactionary modernism with that which they refer to as ``modern'', i.e., contemporary. Of course, one should bear in mind the different historical conditions which influence the meaning of this or that term in various countries, but it would seem, nevertheless, that we are dealing here not so much with a disagreement over terminology as with certain divergences of opinion on the nature of modern art.
Our comrades from the socialist countries emphasise that they arc united with Soviet writers and critics in their dialectical materialist attitude towards life, their rejection of bourgeois ideology, and their conscious striving lo cooperate through their literature in the task of building socialism and communism. This is a sufficiently broad 194 and solid base for a friendly discussion of artistic problems.
Let's make no bones about it. We are not convinced that Hie term "socialist art" is belter than (hat of " socialisl realism" or thai we should renounce socialist realism. The latter has now more than half a century behind il, and ils achievements have been acclaimed by all progressive mankind. Certain weaknesses in Soviet art were due lo the fact that individual artists disregarded the fundamental principles of the socialist realist method or applied them with insufficient skill, not to any fault in the method itself. All this is a mailer of lacl and does not require any detailed substantiation.
The supporters of socialist realism and modernism dilTer profoundly in their attitude to the basis of art. It is impossible to examine Ihese problems without having recourse lo certain fundamental philosophical questions.
Our system of aesthetics is based on Lenin's theory of reflection. Art reflects Hie world in Ihe light of certain ideals. Every great artist is original and unique. He creates a new phenomenon of life, namely art. Herzen called this aesthetic reality, Belinsky the artislic world, and it is now frequently referred to as the artislic model of Ihe world. It derives its strength from its close links with realily which enable il to reflect its most profound regularities.
This is the view of the supporters of realism.
The modernists see things differently. In spite of Ihe many different schools and trends they still frequently proceed from Schopenhauer's formula: man "does not know any sun or any earth: only Ihe eye which sees the sun and the hand which feels Ihe earlh".^^1^^ The modernist is not concerned with the world reflected by the arlist, bul with the reflection of lhal world in the arlisl's soul, "Ihe subjective landscape of the soul'', as one modernist thcorclician pul it. For Ihem a work of arl is not a model of the real world, bul a model of Ihe inner model of Ihe real _-_-_
~^^1^^ Arthur Schopenhauer, Die Well als Wille mid Vorslellunij, Berlin mid Wien, I'.tl'l, S. .'').
195 world reposing in I lie artist's soul. For this reason they do not relate works of art to the real world, but to the artist's subjective conception of the real world. This view of art was described in the magazine America by it certain Ben Heller who wrote: "By ceasing to be the servant of the church or society the artist, just as the writer or philosopher, started a new tradition of revealing himself in his art, a tradition which has today perhaps reached its highest peak. Withdrawal into oneself as a means of self-analysis and an essential prerequisite for studying problems that interest him independently of their value or use to society is one of the major achievements of modern painting.``Furthermore, the feeling of individual freedom has had a tremendous effect on the scope of the artistic quest with the result that the artist of today has complete freedom of action. He is unrestricted in his choice of subject-- matter, method and stylistic approach, in the choice of colour, line, dimensions and materials. He is free, if he likes, to distort reality: in fact, we expect and demand of him thai he should.''^^1^^ Here in concentrated form we have the basic tenets of modernist aesthetics: art ceasing to serve society, the unrestrained subjectivism of the artist, aestheticism, an anarchical altitude to artistic freedom, the right, even the duty, of the artist to deform reality. Such a programme justifies complete chaos in art.
Modernism also springs from certain specific traditions, which are not only those of the "fathers of contemporary modernism'', Proust, Joyce and Kafka. The modernists make use of the idealistic philosophy of Schopenhauer, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche and Bergson.
In speaking of the traditions of socialist realism we more often than not speak too generally and state that it inherits the best traditions in the art of all ages and peoples. This is perfectly correct, of course, but I consider that the time has come for us to give a more specific, detailed account of these traditions. I propose the following division: 1) world literature, 2) national traditions, and 3) socialist realism traditions.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Ren Holler, "The Hools of Abstract Expressionism'', No. 74. 1 <)()'_>, p. _>;.
196The first category constitutes the whole of world literal ure. We all remember Lenin's words that Marxism is entirely alien to sectarianism, that it sprang up and advanced on "the high road of the development of world civilisation'', that it provides answers to questions "already raised by the foremost minds of mankind".^^1^^
Socialist realism cherishes the culture of the past with the greatest reverence. In the very early days of the young Soviet state that great founder of socialist realism, Maxim Gorky, organised the publishing house Vsemirnaya Lileratura (World Literature) in incredibly difficult conditions. His foreword to the catalogue of the publishing house printed in 1919 will remain an eternal witness to the artistic energy which was aroused by the Great October Socialist Revolution. Gorky conceived the great plan of introducing the Soviet people and Soviet artists to the literature of An tiqtiily, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance and Age of En lightenment and, (irst and foremost, the nineteenth and twentieth century classics. "All the books together will con stilute an extensive compendium of literature over the ages, which will help the reader learn in detail about the origin, writing and decline of schools of literature, the gradual development of poetry and prose, the role played by the literatures of different countries, and, in general, the whole course of the evolution of literature from Voltaire to Analole France, from Richardson to Wells, from Goethe to Ilauplmann and so on.''^^2^^ Gorky believed that the knowl edge and study of world literature would help to develop a feeling of internationalism in the people of the new world. "This publication is the only one of its scope in Europe,'' wrote Gorky. "The honour of having undertaken this enterprise belongs lo the creative energy of the Russian Revolution, which is called a 'rising of barbarians' by its enemies. By committing itself to a cultural task of such scope and importance in its very first year of power under inexpressibly difficult conditions the Soviet people has the right to say that it has built a monument worthy of _-_-_
~^^1^^ V. 1. Lenin, Cvllrclcd Works, Vol. 19, p. 23.
^^2^^ M. Gorky, Ncsobranniye litcraturno-kritichrskiiii' xlah/i (Selected Literary Critical Articles), Gosliti/dat, 1941, p. 'J79.
197 itself.''^^1^^ Gorky was not able lo see his plan through lo the end. His work on it was impeded by the connlry's devastation and his serious illness. But in subsequent years Soviet publishers have gone a long way towards fulfilling Gorky's plan. It is unfortunate Ihat historians of Soviet literature tend to pay little attention to the ideological importance of Gorky's great design in their analysis of the early period, and it did, in fact, play a far more significant role in the development of our art than the nihilistic announce ments of the Prolelkult, which are generally examined in great detail.The relation between socialist realism and the traditions of world literature has been a subject of extensive study by Soviet and foreign specialists alike. Brecht, for instance, borrowed from a wide range of literary traditions, particularly those of the Enlightenment and Shakespeare.^^2^^ lie was influenced by the genre theory of the Enlightenment: the process of making drama epic by the introduction of narrative elements, the intellectual pathos of art, the removal of the action from a definite place or time, new forms of contact with the audience, who may well know the outcome of the action in advance, the tendency of Enlightenment realism lo strip reality of its concreleiicss and not demand from the reader that he identify himself with the action and characters portrayed. At the same time Brecht placed Shakespeare's realism higher than that of the Enlightenment, because it was broader in scope, without intrusive rationalist construction, and forced the spectator to think about the problems by not providing him with ready-made conclusions. However, there were also times when Brecht disagreed with Shakespeare: ordinary people arc just as worthy of the writer's attention as the great of this world. Throughout all this, Brecht remained himself, a great playwright of socialist realism, and not a mere apprentice of Shakespeare or the representatives of the Enlightenment.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Gorky, op. cit., p. 281.
~^^2^^ I. M. Fradkin, "Berloll Brecht and Tradition" in a collection of essays entitled Gcnc:is sotsialislichcskogo realizma v literature strait Zapada (The Birth of Socialist Realism in the Literature of the West), Nauka Publishers, 1965, p. 381.
198The second category is that of national artistic traditions. The question of the significance of these traditions for the development of socialist realism was raised somewhat later than that of the traditions of world art.
The term "socialist realism" was first coined in 1932 and the first detailed exposition of the basic principles underlying it was given at the First Congress of Soviet Writers in 1934. Even at that time our ideological opponents had already claimed that socialist realism had no national roots in the separate countries where it appeared, that it was being forced upon them from outside and that it was a propagandist invention of Moscow, not an artistic method. One still catches echoes of this in somewhat different form in the works of bourgeois writers even today. Take, for example, a book on socialist realism by G. Yermolayev which came out in 1963 in the U.S.A. The author attempts to prove that socialist realism was decreed by Stalin and foisted upon the art of other countries. Quite apart from ignoring the facts, Yermolayev seems to honestly believe that it is possible to persuade progressive writers the whole world over to obey certain canons by means of decrees. What a strange belief Mr. Yermolayev has in the omnipotence of a decree! This, incidentally, also reflects his profound lack of respect for those who make a progressive contribution to culture.
Leading writers and critics were faced with the task of not only parrying the attacks of their ideological opponents, but of working out a theory of socialist realism in general, and its national origins in particular.
In an impassioned speech addressed lo the Second AllUnion Congress of Soviet Writers in 1954 the Brazilian writer, Jorge Amadou, spoke of the national origins of socialist realism. Condemning the over-simplification and schematising of socialist realism, he emphasised that: "The problem of national form is a fundamental one for us, otherwise our books would not be Brazilian and we would be engulfed by meaningless cosmopolitanism. If our books, novels or poetry, are to serve the cause of the revolution they must be Brazilian first and foremost. And this is the guarantee that they wnll also be international.''^^1^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ Second Ail-Union Congress of Soviet Writers, Verbatim Report, 195fi, p. 488.
199 Emacs-File-stamp: "/home/ysverdlov/leninist.biz/en/1969/POMA347/20070812/299.tx" __EMAIL__ webmaster@leninist.biz __OCR__ ABBYY 6 Professional (2007.08.12) __WHERE_PAGE_NUMBERS__ bottom __FOOTNOTE_MARKER_STYLE__ [0-9]+ __ENDNOTE_MARKER_STYLE__ [0-9]+A study of the development of socialist realism in different countries shows thai there is no single recipe for it, each country's development being influenced by its peculiar historical and national characteristics. A particularly important role is played by the specific cultural traditions of the country in question. In Russia, for example, critical realism was highly developed in the past, and its national traditions arc of prime importance for the development of socialist realism, in particular the Tolstoi and Dostoyevsky schools of psychological analysis. This is not the case in Poland and Czechoslovakia where the romantic tradition was very strong. Icelandic writers cannot avoid being influenced by the ancient sagas which make themselves felt in all spheres of the country's culture. The course of modern literature in Korea and Iran is inevitably determined by the century-long traditions of Oriental poetry. The problem of determining the influence of national sources on individual poets is a more complex one. Let us lake Mayakovsky, for example. This original poet appears to have borrowed from all the best traditions of Russian poetry. We catch the strains of Lomonosov's civic fervour, the measured rhythm of Uerzhavin, Pushkin's profound musing on the fate of his country, the romantic poetry of Lermontov, the journalistic lash of Nekrasov and the bewitching, sometimes tragic, lines of Blok.
The third category is that of Soviet literary traditions and the traditions of socialist realism in the socialist countries and the capitalist world.
We are sometimes apt to forget that socialist realism has been with us now for more than six decades and that it has its own history and stages of development, its own traditions. "Surely it is time for us to slop speaking exclusively of the influence which classical traditions have had on us, and to turn to the many and varied traditions of our own Soviet literature which grew up and developed before our very eyes,'' said Konslantin Simonov.^^1^^
Progressive writers the whole world over have a deep respect and devotion for Ihe achievements of Soviet writers. In their articles, letters and speeches they speak of how Soviet literature has opened up a new world for them, _-_-_
^^1^^ St'coml All I'nion Coni/ri'x.i af Soi`it'l Writers, p. 90.
200 given them faith in man and his creative powers, helped them to overcome the trials and tribulations of life and cultivated a sense of collective responsibility for the destiny of mankind.However, the course of progressive foreign literature has shown that a true appreciation of Soviet literary traditions does not come easily. The bright optimism which radiates from the works of the best Soviet writers grows dim if, in place of a genuine understanding of Soviet artistictraditions, there is nothing but thoughtless mechanical imitation of their models, and if foreign writers do not study the specific characteristics of life in their own country and borrow from their own cultural traditions. At the Second Congress of Soviet Writers Amadou, criticising young Brazilian writers in whose work socialist realism was taking its first steps, emphasised how futile it was to simply imitate Soviet literature. The Brazilian critics no doubt had the best intentions in trying to ensure that the characters portrayed by their country's leading writers were as similar as possible to those of Soviet writers. They urged their colleagues to renounce the traditional free verse and replace it by the rhymed verse with fixed metre of Soviet poets and so on. Such an approach to traditions could obviously not produce good results.
Thus Soviet socialist realism cannot serve as a pattern for the development of this method in other countries. Socialist realism in France or Mexico is not obliged to repeat that which has been achieved in the Soviet Union. At the same time it cannot afford to ignore the development of socialist realism both in the Soviet Union and in other countries.
True art is always the discovery of something new. Here one should beware of the dogmatic repetition of old formulae as well as a nihilistic altitude towards the achievements of socialist realism in all the countries where it flourishes.
We have examined briefly the three categories of Iradilions which underly and promote the development of socialist realism. The question may now be asked as to which of them is the most important. The answer to this is simply thai they are all ol equal importance, and that to 201 elevale any one of them above the others could lead, and lias in fart led in the past, to serious errors of judgement. Concentrating on the world classics at the expense of national traditions may result in cosmopolitanism. Limiting oneself to national traditions alone and ignoring the history of world literature reduces the writer's scope and encourages dangerous nationalistic tendencies. Following Soviet traditions to the exclusion of national and world art means the production of feeble imitations. True, great socialist realist art is an organic unity of national and international elements illuminated by the ideas of scientific socialism.
Our ideological opponents do their utmost to try to persuade the public that realism is the blind copying of life, that it rejects the subjective aspect of the artistic view of the world, that it underrates the importance of artistic originality and in so doing encourages imitation and conservatism in both form and content. Modernism, on the other hand, gives full scope for investigation, innovation and originality of form and content.
Is this in fact the case?
The whole history of realism from the Renaissance and Enlightenment to critical and socialist realism disproves these contentions. Respect for traditions (we remember how Pushkin criticised Bestuzhev for his attitude to Zhukovsky: "Why bite the breast that feeds us? Because we have just cut our first teeth?''^^1^^), hatred of imitation (Lessing's unforgettable words: "Shakespeare must be studied, not plundered"^^2^^), love of bold innovation (Mayakovsky's famous line: "Poetry is a constant journey into the unknown'')---these are the basic principles of all true realist art. It is common knowledge that Gorky valued the richness and variety of nineteenth century Russian realism very highly. As early as 1909 he pointed out that a study of Russian classical literature "will astound you by its variety of characters, devices, creative power, thought and rich language.
``Each writer in Russia possessed a keen, individual talent, but they were all united by the same stubborn urge _-_-_
~^^1^^ A. S. Pushkin. Collected Works, Russ. ed., Vol. X, 1958, p. 118.
~^^2^^ Lessing, Hamburg Dramaturgy, New York, 1902, p. 173.
202 to understand, feel and foresee their country's future, the fate of its people and its role 011 earth.'"^^1^^ Continuing to develop this thought Gorky wrote in 1917: "One is filled with pride and joy not only by the abundance of the talent to which Russia gave birth in the nineteenth century, but by its variety, a variety to which the historians of our art have not paid sufficient attention.''^^2^^It is well known that Gorky adopted a mistaken approach to certain political, philosophical and aesthetic problems in the early years of the Soviet state. In particular, he took the view that the people's one and only need at that time was for the heroic romantic theatre (of Schiller. Hugo, etc.). In this Gorky was abandoning his former position, and Lenin corrected him. In a conversation with Gorky in 1919 Lenin voiced his disagreement with him when he said: "We need lyricism as well, Chekhov and the ordinary truth.''^^3^^ Gorky had allowed himself to be carried away by one form of drama, one artistic school, and it was Lenin who reminded him of the richness and variety of artistic traditions, all of them precious to the sons and daughters of the new revolutionary order.
There are many profound remarks on innovation in realism to be found in Lev Tolstoi's articles, notes, letters and reflections on art. These works, which have not yet been studied in sufficient detail, are extremely important for us. Firstly, they are the product of the vast literary experience of one of the world's greatest writers. Secondly, Tolstoi wrote these articles after a careful study of countless works on aesthetics from different historical periods. Thus, Tolstoi's reflections on art represent an attempt on the part of this great writer to summarise the history of aesthetic thought. It is, of course, true that Tolstoi's philosophical, moral and religious views of that period left their imprint on his aesthetic views and led him to certain paradoxical conclusions, but they did not prevent him from expressing some extremely profound ideas on this subject. Finally, Tolstoi the artist and Tolstoi the thinker succeeded in penetrating to the very core of many of the _-_-_
~^^1^^ Maxim Gorky, Colluded Works, Russ. ed., Vol. 24, 1953, p. 66.
~^^2^^ Ibid., p. 184.''
^^3^^ Vnsily Kiichnlov, "An Aclor's Memoirs'', Trud, June 21, 1936.
203 mysterious processes of art and discovering laws which have since become the common properly not only of c. rilical realist writers but also of socialist realism.In 1889 Tolstoi began work on his article entitled " Concerning Art''. "A work of art,'' wrote the author at the beginning of the article, "is good or had depending on whal the artist says, how he says it and the extent to which he is sincere.''^^1^^
In the proofs of 24 March. 1889 the following argument appears: "What the artist says will deserve the name of art only if he sees, understands and feels something which no one else has ever seen, understood or felt. . . .''^^2^^ If one were to cut short the quotation at this point it would win the approval of modernists of every shape and colour, for whom the whole purpose of art consists in the discovery of something new, any subjective truth, the reflection of "the inner model of the world.'' Tolstoi, however, did not slop here, but went on to say: "...but at Ihe same lime it must he something which is necessary, relevant and pleasant for Ihe whole of mankind to see, understand and feel. For the artist to be able to see, understand and feel something of this kind, it is essenlial that he should be morally developed and, therefore, not live an exclusively selfish life, but take part in Ihe life of mankind as a whole.''
Thus Tolsfoi cslablishes Ihe relalion between the subjective truth discovered by the artist and the social development of mankind. Tolstoi rejects subjectivism in art, but does not reject creative subjectivity, Ihe originality of the artist.
Himself a bold explorer, Tolstoi haled imitators. In his notebook for 1871 there is a delightful passage about writers who base Iheir writings not on life, bul on earlier literary models copying them mechanically. "There is a literature of literature,'' wrote Tolstoi, "in which the subject is not life itself, but the literature of life. . .. There is a poetry of poetry and so on, in music, painting, sculpture and _-_-_
~^^1^^ L. N. Tolsloi, Collected Works, Russ. ed., Vol. 30, 1951, p. 213.
^^2^^ Russkii/e Pisaleli o Literature (Russian Writers on Literature) Sovietsky Pisnlel Publishers, 1939, Vol. 2, p. 100.
204 writing, in which the object of poetry is not life, but earlier poetry.''^^1^^In his criticism of imitators Tolsloi defended arl which opens up new manifestations of life and does not limit itself even to a brilliant retelling of that which has already been opened up by other artists. This is one of the f' undamenlal laws of arl. Here Tolstoi was not alone. The acknowledged leader of Ihe naturalisls, Emile Zola, with whom many Russian writers of that time were involved in a tierce dispute, devoted a special section to this question in his articles On the Novel. He speaks scornfully of writers lacking originality. "These writers assimilate the style tloating around them. They snatch ready-made phrases flying about in the air. Their phrases never emerge from themselves and they write as if they are being dictated to from behind.'' They do not, of course, actually steal whole pages or even phrases from their fellow writers: "However, although they do not copy, instead of a writer's mind Ihey have an enormous storehouse full of hackneyed phrases and trite expressions, a sort of mediocre current style.''^^2^^ What an apl descriplion! "Mediocre current style" is the absence of any style at all, the disappearance of artistic originality, the evaporation of individual experience and thought, if they exisled in the first place, into trite formulae. A writer who uses "mediocre currenl style" cannot produce a work of art. His wriling will be a mere imitation of art. It is to people such as these, rather than to the critics of modernism, that this remark by one of the leading spokesmen of surrealism, Andre Breton, should be directed: "They are victims of the strange disease of trying to reduce the unfamiliar to something familiar instead of boldly striking out on new paths.''^^3^^
Today the socialisl realist writer, reflecting new reality from a different ideological position, pondering on the future development of arl and solving completely different problems from those which faced Tolstoi and Zola, does _-_-_
~^^1^^ L. N. Tolstoi, Collected Works. Russ. ed.. Vol. 48, pp. 112--13.
^^2^^ Emile /olii, Le roman experimental, Paris, 1880, p. 'J14.
^^3^^ The nil-Ill of Socialist Realism in Ihe Literature of the Weal, Naukii Publishers, 1905. p. 201).
205 not proceed from a set o!' rigid formulae, hut is guided by the organic laws oi' art discovered by the classics of world literature, in particular, the law of the dialectical unity of tradition and innovation. The aesllielic. quest of socialist realist writers is enriched by the vital traditions of the aesthetic thought of the past.The mere desire to be original has nothing in common with genuine innovation.
The English writer. Jack Lindsay, once remarked that socialist realism is the, artistic method which develops the specific laws of true art most fully and consistently, in particular the law of revealing the unknown side of life. The socialist realist writer has achieved his aim if the reader says of his book: Yes, it was all just like that. I know it all. I can recognise what I have seen with my own eyes. Arid yet it's just as if I were seeing it all for the first time from the inside and really understanding what it is and where it is leading. The socialist realist writer aims not only at showing what is new in life, but at pinpointing the lines of its future development.
At the meeting of poets in Rome in 19'')7 the Soviet poet Leonid Marlynov made some most penetrating observations about socialist realist innovation. '"There is a saying that 'repetition is the mother of learning'. Agreed, but at the same time it is the deadly enemy of art because a work of art should be unrepeatable. Traditions must be continued not imitated. Every live literature is a scene of constant struggle going on between the continuers and the imitators in which the conlinucrs, and through them life itself, win the day.''^^1^^ Marlynov based his argument on the solid traditions of the Soviet classics led by Gorky and Mayakovsky. "Our writing must remain individual in form and be socialist, Leninist in its basiccontent.''^^2^^ Thus Gorky summed up the task of Soviet writers in a nutshell, whilst Mayakovsky called for "more good poets of all kinds''.
Our ideological opponents frequently attacked socialist realism on this score. They were especially fond of asking one particular question which was supposed to reduce us _-_-_
~^^1^^ Inoslrdiuwija lAteruliira No. 4, 1953, p. 208.
^^2^^ Maxim Gorky, Collected Wnrk.t, Russ. cd.. Vol. 27, 1958, p. 340.
206 to total confusion: can the idea of the artist's creative originality be combined with the fact that he is expected to feel responsible to the people and that his art must serve socialist ideals? The history of Soviet literature with its wide variety of national, genre and stylistic forms provides the answer. Yes, they can be combined. Soviet literature has now more than half a century behind it. With the lips of one of its best poets it has given a most precise definition of the general attitude of its writers: "Let us say that I am a leader of the people and at the same lime their servant.''Certain participants at the meeting of European writers in Leningrad attempted to persuade Soviet writers that they were following the wrong path. In this connection it may be relevant to quote from a speech made by one of the leaders of the "roman nouveau" movement in France, Alain Robbc-Grillet. He maintained that Soviet writers limit themselves to those political, social and moral values which are already known, whereas Western writers arc concerned with the discovery of new values. Robbe-Grillet had a healed discussion with Konslanlin Simonov, who compared the writer's role to that of a pilot responsible for the lives of his passengers. Robbe Grillet shifted the argument to a dilferent plane by contending that the pilot knows his destinalion, whereas "the writer does not know where he is going".^^1^^
Here is the root of the problem: our divergence of opinion with Ihe modernists on the question of whether creative freedom can be combined with knowledge of the fundamental laws 01 social development, or whether these laws restrict the artistic quest.
The answer to these questions was provided long ago by Lenin, Soviet writers and specialists on literature and the socialist realist writers of the whole world. The dogmatic, arbitrary approach to the arts which was a product of the cult of personality undoubledly restricted the artist, occasionally turning his "journey into the unknown" into a journey with a rigid timetable. In spite of all this, however, the cull of personally did not succeed in halting the _-_-_
~^^1^^ Quoted from InoslrantKifia Litemtiira No. II. 1953, p. 226.
207 development <>!' Soviet art although il did a certain amonnl of harm to it.And it was not writers who, as Hobbc -Grillel put it, "do not know where they are going" who wrote the poem Good, the novels And Quid Flows I lie Dun, Ordeal and The Russian Forest and the plays Lijiibou Yuroudija and I'laton Krechct and the poem Space Beyond Space. The discoveries made by the classics of Marxism-Leninism in the field of social development laws did not restrict these great artists but rather stimulated their quest, did not pro vide them with a ready-made answer to all the complicated problems of life, but urged them on to a more profound investigation through art of that sphere of spiritual culture which Gorky referred to as the science of mankind.
An analysis of all these complex questions shows that the problem of tradition and innovation embraces ahnosl all aspects of the theory of literature as a whole and the theory of socialist realism in particular. Although Soviet specialists have given a considerable amount of attention to all these questions, a great deal still remains to be investigated. And investigations of this complexity are bound to have their share of error and miscalculation.
Let us take one individual, but extremely typical example.
The practice has grown up here of marking the anniversary of great classical writers by publishing some of their most important works, or extracts from them, in newspapers or magazines, together with a critical review of the work in question. This is an excellent practice, lei it be said.
In 1965 Literaturnai/a Gazeta celebrated the 125th anniversary of the birth of Emile Zola. The issue for 15 April, 1965 carried a new translation of Zola's article "The Sense of Reality" which originally appeared in his collection of essays entitled On the Novel published in 1880. The appearance of the new translation was most welcome, since Zola's theoretical essays have not been republished here for many decades. At the same lime this very fad places considerable responsibility on those who undertake the task of selecting from and commenting on this greal writer's work.
The very introductory comment puts the reader on his 208 guard. It was, perhaps, an excess of enthusiasm for the anniversary which led the author to maintain that Zola was the first West European writer to porlray the hard lot of the working class as a social tragedy. The author also praises Zola for aiming only at a truthful, just representation of the facts, and not attempting to be novel and original. But can these two ideas really be separated? Is it not precisely the discovery of new truths that constitutes the writer's strength? Is originality really such a sin? We have already quoted above from a passage in Zola's "Originality of Expression" where he deprecates the use of the trite formulae of mediocre current style and demands that Ihe artist be novel and original. Why confuse the reader in this way?
The author of this short introductory commentary then proceeds to depict romanticism in the worst possible light. He praises Zola for "no longer being able to draw inspiration from the fantasy and subjective anarchy of the romantics''. Which romantics does he have in mind? Anyone with the slightest knowledge of romanticism is aware that it is an extremely complex phenomenon, that Byron, Pushkin, Lermontov, Heine and Hugo were all romantic writers, that this movement had considerably more to it than mere fantasy and subjective anarchy, and that twelve years after the original publication of the article reprinted in Lileralurnaya Gazela, the early romantic revolutionary works of Gorky made their appearance.
Finally, the author maintains without any reservations that Zola battled for the realistic traditions of Stendhal and Balzac. This is not entirely the case. As well as following in the footsteps of Stendhal and Balzac, Zola also criticised them for their concessions to romanticism. Zola saw Stendhal as his teacher, it is true, but as a teacher who was far from perfect. He considered, for example, that Stendhal in his descriptions laid insufficient emphasis on the importance of environment in the formation and expression of character. Stendhal, he claimed, was too much of an intellectual: he did not describe the whole man, only his head. He chose to porlray personages with exceptional characteristics, ignoring ordinary people, etc. Zola's critical attitude towards Stendhal and Balzac has its strong and weak points.
__PRINTERS_P_209_COMMENT__ 14--862 209This is followed by Zola's article itself, which concentrates entirely on the contrast between reality and fantasy. "To be aware of reality is to be aware of nature and depict it as it really is,'' he writes. This is not only a protest against subjective anarchy in art, but a clear failure to appreciate the merits or artistic fantasy on the part of the leader of the naturalist school. The introductory commentary does not examine the divergences between Zola's theoretical writing and his own work. It gives the impression, moreover, that the aesthetic views put forward by Zola in the article in question correspond to our own. Con sequently, all this material about Zola, which appeared in one of the most widely read Soviet newspapers, has a direct bearing on our discussion of tradition and innovation and analysis of realism. Consciously or unconsciously the author supports the dogmatic view that "learn from life" means making a blind copy of the facts of life. Those who accept this narrow view of art interpret Chernychevsky's famous injunction on the reflection "of life in the forms of life itself" as meaning that a work of art must reproduce down to the last detail that which these shortsighted people see in life. It is only natural that such cril ics should be highly suspicious of Faust, The Demon, and "Lost in Conference" since these works do not correspond with their ideas of true realism. Basically they saw socialist realism as the most primitive form of naturalism. For them art is not a special form of spiritual human activity, but a means of illustrating and explaining definite social ideas. This primitive conception of art was accompanied by the most arbitrary voluiilarislic judgements.
Mere we come up against one of the most important questions in our aesthetics: the role of symbolism, in its broadest sense, in art.
In his synopsis of Feuerbach's Lectures on the Essence of Religion Lenin indicated his agreement with the following remark made by the German materialist philosopher: "Art does not require the recognition of its works as reality.''^^1^^
_-_-_^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. ,'!8, p. 711.
210The problem of the symbolic representation of life is one which has occupied many of the acknowledged masters of socialist realism. Konstantin Fedin, for example, entitled a whole section of his article "Literary Chats" as follows: "Truth to Life and Artistic Fantasy.'' lie maintains that if the artist aims at giving an exact replica of life he will never be able to achieve this, since he is incapable of reproducing it in alt its fullness. The artist always selects the most important features. The process of portraying in a book that which he has seen in life inevitably involves disturbing certain proportions. "Take the phenomenon of time,'' he writes. "Even the most devoted realist finds that he cannot portray it in the same way as we experience it in nature. Only the novelist attempts to render it in his writing. Real time has nothing in common with time as it appears in the novels of Tolstoi, Chekhov, Balzac or Flaubert. Lack of verisimilitude is unavoidable in art, and the more a novelist is able to create the illusion of reality, the greater an artist he is.''^^1^^
There is a varying degree of verisimilitude among individual artists and even within the same artistic method. Fedin analyses how Balzac and Tolstoi succeed in creating the illusion of reality, by comparing how the two writers portray death. In Balzac's novels the dying heroes frequently utter their last testament in long speeches (in La Recherche dc I'absolu, for example, the dying Madame Klaas admonishes her daughter and learned maniac husband). But the reader is convinced by Balzac's realism. "Any description of dying by Tolstoi is a masterpiece of realism compared with the French writer's scenes. Yet it is still only the illusion of reality. Even the death of Anna Karenina is full of illusory devices when one begins to compare it with real life.''^^2^^ Fedin underlines one of the most important aspects of art: in a work of art one always detects or is aware of the author as well as the characters and events. Art, as it were, provides the reader with two types of information. "It follows that no realist writer can or should avoid illusion,'' writes Fedin in conclusion. _-_-_
~^^1^^ K. A. Fedin, Collected Works, Russ. ed., Vol. 9, 1962, p. <>35.
~^^2^^ Ibid.
211 ``Illusion is in the nature of art, realism in its 'pure form' is abstraction.'' This is how one of the leading Soviet writers presents the problem of illusion in art.The extent to which art is illusory is a complex question. This depends on the method employed. Realism abounds with that type of illusion referred to by Fedin, which is sometimes called illusion of the first order, whereas romanticism makes far wider use of it, permitting a "dual polentialising of the image" as Vorovsky so aptly put it. Romantic illusion is sometimes called illusion of the second order. There may also be different degrees of illusion within the same method (viz. Fedin's example of the portrayal of death in the works of Balzac and Tolstoi). Occasionally illusion is employed as a conscious artistic device by devoted realists (viz. Mayakovsky's "Lost in Conference" and Brecht's plays).
Some critics in rejecting the over-simplified interpretation of realism go to the other extreme of asserting that illusory techniques are the basic feature of all modern art. In so doing they not only limit the theory of socialist realism which has never restricted itself to the portrayal of life in this or that form exclusively, be it ``verisimilitude'' or ``illusion'', but occasionally make concessions to modernism, which lends towards a subjeclivist distortion of life by portraying it with the help of illusory devices. Soviet writers have frequently drawn attention to the dangers of such an approach. It is well known that Konstanlin Fedin is an ardent defender of artistic imagination and had many a heated discussion with Gorky on this subject. Even in 1948 just after completing his two novels Early Joys and No Ordinary Summer he accused his opponent in "Letter to a Post-Graduate" of belittling the importance of imagination in art and exaggerating the role of prototypes, lie also stressed that he saw the "ratio of imagination and `fact' in his own work as 98 to 2'',^^1^^ and that he could only create true works of art by taking (light from a lot of familiar facts, into the "expanse of the imagination''. This consistent champion of the artistic imagination, however, wrote in the fifties that "fantasy must not remove the image from the logic of life or turn it into _-_-_
~^^1^^ K. A. Fedin, Collected Works, Russ. ed., Vol. 9, 1902, p. 5f>8.
212 phantasmagoria. Fantasy does not exclude logic. On the contrary, the more it is infused with logic the freer is its range''.^^1^^Realists and modernists differ in their attitude towards the role of illusion and that of artistic imagination in art. The realist bases his work, regardless of the measure of illusion in it, on real life, whereas the modernist bases his entirely on the artist's subjective idea of life using this criterion to justify all manner of subjective distortion of life.
Socialist realism gives the modern writer far more literary scope than any other artistic method. This was recently very aptly summed up by Anna Seghers as follows: "Hegel wrote that the German word aufhcben has three meanings: firstly, 'to finish', secondly, 'to preserve', 'to continue', 'to make use' of a good heritage, and, thirdly, 'to raise', 'to put on a higher level'. All these three meanings are important for us writers.''^^2^^ All these three meanings, we would add for our part, arc pointers to a solution of the complex problem of tradition and innovation in art.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Ibid., p. 634.
~^^2^^ Neue Deutsche Litcratur No. 8, 19G3, S. 59.
[213] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Mikhail OvsyannikovThe artistic image is the central concept of aesthetic theory. Nevertheless in recent years there lias been a tendency in bourgeois aesthetics to renounce the analysis of this concept on the grounds that thinking in terms of artistic, images is not a specific characteristic of art. The existence of mm figurative, i.e., abstract or, more precisely, non-objective art is quoted in support of this argument. Instead of the analysis of the artistic image, bourgeois aestheticians put forward the problems of the structure of a work of art (phenomenology, existentialism), artistic or aesthetic, language (neo-posilivism, semantics) or the creation and perception of artistic works (neo-frcudism and the modern forms of experimental psychological aesthetics influenced by information theory). This rejection of the image as the decisive feature of art is partially determined by the development of artistic construction. The urge to demolish the demarcation line between art as a form of social consciousness and an industrial product has found wide support abroad (and echoes of it may be found in Soviet writing on aesthetics). This involves the attempt to see even the machine as a form of artistic reproduction of reality (it is stated that the machine is also a work of art). Others maintain that imagery is not an essential distinguishing characteristic of art. Such an interpretation naturally docs away with the ideological significance of art and with its commitment to class and party.
In short, the problem of the artistic image has become a most controversial one. If we accept that the artistic image does not determine the nature of art, it follows that the question of realism ceases to have any significance, 214 and that any form of non-objective art has the right, even the pre-emptive right, to call itself ``new'' or "the latestform of art'', because it allegedly gives fullest expression to the dynamics of the new age and its technological and scientific progress, and opens up a new ``view'' of the world in the light of mathematical, physical and cybernetic data.
Can one really accept the view that modern art has made a radical break with imagery and should be based on new principles? The experience of the last fifty years provides the answer to this question. How many different versions of ``non-figurative'' art we have been offered: expressionism, symbolism, tachisme, optical art, kinetic art and so on and so forth. But all these ``isms'' have burst into nothing like soap bubbles. The emergence of pop-art was a reaction against non-objective art, but it is not capable of solving the problem of imagery, or `` figurativeness'' as it is referred to in the West. One really cannot be expected to accept the extremes of the popartists as art.
The attempt to do away with imagery has been going on for fifty years which has led to a deterioration of art. Art is incapable of renouncing imagery because imagery is its very soul, its essence and its main characteristic. Art loses its essence to the extent to which it ceases to constitute the comprehension of the real world through artistic images. True art capable of reflecting the infinitely complex changing patterns of the modern world must be figurative. The process of thinking in terms of images has developed over many centuries, and its cultural achievements are indestructible no matter what form of attack may be launched against them.
For a variety of reasons bourgeois aestheticians have given way to the dangerous tendencies of modernism, treating all the latest gimmicks with the utmost seriousness. It must be mentioned, however, that a considerable number of bourgeois specialists are beginning to be concerned about the future of modern art. They have witnessed the disappearance of aesthetic criteria and their replacement by a form of artistic charlatanism. It is unfortunately the case that in seeking to justify the dehumanisation of art bourgeois aestheticians themselves lose any sort of criterion.
215However, new forces are growing up in bourgeois so ciely, opposed to this process of the de-humanisation of art. The working class and progressive intellectuals are doing a great deal to save artistic values in conditions where rampant commercialism and reactionary politics are prepared to destroy all that is human for the sake of the mercenary interests of a small clique of money-- grubbing individuals.
The arguments which rage over highly abstract aesthetic problems turn out to be of an intensely political nature. More than half a century ago Lenin expressed this idea in his book, Materialism and Empirio-criticism. where he analysed the epistemological discussions of the beginning of the twentieth century.
The problem of the artistic image must be considered in strictly defined philosophical terms. It would be a grave error to isolate it from general philosophical problems.
Marxists solve the problem of the artistic image on the basis of the theory of reflection. This theory is often presented to the foreign reader in distorted form. For this reason it appears relevant to say a few words about it here.
The theory of reflection is the dialectic materialist theory of cognition. It is based on the premise that matter has an objective reality independent of our consciousness, thinking or senses. Lenin wrote, "Our sensation, our consciousness is only an image of the external world, and it is obvious that an image cannot exist without the thing imaged, and that the latter exists independently of that which images it."^^1^^
Consciousness is secondary in relation to reality on two counts: firstly, it is the product of development and a property of matter, and secondly, it is reality which forms our sensations, perceptions, ideas, etc. This epistemological premise is applied by Lenin to the analysis of social consciousness. "Consciousness reflects---this is the basic premise of all materialist philosophy,'' he wrote.
The process of reflecting the external world is an active, dialectic one. From the elementarv forms of the reflection _-_-_
~^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 14, p. 69.
216 of reality, sensations and perceptions, man proceeds by means of working on this sense data to the formulation of scientific concepts, laws, categories, etc. Cognition is the infinite process of approaching absolute truth. The nature of human thought is such that it is capable of providing us. and docs in fact provide us. with absolute truth which is the product of the sum of relative truths. Each stage in the development of science adds new grains to this sumtotal of absolute truth, but the frontiers of truth in each scientific premise are relative, sometimes extended and sometimes compressed by the growth of knowledge. From the point of view of the theory of reflection the extent to which our knowledge can approach objective, absolute truth is historically conditioned, but the existence of this truth and the fact that we arc approaching it is unconditional. Consequently, the reflection of reality does not mean a passive reproduction of it. Lenin emphasised: "The reflection of nature in man's thought must be understood not `lifelessly', not `abstractly', not devoid of movein c n t, not without contradictions, but in the eternal process of movement, the arising of contradictions and their solution.''^^1^^ In this connection Lenin drew attention to the tremendous importance of imagination, which is necessary not only for the poet but for the mathematician as well. Imagination is present in simple, primary generalisations. But it must be grounded in reality, i.e., it must be a specific form of the reflection of reality and not rise above it.Man apprehends reality as a social being. For this rea son his consciousness cannot be a dead mirror passively reflecting the real world. In his apprehension of reality man strives constantly to influence the course of its development. He takes his stand on the side of this or that class or social force. Thus the process of apprehending shows the altitude of this or that theoretician or spokesman to class and party.
According to the theory of reflection, the basis, aim and criterion of knowledge is the social, historical experience of mankind.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Ibid., Vol. 38, p. 195.
217These are the, basic, premises of the theory of reflection. They are the initial philosophical and methodological prc requisites for the solving of aesthetic questions. Seen in the light of the Marxist-Leninist theory of reflection, aesthetic feelings, tastes, ideals, theories of art, etc., are all different forms of the mastery of reality.
Since aesthetic consciousness is a specific form of the apprehension of the real world, we are justified in speaking of its truth or falseness. Here again the criterion is social, historical experience. Here, in specific form, we sec progression from awareness derived through the senses to generalisation. Imagination plays a highly significant role in this process. The aesthetic consciousness is active since it is linked with the needs and aspirations of certain classes and social groups. The closer a person is linked to life, reality and the progressive forces in history, the richer is his aesthetic consciousness.
What is the relevance of these general philosophical premises to the understanding of art as a whole and the artistic image in particular?
From this point of view art is a specific form of the reflection of reality. This reflection will assume a different aspect in realistic, romantic and naturalist art, but will remain a reflection. It will also differ in poetry, sculpture, architecture, painting, dancing and acting, but again il will be a reflection.
The reflection of reality is a basic characteristic of art. At the same time, however, it is similar to the reflection of reality in the sciences.
It is often argued that the difference between the image and the idea lies in the fact that the former is concrete and the latter abstract. This distinction is not a valid one, however, since it is not the idea alone that is abstracted from many aspects of reality. The artistic image is also an abstraction of certain features of reality. It is not, and never can be, an exact repetition and an absolutely complete replica of reality. It inevitably reproduces only certain aspects of reality. This explains the futility of the naturalists' feeble attempts to compete with reality itself in their efforts to give an absolutely faithful portrayal of it.
As Hegel remarked, this would be like a worm trying to catch up an elephant. There is yet another aspect to this 218 question. The fact that the artistic reflection of reality may attain maximal concreteness does not mean that the idea is entirely abstract. Scientific concepts also possess a certain degree of concreteness.
It follows that there is no absolute distinction in the degree of concreteness between the image and the idea, although the image is, of course, characterised by a comparatively greater concrclcness than the idea. This higher degree of concreteness results from the aims and methods of selecting the aspects of reality reflected.
The principles of such a selection are characterised by the fact that the aspects chosen relate to the sensual qualities of the given phenomenon, visual or audile, with the result that these aspects, which act on the senses, are capable of giving a stronger impression of real, integral life, than those aspects reflected by the idea. It is precisely Ihis "sensual note" that is so important in the image. But again this should not be seen as an absolute. Scientific concepts arc also capable of acting upon man's senses (viz. certain concepts in Marx's Capital).
The image is distinguished by the fact that it does not make use of theoretical, logical, experimental, statistic and the other forms of scientific thinking in the reflection of reality, but reproduces the essential, general traits through the medium of the senses.
A photographer or reporter can also depict certain aspects of life and convey them through the medium of the senses, but here the product will not be an artistic image because we are dealing with a photograph of reality, and the artistic image is a subjective image of the objective world. In the artistic image objectively real objects and phenomena, seen in their typical environment and at the same time individualised, embody certain essential, important ideas, feelings, aspirations and aims of the given class, society and age. The photograph or essay may be said to approach the artistic image to the extent that they embody a subjective approach on the part of the photographer or writer. Without this subjective element the artistic image does not exist, otherwise we should have to regard any photograph as a work of art.
The illustration is not an image either. It is always subject to that which is general and, for this reason, may 219 always be easily replaced. The individual element is not of importance.
This is not the case with the artistic image in which the general is expressed through the individual. The essence of the image lies in the fact that it expresses the unity of the general and the individual in the form of the particular, whereas the idea expresses this unity in the form of the universal. Two important corollaries arise from this distinctive feature of the artistic image:
a) Whereas any scientific theory may be expounded in any form without its content being distorted, the artistic image exists only in the given form, namely, that which was conferred on it by the artist. It is possible to express the ideas contained in Capital in a different form, but not to express say Pushkin's Eugene Onegin in prose, or Tolstoi's War and Peace in poetry, without destroying the artistic image. The image exists only as the given, unrepeatable whole. This explains the importance of the selecting of detail in the process of creating the artistic image. (Thus the following detail is of importance: in Eugene One gin Lensky has already arrived at the spot where the duel is to take place, whilst Onegin is still calmly resting at home. The writer uses this small detail to convey the difference in their characters.) Each individual artistic image is valid only in the given complex of images. It is impossible to conceive of Onegin appearing in War and Peace, for example, or Vronsky in And Quiet Flows the Don;
b) A well-known artistic image cannot become outmoded. A scientific theory may become outmoded, that is, be replaced by a more advanced, broader scientific concept or become a single factor or aspect of a more advanced concept. The relative nature of this or that scientific premise is clearly apparent. Thus, the Russian mathematician Lobachevsky incorporated Euclid's geometry in his new theory of geometry. The artistic image is not capable of being incorporated in this way. Gogol did not supersede Pushkin, just as Tolstoi did not supersede Goncharov, nor Balzac---Shakespeare or Dante, etc.
Consequently, although both art and science reflect reality to a relative extent, this relativity is concealed or veiled in the case of art, and not direct as in science. And so, 220 in the process of the development of art earlier forms, like the Iliad and Odyssey, The Lay of Igor's Campaign and Divine Comedy, do not become single factors in later, more advanced art, but remain vital and significant in their own right and exist side by side with modern works of art and continue to give us aesthetic pleasure. Theories become outmoded, but this is never the case with true artistic images.
The most important characteristic of the image lies in the fact that it is liable to different interpretations. This is a point to which Kant drew attention in his efforts to overcome the limitations of the rationalist aesthetics of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This aspect of the image was turned into an absolute by the romantics, Schelling in particular, who saw the image as the finite expression of the infinite. According to Schelling the image possesses an infinite number of meanings and it is impossible to say which of them is inherent in it.
If we discard the unacceptable agnosticism of the romantics, we are bound to acknowledge that the artistic image is, in fact, liable to different interpretations. In a book entitled The Fundamentals of General Psychology the Soviet psychologist S. Rubinshtein illustrates this point by reference to the metaphor: "My day is done''. This elementary image can be interpreted in the following ways:
a. It clearly refers to something important in the person's life.
b. This important event is a fatal one which has taken place as it were independently of his own will.
c. The speaker is expressing a feeling of bitterness in relation to that which has taken place.
The artistic image gives the impression of reality itself by appearing as a slice of life. In this sense it is manysided, just as life itself is many-sided and inexhaustible.
This is what makes it possible to interpret the artistic image in different ways. Uobrolyubov, for example, drew conclusions from Oblomov of which Goncharov himself was not aware. Russian democratic criticism interpreted The Inspector General in a way which would have been unacceptable to Gogol.
221The true realistic image reproduces life in all its complexity. It reflects not only the general hut the particular which appears to be random, that which lies on the surface of a phenomenon and gives it the appearance of life itself. The random in art is not, of course, the same as the random in life: in art it is the individual expression of natural laws, it is selected by the artist and its purpose is to help to highlight that which is basic and essential (a gun must be fired in the last act if we have already seen it in the first act, said Chekhov).
Only the realistic image is many-sided. In other schools of art this aspect is limited. Moliere's miser is only miserly as opposed to Shakespeare's Shylock. Thus the nature of art finds its fullest expression in the realist method and it is for this reason that we base our theory of art on realism.
Every scientific premise or concept is the expression of essence and, for this reason, liable to a single interpreta tion only. In addition to reflecting that which is general, as mentioned above, the artistic image reproduces, as far as this is possible, direct reality, its random facets, lines and aspects, the totality of which forms a single phenomenon. And although the image is the product of abstraction it takes on the form of reality itself with all its various aspects, facets, properties, characteristics and qualities. It is quite understandable why the realistic image should give a certain scope for different interpretations within limits, of course. Examples of this are Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa, Goethe's Faust, and Shakespeare's Hamlet.
A true work of art is, as it were, a whole world in miniature. Homer's poems, for example, give one a picture of the economy, social structure, aesthetic views and morals of the ancient Greeks.
It follows that the view that artistic images simply convey abstract ideas through the medium of the senses is a false one. This view was held among others by Plckhanov and led him to an incorrect assessment of Ibsen, in whose work he saw not the reflection of reality, but the embodiment of philistinism. Such an approach turns images into copies of copies which, in Plekhanov's case, was connected with his dogmatic interpretation of the theory of cognition.
222It is common to both the image and the idea that they do not claim to repeat reality. Like the image, the idea also discards certain features of the object in question. This only serves to emphasise the impossibility of producing a naturalistic copy of reality. The distinguishing feature of the image is that it not only excludes certain features of the object, but introduces new ones, that is, ones which the object does not, in fact, possess. The idea always draws its content from the properties possessed by the object in question. It must be said, however, that this distinction between image and idea is not an absolute one. In science the juxtaposition of cognizable objects often brings together that which is dissimilar and unidentical. For example, conclusions by analogy.
By portraying phenomena without slavishly reproducing them art succeeds in penetrating deep into the essence of reality. Thus Lessing and Hegel admitted the possibility of anachronism in the depiction of historical events provided, of course, that this served to give a more profound revelation of the logic of history. New features may he added to the object in question only to the extent that they facilitate a more correct, profound reflection of the world, and a more convincing exposure of the essential features of reality in all its complexity, contradiction and constant development.
A few words must be said in this connection about the problem of exaggeration, metaphor and typification.
A. Exaggeration~
Hyperbole is characteristic of art alone. In science and everyday life it is inappropriate, if not positively harmful. If a scout sees three enemy soldiers and then reports that he lias seen 300 or 3,000 this could have extremely unfortunate consequences. In art, however, exaggeration is not only possible, but natural and frequently employed. In this connection Dosloyevsky wrote: "All art is a certain measure of exaggeration, the limits of which, however, must not be exceeded. Portrait painters are highly aware of this. Say, for example, that the original has a rather large nose. In order to produce the most striking likeness the nose must be made just a little longer. But after this the slightest exaggeration will lead to caricature.''
Examples of exaggerations are abundant in folk poetry. 223 It is a device used by writers, painters and composers. Rabelais uses hyperbole to express the idea of Ihe limitless potential of man: his wriling is lull ol titans, not ordinary people. Gogol exclaims: "It is a rare bird that will ily to the middle of the Dnieper''. Mayakovsky made wide use of hyperbole for satirical emphasis. We see it also in Goya's painting and even in music, in the works ol Shostakovich, tor example.
Exaggeration is jusliliable only when it serves as a means of giving a true reflection of the natural laws of reality and when it strengthens the emotional impact of the artistic image.
It always plays a subordinate role and should never be used purely for its own sake. There was a time when hyperbole was considered to be practically the only means of typificalion and its role was widely exaggerated in Soviet art. It was employed indiscriminately and the result was the distortion of reality.
B. Metaphor~
The metaphor is not only a figure of speech which consists in juxtaposing two similar phenomena as, for example: "A bee flies from its wax cell for a tribute from the fields''. This expression is used figuratively. The metaphor is essentially a concealed comparison in which the second element oi the things compared is preserved. The use of metaphor in science is not permitted. Logicsees the use of metaphor as a violation of clarity and reasoned argument. What use are such expressions to science as "The lion is the king of beasts" or "The eyes are the windows of the soul''. Art, on the other hand, is inconceivable without the use of metaphor. There are even whole works of art which consist of one long metaphor, such as Pushkin's famous poem "The Three Springs''.
The metaphor is an organic part of the artistic arsenal of means and devices.
One characteristic feature of the artistic image is its aesthetic measure. Creating in accordance with the laws of beauty means mastering things and phenomena in conformity with their general and specific nature and with the inherent objective regularity of their development, taking them as they are. It is therefore natural that in works of art we are concerned with such categories as 224 rhythm, harmony, symmetry, grace, melody and so on. Aesthetic measure is a characteristic feature of the artistic image in that it constitutes an essential ingredient of all aesthetic mastery of reality.
As a rule the image contains the element of appraisal, whereas the idea simply establishes that which is general and natural. It is, of course, also true that science sometimes provides an appraisal; Capital does not merely reflect the law of the development of capitalism, but expresses Marx's altitude towards capitalist society. The idea, however, does not lose its scientific importance if it does not contain this critical element, whereas the image ceases to be artistic when it fails to pronounce a verdict on reality.
This criticism need not be given direct expression by the artist. It may be carefully veiled, but it is always there.
Criticism in the image takes the form of aesthetic categories and is always of an emotional nature. The image stirs us, gives us aesthetic pleasure and appeals not only to our minds but to our emotions. Scientific theories may also give emotional pleasure, but it is not essential that they should do so.
An image which makes no appeal to the emotions is not an artistic one. The educative role of art lies in the fact that it makes everything positive from a moral and political point of view appear elevated, heroic and magnificent, at the same time as portraying everything negative from the point of view of the social ideal as aesthetically unacceptable.
The artistic image propagates this or that idea indirectly. It is not openly didactic (if one excludes such specific genres as the fable, for example). Art which becomes didactic ceases to be art in the strict sense of the word. Art portrays the ideal as something which actually exists, something real. And the more convincing this portrayal, the stronger the effect of the work in question on the mind and feelings of man.
We have dealt with but a few of the aspects of the artistic image. We have not dealt, for example, with the problem of artistic generalisation or typificalion. Without typificalion, of course, the image cannot be realised. The image always conveys that which is general, natural and essential through the particular and individual. We have __PRINTERS_P_225_COMMENT__ 15--862 225 not given detailed consideration lo the problem ol individualisalioii.
If the general is not conveyed through the particular, the artistic image also ceases lo be artistic. Since neither of these questions generally gives rise to argument, we have concentrated on those aspects of the problem which have received less atlenlion. 11 should be clear from the above that the artistic image is an integral quality of true art and thai Hie decline of art is first and foremost the disintegration of the arlisic image. This is where we Marx isls stand, and experience shows thai we are right.
[226] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Sergei MozhnyagunWhat is modernist art? Is it an expression of spiritual exhaustion, a symptom of the "destructive urge" or the first bold step to a "new Renaissance" and an appeal lo the "generations to come"? For about eighty years now bourgeois philosophers, historians and art crilics have been raising Ihis question, and so far nol one of them has succeeded in giving a more or less coherent answer. Bui maybe they prefer Ihe agony of uncertainly lo Ihe harsh Iruth.
Some of them declare lhal modernism is like the " innocence of Ihe beast striving for freedom from all culture''. Is this a censure? It would seem so. Yel whenever modernism is altackcd from the ``left'' these same crilics spring to its defence, declaring it to be a meaningless but essential product of historical progress. They even claim thai modernism alone offers Ihe possibilily of cullural progress, since il caters for the needs of "complex individuals''. The masses are dismissed as being indifferent to cullure and hostile lo Ihe arts. "The culture of the masses is a denial of culture,"^^1^^ the champions of modernism declare. Bourgeois ideologists who scorn the culture of the masses fluctuate between viewing modernist art as a symptom of regression and decline and hailing il as a movement thai is ahead of its lime, avant-gardism which is beyond the understanding of the ``anti-culture'' masses.
Thomas Munro, Honorary President of the American Society for Aesthetics, sees avant-gardism as a rejection of _-_-_
~^^1^^ Dfr Arcliitckt, March 1904, p. (>7.
227 rigid views and forms. Formerly, he says, painting was subordinated to Hie laws of perspective and colour, whereas now Hie painter splits up the various components ol I'orm and specialises in one ol them such as line or colour, etc. "He combines different aspects of things as seen from different points of view at different moments, thus giving an impression of shilling instability.... Avant-garde poetry likewise lends lo avoid steady meter and rhyme as well as clear language. It prefers ambiguity, fleeting impressions and obscure suggesliveness. Ficlion and drama lend lo avoid a definite plot as a framework of action, as well as the depiction of stable characters; instead they lend lo stress psychological change and the instability of human relations. Thus the boundaries between reality and illusion are pro gressively blurred,"^^1^^ Munro concludes.Why should these destructive tendencies be regarded as progressive? Thomas Munro sees them as an indication that the arlisls representing modern bourgeois art have "lost their nerve''. Yet in spile of this he regards modernism as a "romantic-revolutionary movement away from op pressive rules and centralised authority.... This may open the way to new discoveries ... and new kinds of aestheticexperience".^^2^^
This implies that the quest of modernism is the entirely negative one of revealing the possibility of "gelling nowhere''. The assumption that the destruction of artistic form is a "new kind of aesthetic experience" is surely absurd.
Recently attempts have been made lo pass olf avantgardism as a social movement as well as an aesthetic experience. Camilla Gray, for instance, claims that the Russian formalists, the ``nichevoki'', non-objectivisls, painters of the "Knave of Diamonds" and "Donkey's Tail" groups were the forerunners and the prophets of the 1917 Revolution. Together with them, writes Miss Gray, "from all over Weslern Europe artists looked lo Russia for the realisation of their 'new vision', for in communism they saw the answer to the sad isolation of the artist from society _-_-_
~^^1^^ Thomas Munro, Evolution in Hie Arts, <ind Other Theories of Culture History, New York, 19<>4, p 21.
~^^2^^ Ibid.
228 which the capitalist economy had introduced".^^1^^ The period of "heroic communism" (1917 22), i.e., the Civil War, it is fashionable to assert, was the most fruitful because official support was given to arlisls such as Kandinsky, Malevieh, Gabo and other champions of Western `` revolutionary'' ideas (Hie concept of "art lor art's sake'').What happened later? Miss Gray explains that the ideas of ``progressive'' Europe did not manage lo withstand the onslaught of ``backward'' Russia. Nationalist, Slavophil conception of art (art as a means of social change) gained the upper hand over Europeanism. This, she claims, happened because the Bolsheviks were materialists. Faced with the dilemma of choosing between Shakespeare and a pair of boots, they decided in favour of the boots. The New Economic Policy was introduced and the bourgeoisie resurrected. It soon began to patronise the arts, unlike the penniless government, encouraging a return to the reactionary forms of nineteenth century realism. Russian art began to preach the special "mystical mission of isolated Russia''. Such conditions compelled the representatives of "intellectual liberalism'', i.e., Kandinsky, Gabo and a few others, to leave Russia.
The pendulum of history has swung tragically backwards.
A review of Miss Gray's book published in the magazine Art in America reads as follows: "Between 1863 and 1922 Russian painting experienced a brief flowering which, culminating in the work of Tallin, Malevieh, Gabo, Pevsner, inspired Weslern art wilh some of its most courageous and revolutionary ideas.''^^2^^
The period from 1917 lo 1922, when the abstract painters and their patrons (Trotsky is mentioned among the latter) were fighting against realism, is referred to as the "golden age" of Russian art. The magazine sheds tears over the fate of the artists of the socialist realist school branding thorn as ``conservatives''.
Reading this magazine one gets the impression that nothing is dearer to the American bourgeoisie than the inleresls of art inspired by "heroic communism''.
_-_-_~^^1^^ C. driiy. The (let-fit Experiment: Russian Art 1863--1922, London, 19(>'J, p. 'J,j.">.
~^^2^^ Art in America No. 1, Vol. SI, February 1903, p. 120.
229The ``nichevoki'' for whom an ordinary donkey's tail became the instrument and symbol of "creative discovery" arc acclaimed as heroes half a century later. It is made lo appear as though all cultural development originates in the West whore a single style, a single classless form of art is being created. This is why it is being claimed today that the "old story'' of the struggle between bourgeois and proletarian culture is out of date. The new formula is that bourgeois culture contradicts socialist culture only lo the extent that it is isolated from it. This idea has recently been developed wilh special zeal by the English specialist on fine arts, Herbert Read, who says: "Art is one. It always was one in all its cssenlial characteristics.''^^1^^ According to him the unity of world art is determined by the widespread development of technology, means of communication and the press owing to which world art absorbs the features of all races and conditions. "One world, one art: the alternative is a reversal of the present course of history,'' he concludes.^^2^^
Bourgeois ideologists do not deny that modernism springs from a pessimistic philosophy of life, but they object to it being interpreted as the decline of art brought about by the disintegration of capitalist society. Munro, for instance, believes that pessimism is a psychological rather than a social phenomenon. "Pessimism,'' he says, "as a 'tragic sense of life' is to some extent a perennial protest against the inevitable disappointments and frustrations of life in animal bodies on this planet, wherein man's wishes and ideals reach far ahead of his potential attainment under any social order.''^^3^^
Why and in what sense do Ihey "reach far ahead"? Because, according to Munro, man and society are incompatible: one being biological and the other social. The former, man, is more mobile and flexible and therefore always in conflict with the social system whatever it may be. Such an argument is patently speculative and arbitrary. It shows nothing but the author's desire to make his case sound convincing.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Studio International Art, January 1964, p. 10.
~^^2^^ Ibid.
~^^3^^ Thomas Munro. op. cit., p. 103.
230The mask of learning like the masks of innovation, avantgardism, romanticism and revolutionary fervour, are all devices used by the modernists to exploit people's credulity. Sometimes they succeed in finding people naive enough to believe (hem. There must be something lo modernism, these people imagine, otherwise so much would not be written about it. Time and again they begin searching in it for thai ``something'', for the "rational core'', the "elementary particles" of the aesthetic problems of our time, etc. They criticise the ``dogmatism'' and "vulgar sociology" of those who seek lo "explain everything in terms of social conditions''. They themselves prefer to stress the importance of non-social factors, such as 'Technical absolutism'', `` alienation'', etc.
Modernism destroys the norms of arlistic language and de-humanises art, but it is precisely these distorlions and misinlerpretations Ihal are seen by some as an expression of Ihe Irue freedom of Hie arlist and proof of his crealive independence. In fact this ``independence'' is nothing but unrestrained subjective arbitrariness even Ihough some regard the opposition of one's ``ego'' lo objeclive realily as a romantic mutiny, as a protest and 'revolutionary selfassertion" of the individual.
In recent years Franz Kafka's work has been interpreted in this light.
According to Kafka's followers, vulgar sociology sees in his works only the author's deliberate isolation. Sociologists concentrate exclusively on external causes and consequently regard works of art as Ihe automatic product of social influences. But Kafka's world is not merely the expression of a given environment at a certain point in time, because it expresses the ``alienation'' between the individual and society, symptomatic of the industrial era as a whole.
Vulgar sociology, especially in ils ``classical'' sense, never claimed that arl was the product of social forces, bul attempted to prove thai arlistic style was directly determined by Ihe mode of production. This is the principal reason why vulgar sociologists supported the idea of a "single style''. It was they who called modernism "Iwentielh century realism'', seeing it as "Ihe style best suited to the highly 231 developed mechanisation, industrialism and urbanism of Western society".^^1^^ Thus vulgar sociologists ascribed certain positive features to modernism.
Unfortunately certain modern critics of vulgar sociology propound views which are very similar to those which they criticise, inasmuch as they too see a "universal human" element in modernism. Gachcv, for example, maintains that modernist literature is not negative escapism from objective reality but a unique positive expression of that reality, lie thinks that the inarticulate primitivism typical of modern ism is more expressive than the ``cultured'' form and content of realism. He sees modernist "sensuality in revolt" as a tremendously powerful aesthetic force. For him "stream of consciousness" literature is a ``struggle'' against capitalist ``alienation'', etc. In modernist art man is generally depicted as a psychically incoherent being split into separate independent ``egos''. But it is precisely this spiritual disintegration which (lachcv regards, albeit with reservations, as a true reflection of reality. "This break-down of man in the literary image,'' he says, "has an objective basis since it reflects the actual relations between man and capitalist society, for example, the consistent division between physical and mental labour.''^^2^^ Gachcv is not in the least embarrassed by the fact that the consistent division between physical and mental labour began in slave-owning society, while artistic thought of the Ancients was ``normal'', i.e., synthetic.
This argument is developed in greater detail in Yuri Borev's Introduction to Aesthetics. According to the author modernism is the product of the crisis of realism, resulting from its social invalidity. He writes: "The fact thai the aesthetic ideals advanced by realist art were not translated into reality has given birth to the modernist type of artistic thought which rejects traditional thought.''^^3^^ Realism, in Borev's opinion, is both ineffective and useless. And that is why it must be superseded by modernism. " Modernism,'' he says, "is a unique attempt to escape from lethargic art to direct action art.''^^4^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ Vladimir Fric.be, Problemij iskimslmivedrnhjn (Problems of Arl Crilicism), Mosrow-Leiiin#r;i<], 1031, p. 1cS!(.
~^^2^^ Teorin literatury (Tlu-ory of Ijtonilurc). Moscow. 1902. p. 2fi2.
~^^3^^ Y. Horev, Vitrrleniye v cstetiku (Inlroduclion to Acslbflics) p ''10
~^^4^^ Ibid., p. 211.
232There is nothing in this argument which could not be found in any modernist textbook on aesthetics. We could overlook Borev's credulity, but not his attempt to pass off bourgeois conceptions as the latest Marxist view on aesthetics. It is difficult lo understand why Borev, whilst emphasising the inferiority of realism, tries lo "save it" in I lie same breath. He does this in a very strange way, by declaring that realism remains viable because it absorbs the achievements of modernism. "Realism,'' Borev says, ' turned out lo be strong and viable. It managed to absorb the best achievements of modernism, without losing its strong points, namely, completeness and diversity of thought. By digesting these limited discoveries, realism succeeded in adding new depth to its intellectual, psychological and emotional content and in developing new forms (Brecht, Gorky, Eluard, Mayakovsky).''^^1^^ In his evaluation of modernism Borev omits all social and class criteria and this explains the awful muddle in his book. To give a last example of his views, here is one more quotation: "... it is assumed that everything can be explained in terms of the social and class elements of this literary trend (as though because of its complex and contradictory nature modernism does not include the most divergent sociopolitical trends, from anti-fascism to pro fascism, from Catholicism to atheism, from abstract humanitarian and abstract democratic thinking to concrete bourgeois and openly reactionary ideas).'' It appears that modernism is linked neither with capitalist economy nor bourgeois ideology, and Borev is left with no alternative but to see it as a school existing outside class and ideology.
Oilier authors declare that the positive aspects of modernism are to be found in form and that many modernist `` discoveries'' are of importance for the development of modern art. They then proceed to describe modernist techniques: "automatic writing'', poems which sound like baby prattle, coded symbolism.
Strange ``discoveries''! Obviously, it is impossible to produce any real proof. Naturally, nothing valuable, truly poetic can be found when figurative thinking is rejected! The history of modernism is characterised l>v a consistently _-_-_
~^^1^^ Ibid.
233 progressive disintegration of the image: its structure becomes more and more abstract and insipid, it is broken up into its components, being given the form of conditional symbols, and valued only for its ability to appeal to the imagination with some new gimmick. In its attempt to justify the artist's right to deform the image (distort would be the more suitable word), modern bourgeois aesthetics speaks of the need lo create a new mythology.This "neo mythology" is not a religious form of thinking but a poetic convention for the aesthetic interpretation of history and modern social conflicts. Incidentally, modern ism does preserve a connection v, ith religious and mystical thought. The surrealists, for example, do not conceal the fact that their ``mylhs''' are rooted in mysticism. Many of them consider Ilieronymus Bosch to be their spiritual father.
Hieronymus Bosch, the ITemmish sixteenth century painter who combined a lively imagination with the gift of observation and subtle psychologism. was one of the first to give up purely religious painting and begin to look for subjects in the world around him; naturally, lie is no representative of decadence but one of world culture. However, the medieval, mystical, uniquely symbolic in the art of this painter greatly impresses the decadents and this striving towards mysticism is typical of modernist trends.
Unfortunately, some of our critics seem to believe in modernist mythology and see in it a ``discovery'' characteristic of the twentieth century. "Modernist art,'' Shragin wrote, "is the only possible method for the reflection and aesthetic perception of our epoch within the framesvork of bourgeois society and consciousness.''^^1^^ Because, he continues, in the imperialist epoch the inner world of the artist tends to become his on/// and obsolnLe reality. The inner world, i.e., something disassociated from real life, wounded personal feeling, is being turned into something of general and universal validity. Shragin imagines that by advancing this thesis he is rejecting vulgar sociology, whereas in fact he is reasoning along the very same lines.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Voprosi/ Estrliki (Problems of Aeslliclics), Issue R, Moscow, 19R4, p. 259.'
234We could make allowances for Shragin's simple-minded credulity (he quotes the theoreticians of modernism A. Leepa, .1. Sweeney, not the artists, and agrees with them unreservedly). However, it is difficult to understand how a person professing to think in terms of his age can see modernism as its only possible ``reflection'', and fail to notice the phenomenon of socialist realism, which is to be found in bourgeois society but is not the product of hour geois consciousness. How could the realism of Remarque. Boll and Aldington, developing within the framework of bourgeois society, escape his notice?
Naturally, the "word system'', the basic principles of which Shragin describes, has more to it than the statement that modernism is not only an "historical fact" but also "an essential historical product''. (The vulgarisation contained in this statement is so obvious that it would be a waste of lime to refute it.) The system is based on a series of other propositions and concepts which have been the subject of penetrating criticism in the Soviet Union (Yevgeniya Knipovich, Dmitry Zatonsky, Boris Suchkov), the G.D.R. (Alfred Kurclla), Hungary (Stefan Matrai), and Poland (Zolkiewski). But this polemic cannot be considered exhausted. More and more articles are being written lo prove that modernism reflects the changing world, is a new understanding of art, a search for flic ``Zeitgeisl'' (spiril of the time), and the striving for "universal humanism'', the sources of which spring from the French Revolution of 1789 and German classical philosophy (Fichte).
Modern art, these people say, is an expression of nonconformity, of the individual's independence, an assertion of the right to create reality instead of imitating it. Under Ihese conditions, they say, Ihere is no longer any need for the criterion of beauly in relalion lo external reality. Moreover, doubt is thrown upon reality itself. II is defined as a function of the historical development of man, science, technology, social relationships, in brief, as a function of human activily.
The exposition of these ideas is generally accompanied by a comparison between pasl and present.
Is this contrasting of today with yesterday really justified? This question is not easily answered. However, one thing can be said with certainly: not everything in the pasl 235 deserves censure and not everything modern deserves praise. For example, certain authors who formerly recognised objective reality as existing independently of people, now explain it as a product oi' human activity; formerly they spoke of bourgeois and socialist humanism, now they declare themselves champions of "universal humanism''; formerly they recognised the existence of two cultures in the culture of every'nation, now they see in modernism a classless movement, an expression of the universal human "spirit which has acquired new qualities in the age of cybernetics, atomic physics and machines''. Such evolution can be seen in the works of some critics and aeslhelicians. It is difficult to find any "rational cores" in their ``new'' concepts. All these views speak of a desire to com promise with modernism, and portray it as a movement that is "ahead of its time''. In order to reveal the ambiguity and fallacy of this compromise let us analyse the "word systems" that have recently become most popidar.
Is the comparison of art with a snail's shell dogmatism or idle fantasy?
The Austrian writer, Ernst Fischer, says, for example, that "dogmatic Marxists" regard art and literature .. . as a kind of snail's shell, as the product of given historical and social conditions, and nothing else. "Each social class or social system,'' he writes, describing the views of those whom he has christened ``dogmatists'', "carries its own snail's shell on its back, the product of precisely this and of no other snail.''^^1^^
``Overcoming" the narrow-mindedness of vulgar sociology, Fischer poses the question: is art historically determined by concrete conditions, is it their superstructure, or is it subject to the operation of ``wider'' aesthetic and psychological laws expressing man's "inner world"? The problem of the ideological superstructure framed in such a way changes into a cause which gives rise to consequences unsuspected by Mr. Fischer.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Marxism Today, February 1964, p. 46.
236The chapter from Fischer's book published in Marxism Today provoked widespread discussion, and views both ``for'' and ``against'' were expressed. Honor Arundel, for example, thinks that Fischer's ideas represent a new "relaxed altitude to artists and the arts achieved since the death of Stalin".^^1^^ Miss Arundel interprets it in the spirit of ideological neutralism. In art there should be no class differences, since a class approach may give rise to "such labels as `bourgeois' or `proletarian' which carry with them moral overtones of praise or disgust. `Bourgeois' art is a 'Had Thing', `Proletarian' art is a 'Good Thing'.''^^2^^
But most of the participants in the discussion, Herbert Smith, David Craig, Peter Pink, Julian Hart and others, criticise Fischer's point of view and see it as an attempt to "drape Marxism with scholastics and a supra-liberal bouquet''.
Marx, Eiigels and Lenin saw art as a product of the material living conditions of people. "The phantoms formed in the human brain are also, necessarily, sublimates of their material life process, which is empirically verifiable and bound to material premises.''^^3^^ Considering all forms of consciousness as a product of material conditions, Marxism draws the only possible conclusion: that art, too, is a superstructure on the economic basis of society.
When Stalin published his Marxism and Problems of Linguistics the question of whether art is part of the ideological superstructure or transcends it became the subject of widespread discussions. The discussion was hampered by the tenet contained in Stalin's book, saying that the superstructure must perish together with the basis on which it evolved, while the superstructure refuses to comply with this theory.
Art, science, morals, religion and other forms of social consciousness develop as a continuum even when a revolution destroys the basis. But they still maintain their superstruclural character. During the discussion Soviet theoreticians proved this beyond doubt.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Marxism Today, August 1964, p. 256.
^^2^^ Ibid., p. 257.
^^3^^ Marx and Kngels, The German Idroloyy, Moscow, 1968, p. ,'!8.
237Fischer completely ignores these conclusions. The for inula "art is superstructure" brings only one tiling to his mind: if art is a superstructure, it is a shell which must grow and perish together with the body of the snail. Having formed this opinion of the superstructure, Fischer immediately rebels against it. He says: "Such statements as 'expressionism reilects the ideological superstructure of the decadent bourgeoisie' or 'abstract painting represents the ideological superstructure of imperialism' are all too convenient, dogmatic blue prints. If literature and art were nothing more than the ideological superstructure of deiinite economic social relations, then works of art would die out along with their social preconditions.''^^1^^
This is a strange argument. Fischer ``refutes'' Stalin's dogmatism by resorting to dogmatism of his own. Having taken up this paradoxical position Fischer naturally arrives at unexpected and curious conclusions: the works of mediocre artists, who are following the ruling ideas of their time are part of the superstructure since they are dead and forgotten. But significant works of art are not part of the superstructure since they live on and are not forgotten. Significant works of art, he says, transcend the limits of the given social conditions and ideological superstructure and anticipate the future.
The superstructure is the ideological relations of a given social epoch. Specific interpretations of these relations were given, for example, by Faddei Bulgarin and Alexander Pushkin. The works of the former are dead and forgot ten, those of the latter anticipated the future. Why?
None can disagree with Fischer's statement that the mediocre dies with the social relations that have given birth to it, and sometimes even sooner. Boring novels die early. This happens irrespective of whether they portray ruling ideas or try to anticipate the future. On the other hand, the historical conditions that gave mankind Pushkin's poetry have long since disappeared but his poetry continues to delight the reader.
Permanently present in art is Truth, containing a particle of the absolute knowledge which mankind is striving to grasp. We mean genuine unadulterated truth and not a _-_-_
~^^1^^ Marxism Today, February 1964, pp. 46--47.
238 vapid semblance, an uninspired depiction of "any experience''. Truth is brought to life by the artist's skill in unfolding the main trends, the leading tendencies of life, that which is typical, unrepeatable and yet essential. Therein lies the strength of "down to earth" artistic thinking. Art, which absorbs the ``fruits'' of human activity must of necessity be humanitarian. This is proved by the whole history of art. Humanitarian ideals always embracetwo aspects: form as a manifestation of true beauty, and content, unfolding the ideals of classes and society. Humanitarian ideals are the ``fruits'' of the positive experience accumulated by mankind. The progressive classes of every epoch are interested in an objective knowledge of the trends in life, for the course of history is on their side. It is therefore no accident that the works of art which have retained their value up to the present day are those connected with the struggle of progressive social forces. It is well known that the works of Aeschylus were linked with the Athenian demos, those of Rabelais with the people of early bourgeois society, of Pushkin with the Decembrists, of Rcpiii and Tolstoi with the peasant movement of postreform Russia, of Maxim Gorky with the revolutionary proletariat.Although all these artists arc clearly connected with the "historical moment'', their art extends far beyond that moment.
But Fischer's interpretation of the superstructure makes it possible both to deny historical continuity in the development of art, and to embrace the concept of "boundless realism''. These two concepts would appear to contradict each other, but Fischer somehow manages to combine them.
How does he manage to do this? According to Fischer (see his book Von dcr Notwendigkeit der Kunst) art is imagination, and its main function is a magical one. Man ``disenchants'' the world around him, reshapes nature unconsciously (artistically)---this function of art is an expression of beauty, transcending historical and social condi lions. Social conditions, on the other hand, are transient, being linked with the economic basis and narrow mercenary interests. This is the basis of the conllict between the aesthetic and the social. Hans Koch, a philosopher from 239 the (ierniim Democratic Rej)iiblic, commented on Ibis concept as follows: "Fischer's constant contrasting of aes Ihelic and social principles . .. has serious consequences for his whole concept. A single materialistic theory of art as a special form of social consciousness becomes impossible from Ibis approach.''^^1^^
In addition to this juxtaposing of the aesthetic to the social, Fischer also sets oil' universal human principles against class principles. According to Fischer, man wilh all his contradictions loves and sutlers, breathes and dies like any other man and thus overcomes his "class destiny''. His emotional life extends beyond the framework of the concrete social system since "human conflicts, problems, disasters, are a feature of all social systems".^^2^^
Fischer builds his conception, which ascribes everything ``passing'' to the superstructure, and excludes from it everything ``eternal'' by making a sharp, but false distinction between the aesthetic (eternal) and the social ( passing), and between universal human (eternal) and class principles (passing). Social and class principles are thus excluded from aesthetics. This makes him sceptical of socialist realism and indulgent towards all the faults of modernism.
The artist and the "social commands"---this is the problem for which Fischer shows a deep concern. He considers it necessary to stress that the artist's work can be only a "free decision'', and not a response to a given "resolu tion, not the result of some guidance.''^^3^^ "If the socialist artist were to become nothing more than the mouthpiece of a Central Committee, merely a highly skilled member of an agitation and propaganda department, then the result would be not merely that he would be degraded as an artist, but also that he would be ineffective as an agitator and propagandist. Were socialist art compelled to adapt itself to the exigencies of the current tactical situation, then the life would go out of it.''^^4^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ Hans Koch, Marxixninx und Acxlhetik, Berlin, !!)(')I, S. 19.'').
^^2^^ Ularxisrn Today, I'Ybruary 1964, p. 17.
^^3^^ Ibid., p. 50.
~^^4^^ Ibid., p. 51.
240This is a strange conclusion. But there is more to it than just strangeness. "To put it bluntly,'' Koch says, "the people to whom Fischer ascribes such `views', even in caricature-, arc made to look a bunch of fools quite alien to the arts. We do not know what it was that made Ernst Fischer criticise them so caustically and angrily. Nor can we understand how a person with as much political experience as Fischer could aim at a target his enemies are trying to strike even though this attack was only ten lines long. This is a personal matter concerning Ernst Fischer alone and we will not presume to judge him.''^^1^^ Of course, there is no point in discussing the personal aspect. But as for his attempts to depict modernism as an art that anticipates the future, we feel obliged to say the following: by destroying the continuity in the development of world culture, modernism deprives itself of the possibility of becoming a starting point for a progressive movement.
``The individual and society confronted one another as alien forces,"^^2^^ Fischer says.
In his opinion this confrontation is the mystery of creation. The arlist expresses his refusal to obey, to belong to capitalism, sometimes by romantic mutiny and somelimes by his crilical frame of mind.
British Marxists justly note thai Fischer regards art as a form for the expression of the elernal human essence. "Here,'' David Craig says, "is Ihe arid cipher of Ihe humanisls, a weak and featureless theory which ignores changing society and specific conditions---little different from that very popular fallacy which has it that 'human nature never changes'.''^^3^^
Fischer's conception is the result of an interprelation of art by contrasts: he opposes the class approach to the universally human approach, art to society, the freedom of the arlist to guidance by the parly. Peler Pink says with _-_-_
~^^1^^ Hans Koch, Alarxismus und Aesllietik. S. 272.
^^2^^ Marxism Today, February 1904, p. 48.
^^3^^ Ibid., June 1904, p. 188.
241 sarcasm that according to Fischer's ideas the artist with his sensibility, his intense reaction to new situations and realities, his greater perceptions and fantasy is contrasted to "the Party Secretary, who lives in a world of cadre reports, statistics, leading articles and resolutions"'.^^1^^According to Fischer the artist's exclusive individuality is the driving force behind his eternal and unequal struggle against society.
The theory of the romantic mutiny of the individual against society is not new. It takes its beginning from the romanticists, and the literature of the "superfluous man''. In one form or another this theory can be found in the works of modern bourgeois aesthclicians---Thomas Munro, Herbert Read, Andrew Ritchie and others. But whereas in the nineteenth century it was mainly anti-bourgeois, in the twentieth it lays claim to universal significance.
Its authors contend that every society is in a slate of integrity, while the individual is in a stale of alienation. This alienation is held to be due to the fact thai "man's life is governed by laws outside his will".^^2^^ For this reason objective reality always exerts coercion on the individual and causes suffering. This makes every writer who raises the subject of alienation a realist and mutinous revolutionary, such as Franz Kafka, for example. This gives him something to say to those people of the modern world who are building socialism and communism.
There is no need to describe all the variations of this modern conception. But we certainly must refute its claim to universality. The German critic Siegfried Dallmann points out correctly that there is alienation between individuals, between the individual and society, between art and the people, etc. But this alienation is the specific disease of imperialism.^^3^^ The existentialists, on the other hand, who see man as a lonely being, abandoned and helpless, consider alienation, i.e., the conflict between man and so ciety to be an absolute, eternal principle of existence.
World literature has not ignored the ``fatal'' conflict, or to use modern language, the alienation between the artist _-_-_
~^^1^^ Marxism Today, July 19G4, p. 227.
~^^2^^ Les lettres franfaises No. 981, 1964, p. 1.
^^3^^ National-Zcitung No. 178, August 1, 1904, S. 10.
242 and bourgeois society. II has been the subject of such novels as L'Ocuvrc by Zola, The Genius by Dreiser, Of Human liondaye by Somerset Maugham, Lust for Life by Irving Slone, Doklor l*amlus by Thomas Mann, Crusader's Tomb by Cronin, elc. The history of Claude Lantier and his friends, the characters of Emile Zola's novel, begins with the description of their "crazy striving to be nothing but artists''. They thought that problems of beauty and form existed independently of social contradictions. This explains their conviction that "the day will come when an originally drawn carrot will revolutionise painting".^^1^^ But this day turned out to be their downfall. Some of them committed suicide, others stopped half-way "tired and anxious'', falling victim to unscrupulous dealers. All this happened because their ``mutiny'' was based on the same morals against which they rebelled. It was a mutiny of champions of individualism against successful egoists.Eugene Witla's (The Genius by Dreiser) ``mutiny'' had even less chance of success. He tried to "make his way in life" with true American energy. From a pragmatic point of view this meant that he had to "keep moving'', "be enterprising'', "be a success''. But neither hard work nor his daring and interesting pictures won him material independence. Eugene is a born individualist. His unwavering purpose made him "lake the last step" and he perished, broken by the bourgeois society against which he had ``revolted'' and ``mutinied''.
Correcting Fischer who is also a champion of the " eternal romantic mutiny" conception, David Craig remarks: "Fischer docs not seem to leave himself any grounds for distinguishing between incoherent revolt and purposeful, clear-eyed revolt.''^^2^^
The ``mutiny'' often takes the form of an escape of the artist from reality, a ``self-isolation'' in an ivory tower, a submersion in ``pure'' thought, elc. All these forms somelimes make the artist appear proudly independent and often mislead credulous people. To them thoughts `` opposing'' reality (for example, expressionist and surrealist nightmares) seem like ideas of protest and mutiny. Some _-_-_
~^^1^^ E. Zolii, Les (Euvrcs Completes, Vol. 15, Paris, 1928, p. 4.'!.
^^2^^ Marxism Today, June 1964, p. 189.
243 arc even inclined lo see in this ``mutiny''' a stimulus which makes the artist transcend the limits of bourgeois ideology. They even see in modernist thought something that makes it rank with Marxism. Speaking of the boundary between dialectic and metaphysical materialism, Karl Marx wrote in the eleventh thesis on Fcuerbaeh: "The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways; the point, however, is lo cliange it.''^^1^^ Modernism, some authors believe, substitutes action for meditation. But this action. aimed at changing the world looks like a deformed projection of the world on a canvas, in other words, it is a purely theoretical construction. Some interpreters of mod ernism pay no heed to Karl Marx's second thesis: "The question whether objective truth can be attributed to human thinking is not a question of theory but is a practical question.''^^2^^We have already mentioned Borev's view that Gorky. Mayakovsky and Brecht first digested the "achievements of modernism" and only after that ``renewed'' realism. Some also hold the opinion that Eluard and Aragon saw in surrealist madness a protest theme, which prepared their transition to progressive realist art, etc.
But it would be more correct to presume that " surrealism---an offshoot of gloom and fury"---fettered the will and choked protest. In his essay on Eluard, Aragon emphasises that a talented poet could become a true poet of the people only by rejecting surrealism. Eluard's life was a dramatic struggle with himself. "lie died,'' writes Aragon, "having lived his life not the way he wanted to. As he himself appraised il, his life was unsuccessful. that is he had lost too much time at the crossroads. rambling and looking for a path in common with the whole world.''
The reason for the alienation between the individual and bourgeois society should be sought in private prop erty. This explains also why no novel of any importance about human fate in a society of property-owners and money-grubbers can be written without showing the contradictions, conflict and enmity between the individual and _-_-_
~^^1^^ Marx iiixl K'lgcls, The German Ideotrxjy, Moscow, 1968, p.
~^^2^^ Ibid., p. 659.
244 society. Franz Kafka is by no means the only author who touched upon this subject. It is therefore wrong to hail him as a writer who discovered a new subject. The critical realism of the nineteenth century initially connected this subject with the problem of the "superfluous man''. In the twentieth century it became the subject of the "lost gen eration''. the "broken generation''. It is "in the air" because the contradictions of capitalism have become exacerbated to the extreme.In his book I*'rom Grillparzcr to Kafka Fischer notes that Kafka lived alone, in "no-man`s-land''. Prague was to him a "town of alienation'',^^1^^ Austria a "land of alienation'', where the ruling bureaucracy transformed everything into ils opposite: "activity into suffering, power into impotence, conception into emasculation".^^2^^ The whole world, the whole history of mankind seemed to Kafka "a history of alienation''. The only reason for this was his failure to understand history. lie saw in capitalism a system of causal interrelations, where everything was interdependent: from lop to bottom and bottom to top, where Ihc instability and corruption of social lies deprived man of his individuality, turning him into a cipher.
Kafka criticises capitalism, hut his criticism is not convincing because he looks for its sources in the "anger of the soul''. Kafka saw not only capitalism but also the socialist revolution as universal violence. It is said that he was in sympathy with the Russian revolulion but did not consider it a turning-point in history because he was possessed by his idee fixe, the horrible "spectre of bureaucracy''. "Every revolution ends in bonapartism,'' Kafka said. "The revolution disappears and all that remains is a new type of bureaucracy.''^^3^^
Kafka's followers depict him as a prophet and a soothsayer. As a mailer of fact he was under the spell of mystical nihilism, which was extremely popular at that time in bourgeois intellectual circles.
Kafka's aesthetic ideas coincide in many respects with the programme of "metaphysical art''. Expressionism, which at thai time was coming into fashion, proclaimed _-_-_
~^^1^^ I''. Fischer, \'on C!rill[xir:t'r :u Kutka, Wieri. 1 '.)('>'_', S. L'SO. '-'
^^2^^ Iliicl.. S. 1MI">.
^^3^^ ibid., s. :<i:i.
245 the right of the artist to reject nature, "the physics of everyday life'', the logic of the senses, "to change beast and man into freaks in defiance of all laws of anatomy'', in order to express "terrible fate''. Kafka approaches this idea very closely.Some students of Kafka's works say that they are not so much distortions of objective reality as a specific system of symbolic references. (This view is being developed by the existentialists who claim thai works of art are coded writing. The code lo Ihem is a secret one does not always succeed in unravelling.) To understand these symbols a purely "human code'' must be used, and they must be read in the same poetic code in which they were written. Each symbol is polysemantic, i.e., has as many meanings as there are possible interpretations.
Kafka's models arc not as polysemantic as some seem to think. Soviet readers know some of Kafka's novels, stories and fragments: 7n the Penal Settlement, Metamorphosis, Before the Law, Passengers and others. They are characterised by an extreme degree of convention, illusionism and irrationality. Kafka sees life as a catastrophe in a tunnel, in a spot so dark that "one cannot even be sure that there is a beginning and an end''. Under these conditions man's mind conjures up wild fancies and he believes that some of them are a true manifestation of life.
For Kafka the irrational takes the place of a true understanding of objective reality. But his mind is split, for il is subject not only to the irrational but also to grim reality, which it perceives directly. Naturalist description which evokes nothing but disgust (the description of the execution in the penal settlement, the portrayal of Gregor Samsa who became an insect, etc.) are also part of his method.
Franz Kafka sees the world of alienation but he makes no attempt to remedy it.
In his story In the Penal Settlement he describes a traveller who witnesses the execution of a soldier. In spite of the obvious injustice of the sentence and the inhumanity of the punishment, the traveller thinks: "Resolute interference in other people's business is always dangerous.'' Franz Kafka considered the world about him, reality, as other people's business.
246What has this policy of non interference and unlimited lolerance of social evil to do with the people who are building socialism?
Yet some people reason as follows: the alienation of the individual from society cannot disappear immediately after the socialist revolution. It continues to persist in the period of communist construction (the personality cult, various distortions, entering into contradiction with socialist humanism, etc.). If this is so, Kafka's ideas, they say, can become part of our experience.
Can there be a conflict between the individual and society under socialism? Of course, there can. But this will happen only if the individual deslroys social ties and violates the norms and laws on which the unity of society is founded. We can therefore draw only one conclusion: it is not alienation but a friendly unity of individuals that impels the socialist community to further progress. Art becomes a means for cementing this unity, for uniting the people and therefore needs an atmosphere of genuine humanism to flourish.
As we have already mentioned, Kafka's philosophy has something in common with expressionism, surrealism, Freud ism, existentialism, etc. It is no wonder therefore that many proponents of contemporary modernist schools see in Kafka's literary heritage all the principles which they call their own. But it would be wrong to identify Kafka's works entirely with one of these schools. Being a modernist Kafka is not orthodox---his works transcend the limits of purely aesthetic searching and dogmas. Kafka showed an interest in the social problems of his time, in the fate of the little man. True this interest was always a morbid one, connected with his irrationalist idea of reality and tragic world-view.
In the introduction to Kafka's Castle, Thomas Mann wrote: "He was a dreamer, and his compositions are often dream-like in conception and form: they are as oppressive, illogical, and absurd as dreams, those strange shadow-- pictures of actual life. But they are full of a reasoned morality, an ironic, satiric, desperately reasoned morality. . . .''^^1^^ No matter how much Thomas Mann was in _-_-_
~^^1^^ F. Kafka, The Castle, New York, 1959., p. X.
247 sympathy with Kafka, whom he considered a highly gifted writer, lie could not fail to see in Kafka's work traits which were entirely unacceptable to Mann the realist.An even greater distance lies between Kafka and those realists who are inspired by socialist ideals, the ideals of people transforming the world and assuming full responsibility for it to the peoples of our planet.
Some philosophical maxims (for example, that things exist irrespectively of our consciousness, that consciousness is a reflection of life, etc.) are so universal that they require no proof. They are indisputable so long as they serve as methodological truths and as initial principles. But let us imagine that in investigating some form of social consciousness the student confines himself only to repeating one of these maxims not attempting to apply the formula to the analysis of a real phenomenon. Then the following inferences might be drawn: realist art recognises the existence of things independent of our consciousness, or realist art is a reflection of life. Such declarations are unable to enrich our idea of art. What is more, they may even distort the understanding of art. We often encounter such definitions in modern bourgeois aesthetics. Here is an example. Rene Dumcsnil replies to the question: "What is realism?" as follows: "Realism is a philosophical doctrine which, in contrast to Berkeley's philosophy, regards the external world as an objective reality. This word does not change its meaning when applied to aesthetics.''^^1^^ Those who assert that all art is realistic, because it is always rooted in reality which is independent of it, also define realism by means of a vast number of general categories.
Many artists are able to say that they make it the aim of their lives to reflect the world existing outside of their consciousness. But if that is all they say how are we to distinguish them from "naive realists"? Or, for that matter, from the modernist, who says that the things existing _-_-_
~^^1^^ R. Duincsiiil, Le rfalisnie ct /< nnluralisnw, Paris, 19.">,>, p. 12.
248 independently of his consciousness are not reflected objects, but the point of departure from which he leaves for a world in which pure words, lines, colours, volumes, sounds, etc., reign supreme.The realism of an artist who holds a position some where in between "naive realism"' and modernism becomes boundless. This happens, I think, because he ignores not only the essence of artistic content but also the stability of realistic form, which depends on how adequately the given reflection shows reality.
There are some who say that art resembles a game played according to definite rules made by people. Therefore there can be no fixed definition of realism since everybody has his own brand. But this view conflicts with the idea that realism is everybody's art. This idea is said to reduce art to the ordinary consciousness, thereby debasing it. What sort of realism was it when people thought that the earth was flat and that the sun revolved around it?
The conviction that truth can be learned only through Ihe senses forming a direct link with reality is not realism. It only confirms the view that the artistic image should not be based on people's beliefs or opinions, even if they are in the majority, but on objective reality itself and its laws. This correlation of art with objective reality is negated by those who see objective reality merely as a point of departure enabling them to open the door to subjectivism. Correlating art with human aspirations and desires, which form a "second reality'', these authors endow it with a relativistic content, which changes depending on the individuality of the artist and the observer. In their opinion realism is exactly such an expression of individuality.
The proponents of aesthetic subjectivism advance the following paradox: the artist docs not copy nature but subjugates it, protests against it. Why does he protest? Because, they say, nature stands above human consciousness since it exists independently of it. This is supposed to give the artist the right to see nature as an alien force. Cubism, for example, gives the artist the right to create a different reality within nature and outside of il, lo apply differenl creative; laws, a different standard of beauty, different norms, etc. Thus art is deprived of the mission of ilepiclin;/ 249 the objective world. II becomes a means of subjective self expression.
We find something very similar in Fischer's book. He says: "If we want realism in art to give an objective evaluation of reality, we must not attempt to reduce this many-faceted reality to an external world existing independently of our consciousness. Reality is the complex of interaction into which man experiencing and perceiving reality is drawn.''^^1^^
An attempt is being made to prove with the help of such paradoxes that the artist creates a different reality outside of nature, or that there is no reality outside the man perceiving it, etc. One occasionally encounters the banal view, that everybody is a realist in his own way. But realism is the reflection of life in the forms of life. Vulgarisers misinterpret this formula by saying that realism is what `` resembles'' existing objects, and that which docs not resemble real objects is not realism. They say: Mayakovsky's character Pobedonosikov does not remind us of real people; in real life there are no such people. Hence, satire, caricature and the grotesque "do not fit" into the formula "a reflection of life in the forms of life''. Their other arguments are equally ``irrefutable''.
Such arguments naturally cannot shake the principles of the reflection theory. The artistic image is not independent of the object, content and function of reflection. In addition to realistic images we find naturalistic, romantic, fantastic, illusory, impressionist images (under impressionism the image already begins to disintegrate), but realism alone creates images according to the law of necessity and probability. This is a specific feature of artistic realism. We cannot agree with Shragin who says that to demand that the specifics of art be expressed in the form of images is tantamount to transforming it into illnstrativeness.^^2^^ Of course, realism cannot be reduced to a set of formal precepts, but a refusal to recognise that it is linked with a definite form of reflection leads to the acceptance of the "boundless realism" conception.
If any reflection of reality is considered to constitute _-_-_
^^1^^ K. Fischer, Zciii/cist und Litcratur, Wicn, 1904, S. 74.
~^^2^^ Voprosy Utertttnrij (Problems of Lileniture) No. in, 1904, p. 110.
250 realism, realism becomes ``boundless'' and embraces everything from Kafka, Picasso and Robbe-Grillet to Dubuffet, who even thinks it correct to use ``real'' matting, ``real'' tar, etc., in his painting.The theoreticians of modernism are willing to interpret every formalislic ``ism'' in the "spirit of realism''. They say that surrealist nightmares are more real than reality itself, that iauvism and futurism are creating a "new reality'', and that dadaism expresses the true law of our time, namely, the law of general destruction, that abstractionism is an expression of the internal rhythm of our modern reality, etc. All these statements are completely arbitrary. They extend the concept of ``realism'' lo infinity. But it is exactly in this extenlion that realism loses its links with objective reality, while its followers adopt the currently widespread views of Ihe modernists that art is meaningless and aimless and therefore no more than a sophism.
A few years ago there was a debate on realism in the Soviet Union. In the course of the discussion it was proved beyond doubt that the conception `` realism-antirealism'', on which the history of art is founded, is scholastic and contradicts history. But even now some authors hold that there are two types of realism in Soviet literature. One of them has been christened the ``expanding'' and the other the ``limited'' realism. Proponents of the "expanding realism" conception look for realism even in the art of a primitive man (cave drawings). Their opponents declare that realism began to take form and assumed its final shape in the Renaissance. The `` limited'' view on realism has been acclaimed by followers of various formalislic trends. But, on the other hand, the "expanding realism" conception contains a kernel of the "boundless realism" idea. The proponents of the " expanding realism" conception consider that the term "twentieth century realism'', which, they say, is gaining a firm foothold in our literature on art, is used to describe a multitude of "phenomena which often differ widely from one another''. They believe that this designation of many different phenomena by a single term is due to the genetic links between twentieth century realism and a great many unrealistic I rends (expressionism and surrealism), and also because a great many artists are at present standing at the 251 crossroads and hesitating about which road to choose. Un fortunately, they do not explain how twentieth century realism is linked with expressionism and surrealism. We can only guess what they have in mind. Bertolt Brecht and Johannes Beclier, for example, were expressionists, Ara gon and Eluard- surrealists, etc. But does that justify the claim that twentieth century realism is genetically linked with modernism? It is well known that Mayakovsky was a futurist, and Bidstrup an abstractionist. But it would be ridiculous to assert on these grounds that socialist realism is genetically linked with futurism and abstractionism. Obviously the concept "twentieth cenlury realism" is made to embrace so wide and motley a content that realism begins to "burst its bounds''.
The "boundless realism" conception arises on the basis of false epistemological conclusions.
Fischer, for example, says: "The concept realism in art is unfortunately both loose and indefinite. In one case realism is described as a trend, as an evaluation of objective reality, in another as a style and a method. The bound aries between these two definitions often lend to be blurred out.''^^1^^ This criticism is just in some respects. The participants in the debate on realism can justly be reproached for a lack of lexical precision. But even if the boundary between the concepts ``trend'', ``evaluation'', ``style'', and ``method'' is somewhat blurred out and this tends to extend the scope of realism, the dividing line bclwecn realism and modernism is still clearly visible. Yet some authors refuse lo see it.
They claim that the world of Kafka's images is created out of material drawn from the real world. This is true, of course. But they draw a false conclusion from this correct premise, they declare that Kafka is a realist. Realism can be interpreted in this sense only if the question of forms of reflection is ignored, and with it the assumption that form should correspond to objective reality. Objective reality is unambiguous. It is the same for all artists. The point is that some artists give a true reflection of it. and others a distorted one. In the first case the artist looks for the scale for the reflection of the objective world in _-_-_
~^^1^^ 1C. Fischer, Zi`iliji'ixl mid l.ili`i'iilnr, S. 73.
252 that world, in the second---he looks for il within himself. One bases his activity on objective knowledge, whilst the oilier lives in a world of illusions. One searches for Untruth, whilst the other becomes a victim of delusions. One can be called a realist, whilst the other is a subjeetivist. Both create their world out of material drawn from the real world, yet there is a deep gulf between them. It is precisely this deep gulf that goes unnoticed by those who in their definition of realism accentuate only the point of departure (objective reality) and ignore the final result, the product of that reflection (the writer's creative method, his world view, the artistic form of his work).The crucial point about artistic consciousness is not that it proceeds to a greater or lesser extent from objective reality; it is the orientation it gives lo the people, what it teaches them, whether it can become a manual for action, for the transformalion of the world, whether il unites Ihe will and feelings of people or sows disunity and enmitv.
Consequently, when the limits of realism are exlended excessively, Ihe exacl meaning of Ihe term tends to be blurred out. This is also what Fischer says in his Zeitgeist und Literatur. "The concept socialist realism is justified. Bui il is incorrectly applied both lo academic historical paintings and lo genre paintings, to propaganda art and lo idealising novels and plays. Besides, in discussions il is often difficult to understand what is being talked about--- Ihe author's views or Ihe arlislic means of expression, Ihe subject or criteria of form, politics or arl.''^^1^^ While Fischer is righl in poinling out thai there is a certain confusion of meaning, he himself adds to it by objecting to socialist realism's orientation on the future, i.e., against the image of a positive hero.
According to Fischer, socialisl realist art pictures the future as though it already exisled "wrapped in brighl celophane like a X'mas present".^^2^^ As regards Ihe concept _-_-_
~^^1^^ Ibid., S. 80
~^^2^^ Ibid., S. 8'-'.
253 of the positive hero, Fischer puts it in inverted commas. "The 'positive hero'.'' lie says, "embodies his own negation, disappointment, pain, a. conflict with passion, consciousness and the sense oi' ethics, the problem of the limits of achievement, the question ol the limits set to human perfection; if he were only `positive', if internal contradictions were strange to him, he would perhaps appeal to children, but lo grown-ups he must appear comical and disgusting.''^^1^^During the years of the Stalin cull some writers painted images of heroes so ideal that they towered above reality. There is little truth in such a hero, but plenty of false pathos, rhetoric and affectation. They ascribed lo him trails which were "not of this world" and qualities of a saviour and demiurge, whose one word moved mountains, changed the course of rivers and turned deserls inlo flowering orchards; he emanated a light thai rejuvenated the world and the people inhabiting it. Creating such counterfeit images these writers became traitors to realism, lo the basic principle of Marxist Leninist aesthetics.
Later another extreme view became popular: the deep resentment some artists fell against such counterfeit heroes resulted in their efforts lo do away with heroes altogether, lo de-heroise art.
This atlempt to make man "come down lo earlh" often resulted in his portrayal as a primitive, coarse elemental creature, "resembling nature itself''.
The pronounced ``non-heroes'' evoked unanimous censure in the Soviet Union. We do occasionally meet people, who have a lot of rubbish inside and admit it. But this does not mean thai they should be hailed as a counterpart to "enthusiastic yes men''. Life brings many real heroes to the fore: those who defended the Brest fortress and preferred death to surrender; those who harnessed the enormous energy of mailer to make it serve mankind and sacrificed their lives for this noble cause; those Avho blazed new trails inlo space; those who make the Antarctic habitable; those who show the future in the present.
Strange as il may seem, il is often necessary lo defend real heroes, some of whom are still alive, against the allempl lo de-heroise them.
_-_-_~^^1^^ E. Fischer, Zi'itycist und Lilcnilnr, S. 82.
254Thus, there are Iwo tendencies: one that countcrposes Ihe ideal to the real, the oilier that denies the ideal. The two trends appear to contradict each other but actually arrive at Ihe same result---a distortion of truth.
Some theoreticians consider Alexander Solzhenilsyn's works an important contribution to art because, they say, Solzhenitsyn has destroyed the morbid fetishes of the past. Here is a writer, they exclaim, who creates genuine heroes, while all ideals are no more than shadows, phantoms, illusions. But Solzhenilsyn's character Malryona (Matryona'a Ihjuscliold) is an obvious pseudo-ideal.
Malryona devoted herself lo the service of others giving away her possessions---and never asking for anything in relurn. She was a truly righteous person, one of those who form Ihe backbone of our villages and towns, and of our whole earth, in fact. (I am quoting Solzhenitsyn almosl verbally.) Bui those "righteous people'', the preachers of Christian obedience and open fanaticism, in fad, help all Ihe dark forces we inherited from the old world.
Socialist realism depicts people who embody and uphold genuinely noble ideals in contrast to uninspired, prosaic or pseudo-idealistic characters.
Aren't we slowly but surely arriving at the conclusion thai there can be no art wilhoul idealisalion?
Rodin once said: the sense and joy of my life is to find the best in man. This loo is a sermon of idealisation. And yet who will deny thai Rodin was a greal arlist? Idealisation is a medium of art because it satisfies man's craving for beaut}', expresses his ideas and aspirations by reflecting life. A scientific formula is neutral as regards man's craving for bcauly, images are not. Science shows how things are and should be by comparing and contrasting them. Arl painls the image of man as he is, and at the same time as he could and should be.
Prometheus, Faust and Gorky's Danko are all ideal images, not only because they show man as he should be but also because every one of them characterises a definite historical stage in Ihe development of man's creative possibililies. Promelheus lakes up the fight against `` necessity'', Faust sacrifices his life lo discover the measure of happiness; Danko wins Ihe fight against fate. All Ihese 255 images embody the idea of soeial man, showing Ihe atti tude he should adopt towards his fellow-men.
Are such people necessary? Is an ideal hero necessary?
The answer is obvious: a man is a real man only it lie lives for others. The ideal hero is real if human unity is real.
It is senseless to eounlerpose the ideal to the real, but it is also very wrong to deny the existence of the ideal. The ideal and the real exist in their unity and opposition, (ioelhe's Faust is ideal when he embraces "all the joy of mankind and all its grief''. Yet he is an egoist in matters of love.
Alexander Dov/henko, the most ``idealistic''' Soviet film producer, also worked in this key proceeding from the dialectics of real life. His films and scripts: The Earth, Shchors, A Tale of Fiery Years and others are all a philosophical search for a person who does not "lower himself to nature" but "raises nature to his level''. It is from this position that Dovzhenko formulated his aesthetic credo: "Fear not exaggeration, fear lies.'' To Dovzhenko lies were always a manifestation of egoism and lack of intelligence.
Dovzhenko's diaries contain the following entry:
``A first lieutenant who had spent the whole war at the front returns from German}'. 'Tell me, what is the strongest conviction you have brought back from that horrible war'?' I asked after a long conversation. 'The strongest?' he thought for a while and then said: T have come to the conclusion that everything in life is much baser, much worse than what we read about in books, than we were and are being told.'"
The lieutenant thought that in war everything was simple: "there's a bang---your boots are pulled olf and you are buried in a hole---that's all there is to it. No one thinks of anything,'' etc., Dovzhenko replied: "You were spiritual!}' and physically blind at war. You were a petty egoist and a coward. You were afraid to look human grief in the face. You passed it by without noticing it. That was because you are nothing but an empty shell.''
The Living and the Dead is a film about the horrible first days of the war. Here too we see stern reality: here too everything is simple, there's a bang---your boots arc pulled oil' and you are buried in a hole (or are not buried 256 al all). Hut these actions are endowed with an elevated quality whenever Soviet soldiers understand that they share a common late with the people. Right up to their last tragic minutes Serpilin, Sintsov, the gun crew retreating from Brest, the remnants of the 17()th rifle division are never shown as standard-bearers of the world's romantic spirit, but as ordinary people fulfilling a duty---yet, they are all ideal heroes. But some authors think that duly is not a relevant subject for art.
In an article published in the Literalurnai/a Gazeta entitled "Flowering through . . . Impoverishment" A. Bocharov says that a description of the man of today, the builder of communism, as he should be, is always based on " previously formulated qualities''.
He goes on to say that writers using such precepts are vulgarising art. Bocharov should know that every work of art is always based on "previously formulated qualities" which determine the author's intention. The image of the hero exists in the ideal, i.e., in the writer's mind, before it is materialised in the artistic medium---words, sculpture, melody, etc. The image, Balzac often repeated, is an idea that has become a literary image.
What is Bocharov dissatisfied with? He resents the idea that authors look for a hero with an eye to the future, lie thinks that authors should not look for ideal heroes hut 1'or ordinary heroes in everyday life, where we see them in conflict with what is becoming obsolete, in development and daily work.
Bocharov is not the only one who thinks that "man al work" of necessity becomes a hero and that we need no other heroes. Only one thing can be said in favour of this view: labour really does breed heroism, but this is not an automatic process. Every description of work is not necessarily a poetic description.
Bocharov's arguments are unconvincing because he mutinies against indisputable truths. Prometheus, Faust and Danko tower above those characters who do not rise above the level of ordinary consciousness.
In the debate about the ideal hero it was noted that there was a dilference between the concepts "artistic idealisation" and "idealisation of the individual''. This is quite __PRINTERS_P_257_COMMENT__ 17---862 257 true. We are against Ihe idealisation of individuals. Bui we cannot imagine art without idealisation.
It is only logical that the ideal hero should have appeared in Soviet ethics and aesthetics. Our society is realising progressive ideals and reflects them in its moral code as the norm of heauly which everyone of us iniial strive l<> achieve. Interest in this problem therefore extends beyond the limits of art i>er sc and assumes a new social significance in every historical period.
But what about modernism? As far as modernism is concerned the problem of the positive hero really does not exist.
__*_*_*__Recently Fischer formulated his idea of the slate of affairs in Marxist-Leninist aesthetics as follows: "The time of the monologue in the communist world has ended. There 110 longer is a `monolith' Marxist aesthetics, obligatory for all.''^^1^^ Fischer's statement is just as categorical as it is wrong. There cannot be a monologue in science. However, since there is only one truth, true science is of necessity monolithic, i.e., it formulates objective truths, which are obligatory for all. But truth does no I come by itself. One has to look and fight for it. And the intensity and tactics of that fight differ. My criticism of some of our philosophers and art critics does not mean that there are "radical differences" between us. For example, I fully agree with Herman Nedoshivin who says that we must bring about "the utter defeat of revisionism and at the same time shatter a number of 'honest delusions', which have become stuck in a number of hot but not too clear heads. . . .''^^2^^ This is very true. But at the same lime we cannot accept unreservedly the term "honest delusions" which make some people see realism as a vague and obscure conception. We also cannot agree with Ihe statement that twentieth century realism is genetic ally linked with modernism. It is wrong to see "aesthetic _-_-_
~^^1^^ 1C. Fischer, Xciti/rixt niul Literntur, S. 85.
^^2^^ - I`roMi'mx of Ai'sllietics, Issue d, Moscow, 19(14, p. II.
258 principles" in modernist deformation, de heroisalion, de liumanisation, etc.We can sympathise with the desire of some authors to get rid of oiie-sidedness, dogmatism, etc., but the resultant ``freedom'' must not be replaced by an endless number of compromises, bringing Hie principle of freedom to naught.
Lenin's famous article "Heroes of `Reservation' " ends with the words: "Without renouncing anything, without forgetting anything, without making any promises about selling aside differences, we are working together for the common cause.''^^1^^ "To cast the steel of the Marxist world outlook and of the superstructures corresponding to this world outlook"^^2^^---such is this "common cause''. Lenin was decisively against an unscrupulous evaluation of the works of Lev Tolstoi by Bazarov, Potresov and others who were avoiding "the virulence of controversy" and were therefore inclined "to adorn the `slough' with spurious flowers. ..'' "This is the very kind of talk, the kind of tune, that suits the philistines, who turn their backs with supreme contempt on a controversy over principles that are defended consistently and in full."^^3^^
In the then prevailing situation Lenin worked out laclies which are 110 less important in our time, the lactic of struggling for the minds of vacillating people and against the ideas of bourgeois decadence. There can be no peaceful coexistence between bourgeois and communist ideology. That means that it is both necessary and possible to consolidate all the forces which do not wish to follow the path of aesthetic nihilism. In different countries this process proceeds in a different manner. But it unfolds everywhere. The transformation of the communist movement into the decisive force of world historical development cannot but strengthen the differentiation within the artisticworld, which must inevitably fall in with the views held by the world's progressive forces.
Soviet aesthetics have an important part to play in this process. This explains why the struggle against bourgeois modernism and its theories has recently become more intense.
_-_-_~^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 16, p. 37.T
^^2^^ Ibid.
^^3^^ Ibid., p. 309.
259The twentieth century laces complex aesthetic problems. Enormous elTorls \\'ill be needed to solve every problem, especially so because the rate at which these problems are increasing is growing rapidly. However splendid this allout creative elforl is. it gives birth not only to truths but also to certain ``dead''' ideas. This dead-weight must be cast aside if progress is not to be impeded.
One of these ``still-born'' illusions is the conviction that peaceful coexistence can be extended also lo the ideological field. This delusion has been refuted by life and even though nobody supports it openly and directly at present, it still persists and continues to lead a shadowy existence.
The ghost of Hamlet's father urged him to pass from reflection to action; in like manner these shadows remind us of the need constantly "to cast the steel of the Marxist world outlook''.
[260] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Alexander DymshilsThe diametrical opposition between realism and modernism came to light long ago. It made its appearance in Russia at the turn of the last century, when modernist ideas tirst began lo emerge in the work of the decadents and symbolists. These ideas were immediately challenged by the revolutionary literature which appeared before the October Revolution and the early works of socialist realism, the books of such writers as Gorky, Seralimovich. Demyan Bedny and Mayakovsky. This militant literary movement is one of Ihe most important sources of the great school of Soviet literature which grew up in the years immediately following the revolution and is now alive and flourishing.
There has always existed a bitter ideological and aesthetic struggle between realism and modernism. It is a struggle of diametrically opposed world outlooks, artistic methods and socio-aesthetic altitudes towards life and art. The ideals of public service and responsibility lo the people, history and progress combat wilh Ihe concepts of withdrawal from life and an individualist, anarchistic, subjeclivisl approach to art. It is a clash between art dealing wilh carefully selected and well thought-out social subjects, using the images of Ihe different artislic media and helping to solve social and aesthetic problems on the one hand, and a capricious, wilful altitude towards life, arl, the reader and the spectator on the other. It is a struggle between art which has its roots in the people (in the case of socialist realism these roots are in Ihe people and Ihe Communist Parly), art which strives to give expression to 261 progressive aspirations and the revolutionary will of the people, and that which is based on ``self-expression'' and is becoming more and more subjectivist.
The present-day advanced realism, socialist realism, and bourgeois modernism and formalism, have very definite traditions. Soviet art primarily draws on and develops all that pertains to a realistic perception and representation of life. At the same time, of course, it also recognises those styles and tendencies in our artistic heritage which played a progressive historical role and, although they were not themselves realistic, did not come into conllicl with realism.
Whilst rejecting everything devoid of social or aesthetic value, Soviet art borrows on and re-fashions the heritage of the classical, realistic, romantic and even early naturalist and impressionist schools.
Present-day bourgeois modernism also has its `` pedigree''. Its family tree bears the names of symbolism, acmeism, futurism, imagism and other schools, such as expressionism, cubism, suprematism, dadaism and surrealism. It is the offspring of all these ``isms'' which are openly a-social and anti-realist, and which have their roots in subjective idealism, individualism, acstheticism and formalism.
The struggle between realism and modernism frequently takes on complex forms. At one point realism incurred heavy losses, such as the case of the talented writer Leonid Andreyev who deserted the ranks of the realists for modernism. Modernism, however, turned out to be the true loser when it was deserted by all genuine, truly vital talent. The corpse of modernism still manages to capture a few living souls, but the more the revolutionary development of life and ideology progresses, the weaker becomes the hold which decadence exerts over the artist. Realism is on the offensive.
The interrelation of realism and modernism is a problem which has received a great deal of attention from Soviet specialists, with the result that much has been 262 written about it from all angles. The present article does not. of course, claim to deal comprehensively with this vast and complex subject. The author wishes simply to discuss a number of points connected with it.
There was a period, a rather long one. when the Soviet approach to modernism of the first quarter of this century was. lor the most part, an erroneous one, not based on historical method and ignoring the dialectics of the struggle inside the various modernistic trends.
It must be realised in dealing with the various modernist trends that their manifestos have always been based on much shakier social ideas than those of the realist schools. This does not mean that we are trying to make allowances for modernism, but the fact remains. It became evident when the first important modernist tendency in Russian literature, symbolism, began to decline, and was discussed by Alexander Blok, the first to make a conscious, public break with symbolism, in his article " Problems, Problems and Yet More Problems" written in 1908.
``It was the custom (and, perhaps, still is) to link together people of very different kinds under the name of `decadence' or `symbolism','' wrote Blok. "Time itself has now shown sufficiently clearly that the tics of the many schools and movements which seemed to bind so firmly and strongly at night, turned out in the light of day to be nothing but thin leads capable of holding a puppy but not a grown dog.'' There is a lot of truth in this figurative definition. It was the light of day, the 1905 Russian revolution, which showed how weak the links of such outstanding writers as Bryusov and Blok were with symbolism, and how strongly bound up with it were Merezhkovsky, Ilippius. Vyacheslav Ivanov and other less important bourgeois writers.
When the problem is oversimplified and the writer firmly ``registered'' with this or that school and completely ``dissolved'' in a movement, the internal conflicts within modernism arc overlooked which resulted in the best writers breaking away from their environment (from both the broader bourgeois society and the more immediate artistic milieu).
Blok provides an excellent example of the artist's rejection of and break with decadence and his outgrowing of 263 symbolism. "Mystics and symbolists don't give a damn for 'bloody problems','' is one of Blok's entries in bis diary for 1907. "They couldn't care less that there are so many beggars or that the earth is round. They are sale under Hawing of their own `I'."'
The poet's revolt against the individualism of the decadents was the result of his search for links with life, his working out of a civic, position and a recognition of the power of art which has its roots in life and struggle. His diary lor 1912 contains entries full of admiration and res pect for the revolutionary art of Maxim Gorky and the first writers of the proletariat who collaborated in the Bolshevik journal Zvezda (Star). "Everything here is clear, simple and intelligible (because it is talented).... Thanks to Gorky and even to Zue:du. Here was suddenly something real after aeslhelicLsm, futurism, the apollonists and the bibliophiles.'' Blok saw vital, militant realistic art as the direct antithesis of modernism. Kven earlier, in 1908, he had written to his mother: ''Due to the poison of decadence art has lost all its richness, clarity, vitality, liguraliveness, everything characteristic and typical. ...'' It is evident that Blok's rejection of symbolism was conscious and fundamental.
Blok's break with symbolism occurred fairly early on. but the process of disillusionment began even earlier. This was the case with many other writers at the beginning of the century, but they did not all succeed to the same extent as Blok and Bryusov in making such a clear break and joining the ranks of revolutionary writers in the Soviet period. However, a careful study of modernism shows that it is possible to discern positive as well as negative elements in it, vitality and sincerity alongside emptiness and affectation, a tragic search for truth as well as a calculated appeal to what was fashionable.
True, living art was able to break the bounds of decadence and give birth to genuinely humane works, whilst art which was purely ``aesthetic'', artificial and lacking in feeling, the product of bourgeois fashion, could not free itself of modernism.
The existence of diU'erent trends within modernism is not only explained by the fact that certain artists were on the way to rejecting and breaking away from it, but 264 that some of the early modernists still preserved links, however slight, with realism. Inspite of the fact that they had renounced realism, their work still showed certain realistic, elements which sometimes took a somewhat mystic, form. A good illustration of this is the early prose of Fyodor Sologub, a typical decadent writer. His early novels Had Dreams and The Little Demon contain elements of social criticism and realistic' satire, which the author was later to renounce completely in his mediocre, reactionary trilogy The (treated Lei/end. Many such examples spring to mind, but the crucial point is not their quantity but the conclusion towards which they point. This conclusion is. namely, that the modernists frequently demonstrated links with realist literature which helped the best of them (for example. Bryusov with his ``cull'' of Pushkin and Tyutchev) to break awav from decadence and modernism.
An examination of the legacy of the modernist schools and trends shows us that their writers were frequently capable of overcoming decadence. The best of them took advantage of this, rejecting modernism and turning to revolutionary literature. Others remained bogged down in modernism. A third group, whilst occasionally managing to discard aesthelicism and formalism, did not succeed in ridding themselves entirely of the pernicious influence of bourgeois decadence.
When we consider the prominent Soviet writers who began their creative activity within the ranks of decadent schools it is evident that their achievements must be seen not as resulting from this connection but in spite of it. It was not thanks to ``isms'' that they developed into the writers of the revolution, but rather because of their break with these ``isms''. One only has to compare Bryusov with Mere/hkovsky, Blok with Zinaida Ilippius, Mayakovsky with Kruchonykh, Akhmatova with Georgy Ivanov, Sergei Gorodelsky with Georgy Adamovich. Yescnin with Kusikov or Zabololsky with Kliarms (who produced some fairly good children's poetry but nothing of any importance for (he adult reader) to realise the truth of this statement. It 265 goes without saying that Blok and Bryusov occupy leading places in Russian literature, whereas Merezhkovsky and Ilippius ``dissolved'' without trace in symbolism, that Mayakovsky's link with the futurists, whose abstruse creations now rest in peace, was brief and far from orthodox, that neither Anna Akhmatova nor Sergei Gorodetsky remained "only acmeisls'', whilst the "strict aemeisls'', Adamovich and Ivanov quickly degenerated into common imitators, that even during his flirtation with imagism Ycsenin was not a true imagist, and that Nikolai Zabololsky began to develop only after he had broken his early ties with the modernist group of ``obercuty''.
Just take Valery Bryusov's magnificent poem ``Work'' written in 1917 on the eve of the October Revolution:
``Work is the one real joy I've met--- On field and farm, and bench and table--- Work till you're bathed in scorching sweat, Work without counting gain or debt: Work hours and days while you are able!"
The profound civic awareness of this poem by a writer who was for many years regarded simply as a decadent, was not simply a bolt from the blue. It was preceded by such poems as "The Bricklayer'', "The Dagger" and the profoundly anti-bourgeois ``Contentment'' which were written right at the beginning of the century. Bryusov's path to revolution was a hard one. It lay in that constant struggle between social themes and acslhelicism which one observes in the poet's pre-revolutionary works. It was this conflict which pointed the way to a break with modernism.
When Mayakovsky was still a very young writer just beginning his career with the cubo-futurists, many superficial critics could not see the difference between him and Burlyuk or Kruchonykh, but it was immediately noticed by Maxim Gorky. Valery Bryusov, a most gifted poetry critic, wrote in his survey .1 Year of Hussion I'oetry (1914) thai Mayakovsky was taking his own path in literature: "It is a rather depressing job,'' he wrote about collections of poetry by the futurists, "looking through dozens of books full of empty, formless poetry for the odd original line. . . . We must, however, in all fairness, repeat what we said earlier: most of the happy exceptions are to be found in 266 the poetry of Vladimir Mayakovsky. Although he has much in common with futurism in its extreme form, he also shows an original perception of reality, imagination and the ability to depict.'' This was how Mayakovsky began, as a writer with original talent who was soon to take up a revolutionary position.
In 1921 Alexander Blok wrote one of his most brilliant articles, "Without Divinity, Without Inspiration'', in which he launched a formidable attack on Gumilyov's ``Poets' Workshop" and drew a line under the aesthetic activity of the aemeists. This dealt a severe blow to the very heart of this literary school and its formalistic principles. "Nikolai Gumilyov and certain other `aemeists','' wrote Blok, "all indubitably possessing talent, are drowning themselves in a cold bog of heartless theories and various types of formalism; they lie in a deep, dreamless sleep from which it is impossible to awake them; they do not know, and do not wish to know, anything at all about life in Russia and the world in general; they ignore in their poetry (and, consequently, in themselves as well) that which is most precious---the soul." This was how Blok criticised the anti-humanist, aesthetic school of the aemeists, a school which was most typical of modernism. At the same lime he saw that Anna Akhmatova did not "fit in" this school, sensing warm, vital impulses in her poetry.
During his period of allegiance to the imagists Sergei Yescnin honestly believed that he was one of them. lie collaborated with them in "The Stall of Pegasus" and "The Hotel for Travellers into the Beautiful''. But he gained nothing at all from this association. His "Marc Ships" is spoiled by images for their own sake and an unnecessarily complex poetic, form. Certain of his poems also suffer from the imagisls' passion for bohemianism. Then he parted company with modernist experiments and turned to revolutionary poetry. This break with the imagisls was his salvation as a poet.
The talented Soviet poet Nikolai Zabololsky began writing in the late twenties as a member of one of the last modernist groups, the so-called ``obereuly''. But il was not with the book Posts or the poem "The Triumph of Agriculture" that he found his way to the realistic lyric. The grotesque, eccentric images of his early poetry linked 267 Zabololsky with artistic and poetic expressionism. He had a long way to go from this poetry al the end of the twenties to Ihe realism, the crystal clear poetry of thoughts, life and nature, of which he became .such a great master in later years. The only way was to sever all the ties that bound him with modernism. And this was what he did.
Only by revolting against the ``isms'' and throwing oil' their chains could these pools follow the path which was to make them great writers of works which will shine forever among the gems of Soviet literature. Blok. al though he became a romantic; poet and not a realist one, was always close to realism. Mayakovsky became (he founder of the poetry of socialist realism and it would be quile ridiculous to place him in the futurist tradition when Ihe whole spirit of his work is linked willi Ihe origin and development of revolutionary poetry.
The question is a comparatively simple one in the case of poets wlio made a complete break with modernism, such as Blok, Mayakovsky, Yesenin and Zabololsky, but considerably more complicaled when one comes to think of those who only managed to transcend it sporadically. They have provoked a great deal of confused thinking, which sometimes takes the form of vicious, undeserved criticism or else inspires wild, ill-founded praise. When we are dealing with a writer who had a difficult life, plagued by contradictions, alternating between success and failure, we should examine his legacy wilh great care in order to separate the good from the bad, the progressive from the modernist and thai which is lasting from the merely transient.
It is impossible, for example, to separate Rimbaud or Apollinaire from modernism, for Iheir connection with il was more than accidental. A I. Ihe same time one should not forget that the work of these great tragic poets who slruggled against decadent tendencies was not simply the product of modernism. One should sludy writers of this kind from a dialectic, Marxist poinl of view, detecting in their work signs of struggle and contradiction which were the result of the concrete historical circumstances in which Ihej' lived.
The same approach should be adopted in relation to Ihe work of certain important Russian modernist wrilers. II is 268 a fact thai Andrei Holy, a leading symbolist theoretician, Yelemir Khlebnikov, who was nurtured by the futurists. Osip Mandelshtam, a prominent acineist. Boris Paslernak or Marina Tsvelayeva are all modernist wrilers. Bui il is also clear thai Ihe besl of Iheir poetry resulted from their altempls to free themselves from modernism and turn to the traditions of the classics (as, for example, Bely in Asli, Pasternak in Ihe cycle Themes and Variations, and so on) and folklore (Khlebnikov). It would, of course, be absurd to claim that writers such as these were realists or antimodernisls. But il would be equally wrong to ignore that which is of value in their work.
Andrei Bely was one of the most devoted theoreticians of symbolism, which may be seen from his books The Green Meadow, Arabesques and Symbolism. But this eminent writer who was conslanlly in search of new artistic paths (and in his pre-revolulioiiary writing more often than not found himself in a blind alley) did not entirely dissipate his talent in Ihe modernist school to which he belonged. Symbolism played the most important role in his work, but il was not the only element. lie too experienced moments of inspired writing which brought him close to the traditions of the classical writers. These were not limited only to his writing in the Soviet period when, towards the end of his life, he wrote his three volumes of memoirs which contain some excellent realistic portraits and sketches. They are also to be found in works which appeared before the revolution, such as the book of poems entitled Ash in which the poet's indebtedness to Nckrasov is very apparent. At the same time his experiments with "musical prose" were exercising a harmful influence on many prose writers of the twenties (as was pointed out by (iorky). But nevertheless there were positive elements in some of his works (in Petersburg but not, of course, in the symphonies) echoes of which can be found, in a somewhat different form, in the works of such outstanding writers as Lyclia Seifullina. Leonid Leonov and Ysevolod Ivanov.
Yelemir Khlebnikov's works contain much that smacks of modernism, futurism and linguistic artifice. But Khlebnikov also made his individual contribution to revolutionary art in ``Ladomir'', "Night Before the Soviets" and many 269 lyrical poems. His palh was a difficult one hindered by the Tellers of modernist Iradilions. Bui his development and conlribuliun lo Hie new arl cannot he denied. The must accurate assessment, ol Khlehnikov came from Mayakovsky, who saw him as a poets' poet and realised that future poets would not ignore his legacy hut rather lake from it all thai was vital and reject (hat which was stillhorn and formalislic. Certain poets, unfortunately, have got carried away hy the least significant aspect of Khlebnikov's writing, his attempts to free words from their meaning and create a "trans-sense language''. But there is no denying that his writing contains a considerable amount of pure, iiohle lyricism, striking imagery and rich language which derive from folklore, not from his experiments. In my opinion it is time for a serious study of Khlebnikov in order to separate the wheat from the chad'. Up till now he has frequently been misunderstood, and the random publication of his writings has simply served to reinforce the impression that he is nothing but an abstruse writer.
Just as Bely and Khlebnikov have for a long time been unjustly rejected, so poels such as Mandelshlam, Paster nak and Tsvelayeva have recently become Ihe object of equally misguided praise. This is another illustration of the refusal lo apply concrete historical and critical principles when dealing wilh poels connected with modernism.
Osip Mandelshlam was an acmeist poet for many years, and although not all the poems in his collections Stone and Tristia conform lo acmeisl requirements, he was closely bound up with the formalistic tendencies of this school. The idealistic nature of his views on art may be judged from his collected essays Poetry. But Mandelshtam also developed and broke away from Ihe acmeists, a process which was inlerrupted by the poel's death in tragic circumstances. The slruggle between putrefying formalism and life-giving tendencies is presenl in his work loo. Here again an objective assessment of this process and a serious historical and crilical analysis is called for.
The legacy of Boris Pasternak has not, unfortunately, been Ihe subject of crilical research to dale. However, earlier criticism of his work was on Ihe right track, 270 providing a basis for a serious evaluation. In 19,'$(> in a book entitled Skelches of Soviet I'ocls I lie critic A. Selivanovsky pul his linger on cerlain important contradictions in Pasternak's work which are the result of his allempls to break away from modernism and his inability to renounce it once and for all. "In Pasternak's poetry,'' he writes, "we observe; two basic contradict ions which lie was constantly striving lo resolve, and this is what constitutes the mosl original, intimate side of his writing, his leitmotif. The first contradiction is Ihe conflict between the disharmony or `fragmentation' of consciousness and the desire for clarity, uiiily of consciousness and inner harmony. ...'' Selivanovsky correctly observes in Pasternak an "extreme pessimism" deriving from decadent, neo-Kanlian philosophy which the writer embraced early on in his life, and the urge towards "clarity and affirmation of life''. "And this contradiction,'' the critic continues, "is connected with the other one, the contradiction between individualism and socialism. He wants the revolution to start 'educating him afresh', but al the same lime equates his revolutionary feeling wilh self-sacrifice. He rushes forward to socialism only lo lind his way barred by individualism.''
How accurate these remarks are and how far removed from more recent allempls lo define Pasternak's talent in terms of his individualism and isolation. In all his best writing, such as "A Noble Sickness'', "Lieutenant Schmidt" and ``Waves'' Pasternak tried to rise above modernisl traditions. He was partially successful in this, but never quite managed lo overcome Ihese pernicious, putrefying traditions enlirely. Even during the war years afler he had completed the brilliant poem "Death of a Sapper" he did not succeed in discarding the idea lhat heroism is associated wilh self-sacrifice. There are overtones of this in the closing lines of this heroic poem:
``To live and burn up is hal>itual, Hut life can only conquer death // you illumine and enrich it litj sacrificing your own self."
From then onwards Pasternak's story is a sad one. The poet gave way increasingly lo individualism and pessimism. Even then, though, when he came into contact with 271 life forces, he was still capable occasionally of rising "above himself" and writing such impressive lines as:
\nt even hi/ I lie sli</ltlesl /'ruction Should i/ou I/our proper self transcend. Just he alive---in thonahl and action. Alive and onli/ lo Hie end."
However, il was an erroneous conception of life and the writer's gloomy pessimism which were already gaining the upper hand, and not the life forces. Nevertheless il would be a grave error lo ignore the best of his writing and simply write it oil' as the product of modernism. He should not. of course, be held up as an example to younger poets, but it would be equally mistaken to ascribe to modernism all that he achieved in the course of his struggle against decadence.
Precisely the same attitude should be adopted towards the work of Marina Tsvelayeva. 11 is just as pointless lo flounder about in wild attempts lo find in her poetry links with the revolutionary, peasant, mournful and angry muse of Nekrasov, as il is to compare Pasternak with Lermontov, although there was a period when Pasternak tried in a limited way lo imitate Lermonlov's lyrical style. Tsvelayeva did not even altempl to mould her style on Nekrasov. One should never lose sight of the fad that for a long time Tsvelayeva's altitude towards the revolution was a negative one, and that her association with modernism was very close and detrimental. Likewise one should also hear in mind thai she paid heavily for her delusions and made an honest, brave attempt to break with modern ism and make a fresh slarl.
As has already been mentioned above, our poetry of the first quarter of this century has firm, solid revolutionary traditions. Il also contains phenomena which are entirely alien to our present and future. Finally it possesses phenomena arising from Hie struggle lo overcome reactionary, aesthetic, lormalislic modernism, which should not be overlooked. This is \\liv the isolated achievements of 272 Andrei Bely, Velemir Khlebnikov, Osip Mandelshlam, Boris Pasternak, Marina Tsvctaycva and other poets oi' this kind will not be forgollen or ignored. But even Ihe besl of what they produced should not be held up as an example to our present writers, for it must always he remembered that I hey were not capable of making a full and final break with modernism.
The struggle between realism and modernism is one that has embraced all the arts. We were reminded of this once again at an inleresting international discussion of the novel which took place in Leningrad in 1963. Two conflicting points of view met in head-on collision, realism and modernism.
In the opening discussions on the novel at the Symposium of the European Community of Writers we heard frequent references to two ``zones'' of development of the novel, two ``zonal'' approaches, namely, those of Western and Eastern Europe. The West, we were told by the supporters of this zonal Iheory, slood in direct opposition to Ihe spirilual world of Eastern Europe, with regard to the novel, and to the literary world of the European socialist countries. The fallaciousness of this geo-ideological theory gradually became more and more apparent. It became clear that there do not exist and cannot exist any geographical boundaries or limits to artistic ideology and creative art. Then the discussion lurried to another conflict, that between Ihe realist and the modernist novel. It became evidenl on closer scruliny that the realist novel had gained the upper hand all over Europe. Socialist realism not only reigned supreme in Soviet literature and the literature of the socialist countries, but was also brilliantly represented in West-European countries. One need only mention the names of such novelists as Louis Aragon, Andre Stil, Sean O'Casey, Jack Lindsay and James Aldridge, Hans Scherfig and Oivind Bolstad. The maslers of critical realism in the West enjoy far more widespread popularity among readers than the decadent modernist writers. Who is more popular with the average reader? Remarque, __PRINTERS_P_273_COMMENT__ 18--862 273 Beckett, Leonhard Frank or Elisabeth Langgiisser? We could go on adding to this list writers such as Heinrich B\"oll, Hans Werner Kichter. Ilalldor Laxness, the Italian neo-realists and the I'"rench social novelists, all of whom are diametrically opposed to the anti novel ol' the modernists.
It is, thus, a clash ol' different types of novel, not ol different ``zones'' that we are witnessing on the European literary scene. The realist novel, in the development ol which socialist realist novels have played a leading role, is not limited solely to the East European zone. It also enjoys success and popularity all over Ihe continent, and is represented in the literature ol' many West-European countries. At the same time, of course, one must beware of minimising the threat which modernism constitutes to the arts, literature and the novel in particular. The two types of novel which we have been discussing are locked in deadly combat, for they represent two fundamentally dilTercnl attitudes of mind.
There were many occasions during the Leningrad Symposium when I called to mind that brilliant book The Novel and the People written by Ralph Eox, an English Marxist who lost his life in the thirties lighting for the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War. This book was in many respects a prophetic one. Eox demonstrated how the socialist struggle and the revolution were giving now depth and breadth to the mental outlook of the novelist and enriching the epic content of the novel, lie gave a correct diagnosis of the fatal diseases of bourgeois literature and forecast the outcome. In the many years which have passed since The Novel and the People was written we have witnessed the socialist realist novel moving from one triumph to the next in the work of such writers as Mikhail Sholokhov and Leonid Leoiiov, Marie Pujmaiiova and Marie Majorova, Anna Seghers and Bodo Uliso, Emmanuil Kazakevich and Oles (ionchar, Bela Illes and Jaroslaw Iwaszkiewicz, Mikhailo Stelmakh and Chinghis Ailmatov . . . (that's enough names---it's impossible to give a full list anyway). We are also devoted readers of the latest works by European novelists of critical realism. In addition to those contemporary writers mentioned above, I should, of course, mention the great realist novelists of a generation 274 just gone by, such as Thomas Mann. Roger Martin du Card and Lion Feuchlwanger. In the Held of modernist literature we have: seen a further decline in the novel, the individual novelists as writers, and the form and content of the narrative. The modernist novel has taken on the form of the anti-novel. The plot has been superseded by a stream of subjective impressions; puppets and dummies have taken the place of real, live characters and style has been ousted by mannerism. Everything which went to make the novel such a great art form in the hands of the classics and of which we are so justly proud in the realistic novel ---a bold outlook on life and a penetrating analysis of the laws of reality---has given way to fear of life and escape into a world of subjective, irrational ideas. The modernist novel has ceased to be an artistic whole and has become a fragmented reflection of the fragmented consciousness, the kaleidoscope of disconnected impressions. The novel has changed from a popular art form exercising a strong educative influence upon the reading public, into something totally isolated from the people as a whole and intended for a narrow circle of decadent ``intellectuals''. We see realism coming into its own and modernism falling by the wayside. We see the ties between realism and the people growing stronger and wider whilst modernism eats away at its own roots.
The questions of the dill'erent types of novels and their fate cannot be separated from the question of our attitude towards the traditions of the past, and the search for traditions. Here we find ourselves in disagreement with certain supporters of modernist views and tastes. At the Leningrad Symposium certain speakers from the West stubbornly insisted on the importance of the beneficial influence of Proust, Joyce and Kafka on succeeding generations. Some Italian, Erench and West-German writers even went so far as to assert that these writers started a new movement in 'literature. As champions of the realist novel we are bound to disagree with this. The creation of new, healthy, forward-looking literature capable of serving mankind can and must take place on the broad, solid base of great literary traditions. The legacy of the modernists is not capable of providing a launching pad for literary spaceships.
__PRINTERS_P_275_COMMENT__ 18* 275Far be it from us to oversimplify or degrade the works of Marcel 1'rou.sl, James Joyce or Fran/, Kafka. Lei us say straight away that they are all extremely original writers by no means similar to each other. What is more, their work contains some positive elements and, although it is fundamentally a product of modernism, docs not deserve to be dismissed out of hand. The Joyce of the Dublincrs which has many excellent realistic passages is not the Joyce of Ulysses which contains the seeds of the antinovel. The modernistic works of Proust contain many features which he inherited from critical realism. But all this is of secondary importance, since Proust's writing is characterised not by his link with the realism of Flaubert but by his rejection of it. It is impossible to ignore the existence in Kafka's work of social criticism, the tragic testament of the "little man" repressed by the heartless, bourgeois order. But the writer's feeling of social helplessness and fear of life had a severely detrimental effect on his work, distorting and undermining his talent. (It should also not be forgotten that many of the works published by Max Brod after Kafka's death were not intended by the author for publication.)
It is only fair and in the interests of a live, developing literature that the legacy of these writers should be subjected to a careful analysis in order to define the nature of the contradictions present in their work, and determine their historical position in literature. But neither the undoubted talent of these writers nor their isolated achievements can conceal the fact that their work is the product of modernism. And it is this which prevents their writing from serving as a model for the present-day, forwardlooking novel. The path leading to the present day from Tolstoi, Stendhal, Flaubert and Chekhov is shorter than the distance from Proust and Kafka, shorter not in time but in content. The modern novel is following the path of realism and draws, first and foremost, on realist traditions. It also embraces all that which is best outside realism (from the romantics, for example). At the same lime it rejects totally all that which is opposed to realism and on the side of modernism.
276One of the most dangerous tendencies which results from an incorrect assessment of Ihe value of the modernist legacy is Ihe attempt to justify all its ``isms'' by viewing them as important literary break-throughs. This is done in a variety of ways. Some try to give futurism a place in modern literature by praising Mayakovsky highly, in spile of the fact, which was mentioned earlier on, that the great pool's associalion with Ihis school was exlremely tenuous and short-lived. Others atlempl to hail surrealism and expressionism as progressive movements by acclaiming Ihe work of Ihe great poets Paul Eluard and Johannes Bechcr, whose early wriling was influenced by Ihese trends. It is, of course, well known thai Beclier broke away from expressionism after a few years and spent the rest of his life writing in the realist tradition. But the supporters of modernism are not interested in logical conclusions or historical facts.
Its supporters advance yet another argument. ``Isms'', they say, were cssenlial slages in Ihe development of great writers, a kind of launching pad from which the young experimenters rose to great heights. Bui how can anyone possibly be launched inlo realism from a decadent pad? Eluard, for example, who is often quoted in support of this poiiil of view, began experimenting as a rcalisl writer and developed towards socialist realism at the poinl when he renounced surrealism. II is not surrealism thai gave us Eluard as we know and love him. but realism which won him away gradually from surrealism.
People who atlempl lo keep Ihe modernist flag Hying and resurrect dead ``isms'' frequently claim that arl musl not be ``limited'', lhat one must adopt a tolerant, broadminded approach lo it. At the same time as demanding tolerance for modernjsm Ihey conlinue lo harangue realism in a most intoleranl fashion. By gelling rid of noxious modernisl Irends we are nol limiling arl but saving it from the spiritual deformation and decay with which decadence threatens all spheres of art. By getting rid of all that which has been poisoned by bourgeois society we are saving everything vital and guaranteeing thai it will prosper and llourish.
277Let it not be forgotten that realism and modernism are irreconcilable, sworn enemies.
The leading realist school of the twentieth century is undoubtedly that of socialist realism. Although it is still limited geographically, it plays a decisive role in the development of world literature. Socialist realism avoids all slogans and formulae. It is opposed to dogma on principle in both theory and practice. The struggle against dogma in aesthetics is, in particular, a struggle against the attempt to restrict realism and reduce it to a mere reproduction of externals.
One of the important achievements of our aesthetic theory in this struggle is its assertion of convention. For a long time Soviet literature and criticism suffered from the contrast which was drawn between realism and convention. The attempt to remove convention (an organic property of art) from the framework of realism has never stopped and has produced some wonderful literary fruits. They illustrated clearly that convention is one of the basic components of art, and that only one form of convention, formalism, is opposed to true art.
Realism in art has always been rich in form, genre and style. Bertolt Brecht has given some excellent analyses of the richness and variety of realism, and his comments sounded particularly apt and convincing during the period when art was being released from dogmatic restrictions. In spite of all their variety writers of the realist school always remain firm adherents to the most basic, fundamental principle, characteristic of realist art. They always have been and always will be social writers.
There are no spheres of social life into which Soviet literature has not delved. Our art has memorably reflected the most characteristic features of life, remaining eternally indebted to it.
There are no nooks or crannies in everyday life into which the realist writer cannot penetrate. Life interpreted not as a naturalistic reproduction, but as concrete social reality, the daily manifestation of social existence . . . 278 psychology . . . nature . . . the mysteries of the universe . . . the subconscious. All this lies open to the artist of socialist realism, which is amply demonstrated by the achievements of Soviet literature.
New phenomena in the field of realism are not `` inventions'' or caprice, but valid, new artistic solutions, which the writer arrives at through his vital links with life and a profound study of human existence. The writer's social aclivily and philosophical background play an extremely important role in this process.
The best products of Soviet literature were those which consciously broke new ground. This is clearly illustrated in Dmitry Furmanov's diaries, Subjective Notes and articles by Alexander Fadeyev and Alexei Tolstoi's discussions of the so-called "inner gesture''. Mayakovsky's aesthetic views expressed in his essay entitled How Is Poetry Written? are a brilliant illustration of the writer consciously subjecting his artistic quest to the social task and the newideas born in the struggle for progress. Nikolai Aseyev, who produced some excellent criticism of Mayakovsky, wrote a wonderfully subtle and profound analysis of the poet's process of writing the poem "About That" from the point of view of his originality. In one of his poems Aseyev stales with penetrating accuracy that Mayakovsky tackled so-called formal problems only after solving the main social and moral problems:
__FIX__ For blockquotes: (1) add class="poetry" or "poem" (2) insert BReaks.``They say that your stanza's a staircase
And analyse separate parts,
But foract all about its essence---
Makiiif/ happier human hearts."
Aseyev's own theoretical works on poetry are also steeped in this consciousness of the secondary nature of formal problems and their subjection to social solutions and a study of life with all its demands. We find the same approach in Alexander Tvardovsky's commentary to "Vasily Tyorkin" (and in Marshak's articles on Tvardovsky's poetry) and in Mikhail Isakovsky's book on poetry.
Each new discovery in realist art is dictated by life, as one might put it. Socialist realism is not a literary school in the narrow sense of a ``magic'' circle of standardised 279 prescriptions. If one can speak of schools within socialist realism it is only in the broadest sense of a stylistic tendency. Socialist realist writers remain extremely close to the traditions of old critical realism, whose great exponents, however different they may have been, were all united by a strong social and moral sense. This is what Gorky wrote about in his article entitled "The Destruction of the Individual": "The old writers had breadth of vision, a balanced attitude towards life and an acute awareness of life itself: they \vere interested in the world as a whole.''
Just as realist art is as varied as the life which gives birth to it, life which is infused with the fervour of transforming the world, so modernist art can rightly be called monotonous. We are not speaking here of uniformity or a levelling of modernist artists. It is impossible not to recognise their individual nature. But modernist art by its very nature does not allow the artist to develop freely and impedes him from realising his creative potential.
Modernist art also possesses its own form of "reflecting life" but this reflection is distorted by bourgeois society. Any artist who becomes reconciled to bourgeois society and takes on the role of its servant or advocate is doomed. This is what Gorky had to say about such artists before the revolution: "Either he stands openly on the side of the ruling classes or takes up a position between these classes and the people and fulfils the role of 'reconciling the social contradictions'.'' He observed that the modernist artist becomes an individualist as a result of definite social laws, and that this individualist position leads him to subjective artistic solutions and arbitrariness in art.
The subjectivism of the modernist artist is very closely connected with the answer to the philosophical question which Lenin defined as the "really important epistemological question'', namely, is the source of our knowledge of causal connections "objective natural law or properties of our mind, its innate faculty of apprehending certain a priori truths, and so forth?''^^1^^ Needless to say, subjectivisLs have always answered this question by denying the _-_-_
~^^1^^ V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, Vol. 14, p. 159.
280 existence of objective laws of nature and society, seeing man as the creator of these laws.Criticising the idealist Karl Pearson in .Materialism and Kmpirio-criticism Lenin defended those poets whom Pearson accused of having mistakenly regarded nature as man's master. These poets, whom Pearson branded along with the materialists, were, of course, the realists and progressive romantics. Lenin noted yet another feature typical of the subjectivist way of thinking, namely, that the subjectivists (the philosophers of whom Lenin was writing and the poets and artists who supported these philosophers) concern themselves not with reality itself, but with their perception and impressions, which for them constitute a reality existing outside us. Thus the subjectivists, in their philosophy and their art, see the world generally as a "collection of impressions" and not as objective reality.
This rift between talent and concrete reality alone is sufficient to deprive the work of art of much of its richness. Added to this the subjectivist approach often makes works tendentious in the most pejorative sense of the word. The artist's impressions of reality turn out to be dressed-up, preconceived, arbitrary ideas. In this connection Gorky wrote that the modernist "is boring because he is always tendentious" when he serves the ruling classes in the bourgeois world, and that when he tries to take up a position between these classes and the people he is "compelled to take refuge from reality in fantasy and Utopian ideals which are entirely void of all social or educational significance"
The literary career of Leonid Andreyev is an excellent illustration of the truth of Gorky's words. Andreyev began writing as a democrat and critical realist and it was during this early period that he produced his best works which have survived up to the present day. Then he tried to take up a position between the ruling classes and the people, and his writing took flight into the, realms of fantasy and subjective imagination, in which he sought to render his impressions of reality by means of abstract, speculative notions. Towards the end of his life he broke away entirely from his former social convictions becoming a spokesman for the bourgeois reaction and thus ruining his talent which 281 became an instrument for the tendentious bourgeois press.
The lack of variety in modernist art is due to its schematic nature. This is amply demonstrated by the socalled "romaii nouvcau'' in France, which is characterised by schematic constructions taking the place of true knowledge of life and the broad powerful generalisations which we normally associate with the novel.
All abstractionism, by its very nature, is based on schemes. We delect in it distorted ``carcasses''' of impressions totally subjectivist and arbitrary, instead of the living substance of reality. In contrast to realism, modernism is generally associated with various types of formal schools and minor schools with a strict set of prescribed artistic canons. One only has to take a look at the manifestoes and declarations of the modernist groups and groupings which were so abundant in the literature of the time of the revolution to see what an impeding effect they exercised on the development of the writers who adhered to them. Even really talented writers, such as Yesenin or Khlebnikov, were held back by their association with modernist schools. As has already been mentioned Khlebnikov fell under the influence of the futurists in their attempt to create a trans-sense language, whereas Yesenin suffered from the imagisls' theory of the trans-sense image.
Realism as an art form has generally shunned and continues to shun all glossy declarations and manifestoes. Its exponents turn rather to the important task of analysing their own principles and the achievements of their colleagues. At the same time their work is extremely rich and varied. Not so with the modernists. They continue to proclaim their various declarations and manifestoes, doing their utmost to persuade people of the originality of their artistic quest. In actual fact, in spite of all these pretensions, their work is entirely standard in conception and execution. And this artistic uniformity is incapable of being concealed by the various formal devices to which they have recourse in a vain attempt to give their work vitality and originality.
282The most cherished traditions of socialist realism are those of critical realism (and the inspired social criticism of progressive romanticism).
The term ''critical realism" is a relative one, and its limitations are immediately apparent. Nevertheless, no other modern definition exists for literature which attacks the rapacious capitalist world from the position of progressive bourgeois democracy. It is understood that this definition is relative and that it is used to denote an extremclv wide range of phenomena with differing social roots and artistic principles. But, nevertheless, the term is a meaningful one since it pinpoints a most important factor uniting various writers who are struggling against the world of evil and violence, namely, the predominantly critical nature of their art. And it is for this reason that the term came to be accepted, after it had first been coined by dor ky, as one denoting an important social phenomena, namely, criticism as a weapon of the social struggle.
Critical realism, which produced its greatest works in the nineteenth and at the beginning of the twentieth centuries, still exists in our day in a number of countries where the people are struggling against the capitalist yoke or against vestiges of a feudal order. It grows up and develops in countries where the people have already begun the process of throwing off colonial slavery (such as many countries in Asia, Africa and Latin America). Its historical role remains a progressive one in these given social conditions. Thus, if one takes a broad, historical view of critical realism, it becomes apparent that in capitalist countries it acts as the ally and helper of a higher form of realism, socialist realism.
Bearing in mind all the divergences between critical realism and socialist realism, one must not see them as diametrically opposed methods, since they are linked by ideological and artistic blood ties. A great deal unites the work of these two types of realist writers in present-day conditions: democratic principles, humanitarian outlook (in one case based on general democratic, tendencies and in the other on consistent socialist democracy), and hatred of exploitation, violence and war. Moreover there is no 283 dividing line between critical realist writers and socialist realist writers. Some of the I'ormer come very close in their work to socialist realism, whilst others have come to adopt its ideological and artistic; lends as their own.
When Gorky was defining Hie difference between critical and socialist realism, he approached the question dialectic-ally. He maintained that socialist realist art first and fore most affirmed the experience of the new society. At the same time he was perfectly aware that the experience of the new society came to life through struggle and that this struggle would be fruitless and meaningless if it were not accompanied by criticism of the past and the remaining vestiges of the old order.
This particular aspect of Gorky's definition deserves special emphasis in view of the fact that it is not fully understood by certain foreign critics, who maintain that Gorky excluded criticism from socialist realism and thereby transformed it into an apologetic, vindicatory exercise.
Such an interpretation is far from the truth. Gorky bequeathed us an entirely different concept of socialist realism, according to which criticism is not eliminated at all, but serves to affirm the new order. This is quite logical. In the capitalist world criticism has the aim of undermining and destroying society, whereas in socialist society it works for the good of that society by struggling with vestiges of the past. Thus, socialist realism inherits the critical art of the past, but the criticism itself takes on an entirely different function.
We are familiar with many Western critical realist writers who have remained true to its ideological and artistic tenets. Nevertheless, their path has been considerably enriched by contact with the socialist struggle. In an address at the Second Bitterfeld Conference (April 1964), Walter Ulbricht made the point that the Thomas Mann of the early period, when he wrote Buddcnbrooks was very different from the Thomas Mann who welcomed the foundation of the German Democratic Republic, just as the Heinrich Mann of the Professor Unrat period was worlds apart ideologically from the author of anti-fascist manifestoes of the united front. Our literary research has not yet made a serious study of the influence of socialist ideology 284 on a number of important writers (for example, such a major writer as Lion Feuclilwanger who made a profound study of Lenin's essays, or Upton Sinclair whom Lenin called a "socialist of feeling'').
A study of the process of transition in a number of writers from critical realism to socialist realism, .showing the various ways in which these writers went over to Hie highest form of modern realism, is of the utmost importance. It is by no means a purely academic exercise, since it is also of definite cultural and political significance.
Modernist art, the art of bourgeois decadence, is unacceptable to the supporters of socialist realism. It is also unacceptable to the supporters of critical realism. This is how the literary critic, Herbert Kubly, describes today's American modernist prose in the Saturday Review: "The generation of the Fifties and Sixties escaped... to the more ephemeral shores of their own subconsciousness, into the hallucinatory worlds of marijuana, and the mushroom, of heroin and lysergic acid, into the Reichian world of sex and deviation, into the mystical exercises of Oriental sects.. .. Their anti-novels speak to and for disassociated young, a generation grown up without faith and without values.''
Herbert Kubly is an open supporter of critical realism, fie states: "Great novels ... are built upon a hero, an individual with whom the reader can identify, a man or woman presented in conflict with or against a background of his social group. They were read because people believed in the existence of good as opposed to evil.''^^1^^ Such an attitude makes it impossible for Kubly to accept the modernist anti-novel, at the centre of which the reader finds "anti-heroes who hale, curse and destroy''.
The same fundamental spiritual barrier which separates modernism from socialist realism also divides it off from critical realism. The anti-novel and anti-drama, de-- dramatisation and de-heroisation, subjectivism and irrationalism, the theatre of the absurd and the cinema of the "stream of life" and "stream of consciousness'', all the formalist and abstractionist schools are not only alien, but also _-_-_
~^^1^^ Saturday Review, May 2, 1964, Vol. 47, No. 18, pp. 15, 26.
285 definitely harmful to realist art. Here ihere can be no talk of compromise or synthesis of any kind.At the same time the bourgeois world does all it can to foist on us the idea of the ``synthesis'' of realism and modernism, a ``synthesis''' in which realism is clearly swallowed, ``gobbled'' up without trace. A good illustration of this is to be found in a book by Ileinrich Liilzeler entitled Abstract Art (Meaning and Limits) published recently in (iutersloh, West Germany.
The author of this book is an advocate of abstract art. He describes the aim of his review as follows: "to define the limits of abstract art and in so doing cultivate in the reader the ability lo appreciate non-representational paintings with his own eyes completely independently.''^^1^^
In spite of his fervent support of abstract art Liitzeler is forced to admit a "certain one-sidedness" in it, as he puts it. In Liitzeler's very words, this is explained by the fact that the art of the abstractionists "is not capable of presenting society with a portrait of itself.''^^2^^ Whilst enthusing over the works of abstract art, their champion cannot help confessing lo the fact that it is essentially a-social and void of all social ``usefulness''. "One cannot deny that abstract art finds its main themes outside society. These themes may be of interest to society and may fascinate it; but they do not explain it, nor do they make any contribution lo our analysis of and attempts lo improve society.''
Then Liilzeler produces his theory of compromise. He advances the theory of three types of art and recommends that they be synthcsised. What are these three types of arl and how do they differ from one another? The difference, it transpires, lies in the role played by form.
There is one type of art in which the arlist sacrifices form, namely, representational art (i.e., realism). There is another type of art in which form is of prime importance. Then "real phenomena frequently become raw material for the imagination and the spirit ... in their striving lo transcend limits and time''. It is not difficult to proceed from _-_-_
~^^1^^ II. Liilzeler, Abslraktc Malrrei, Bedetiliniy und Grcnze, Giitersloli, 19G:S, S. 114.
~^^2^^ Ibid., S. 182--83.
286 this form (modernism) lo the third---abstractionism, where subjectivism reigns supreme. Liil/eler formulates this with the utmost clarity: "Form as an abstraction is totally independent; it is basically alien to all that is representational. It creates its own bonds from shape and colour.''^^1^^Liitzeler sees abstract arl as the highest form of artistic activity. Bui al the same lime he is prepared lo acknowledge its shortcomings. Hence the proposed synthesis: ''Only through the interaction of all these (three types of artistic activity---Aulhvr.) can true arl be produced.''^^2^^ It is, however, impossible to ignore the dividing line between all the forms of bourgeois aesthetic decadence and realist art.
A great deal is being written and said at the present lime aboul the limits of realism. The famous French philosopher and writer Roger Garaudy published a book with the title D'un realismc sans rivages (Realism Without Bounds). One cannot but agree with some aspects of this book, for example, certain penetrating observations about Picasso, and the trenchant criticism of naturalistic copyism. But the work also contains propositions which one feels bound to object to.
There are not and cannot be any limiting factors in the relationship between realism and reality. Here realism is as unrestricted and omnipotent as human knowledge itself. But realism is, and always will be anti-modernist. It will never sel foot across the divide thai separales il from modernism.
Realisl art is always humane. It is infused with a deep love for mankind, with the desire lo help society and promote progress. Formalism and abstractionism, on the other hand, are anti-humane. They despise the deep analysis of character, and turn Iheir attention instead to distorling man's image. Naturalism is also anti-humane in that il porIrays masks instead of individuals and produces a superficial photograph without penetrating into the depths of human nature. Both formalism and naturalism are void of of all deep perception. Their perception is either _-_-_
~^^1^^ Ibid.
^^2^^ Ibid., S. 183.
287 ''made strange" or blunled. and invariably cold and unemotional.Victor Shklovsky gives a very apt and original definition of the fundamental difference between naturalism (''bad literature'') and realism in his short essay entitled "The Sun Never Sets on the Great": "In bad literature we sim ply describe the person standing before us. We limit ourselves to what Hegel referred to in philosophy as ' appearance'. In life we would probably see Akaky Akakievich Bashmachkin as a weak little man. But in great literature he arouses our compassion and we share in his tragedy, although this tragedy is nothing more than the loss of a coat. And then we see him revolt against his position, against humiliation and repression. He gains stature in our eyes and becomes himself.''
This is the crux of the matter: man and our understand ing and portrayal of him. It is from this point, the attitude towards man and the understanding of the world as the world of social, human activity that Roger Garaudy launches his attack on naturalism in the book Realism Without Bounds. "Artistic activity,'' he writes in his essay on Picasso, "is not something from which man is excluded as the naturalists believe.'' "Being a realist,'' he observes in the section entitled "Instead of an Afterword'', "does not mean copying reality just as it is: it means copying the activity which is inherent in this reality. Realism does not mean that you have to give a plaster cast or an exact copy of things, events or people; it means taking part in the act of creating the world which is in constant process of formation, and putting one's finger on the pulse of its inner rhythm.''^^1^^
Thus the dividing line between realism and naturalism is drawn accurately and firmly. But, unfortunately, it immediately begins to get blurred. Those who advocate the idea of "realism without bounds" proceed from the perfectly correct assumption that all true works of art express the form of man's presence in the world.
However, they then go on to include anti-realist phenomena in the sphere of realism, on the basis that these too constitute part of reality! It could, of course, be held _-_-_
~^^1^^ Roger Gnnuuly, D'un rcnlisme sans riixiges, Paris, 1963, p. 244.
288 that all sorts of subjectivist philosophical theories (even solipsism itself) are part of reality, mutilated reflections of it. But no one would seriously consider including such idealistic theories in a materialist world outlook.Modern Marxist aesthetics uses the theory of reflection to establish the precise divergences between realism and the various modernist trends. Consistent application of this theory to the products of modern art is a safeguard against the indiscriminate inclusion in realism of anything that may for this or that reason seem worthy of the critic's attention. The crucial difference between modernism and realism is the clearly expressed desire of the modernists to take flight from reality and the reproduc'tion of its true laws and complex contradictions. The modernist does not reflect or open up the world. He closes it up, subordinating reality to his own, generally anarchistic and limited point of view, whether it is some Freudian complex, the idea of the ``irrationality'' of life, the all-devouring "stream of consciousness" or the hopelessly pessimistic, final sen lence to man in all these countless ``trials'' which modernist literature of the twentieth century has held and is still holding with man in the dock.
In recent years certain theoreticians have consistently tried to persuade artists to ``enrich'' and ``broaden'' realism by borrowing from modernist art. They cite, in this respect, the literary heritage of Proust, Joyce (who was first held up as an example to Soviet prose writers, to no effect whatsoever, at the beginning of the thirties) and Kafka.
Here one is bound to agree with the views expressed by the well-known Polish critic, Stefan Zolkiewski, in the article which he wrote criticising Roger Garaudy's book, published in the weekly magazine Politika in 1963 (Nos. 45, 46). Proceeding from the assumption that "literature must seek new forms of expression for new problems and new times" the critic objects to people who would have artists follow in the steps of those who are nothing but ``branches'' which have fallen off the free of realism and 289 turned oil down the path of modernism. Talking about Polish writers he says: "We were laced with this problem long before Garaudy. And found a diiTorent solution to it. Not by glorifying Kafka and crowning him king of the basic tendency in literature, but by recognising that the genuine, basic tendency in literature (the mainstream of realism which is constantly developing and taking on new forms, as Zolkiewski writes---Author.) is capable of developing and also of absorbing and transforming artistic discoveries made outside it.''
Much of what Stefan Zolkiewski has to say is debatable, but one is bound to approve of the spirit which underlies his remarks. The Polish critic's article gives a clear piclure of the socialist realist artist as one engaged in a conscious, single-minded quest, and outlines the future development of socialist realism. "We are bringing about a cul tural revolution,'' Zolkiewski declares, "and creating a special type of culture. We are creating it for an ideologically defined recipient. We are creating a culture rich in content, which meets the requirements of the type of person for whom it is intended. That person is the dedicated builder of socialism. Therefore the task, which we are solving each day, is that of selecting a certain content and certain values. One important condition of this selection is the choice of traditions. In Poland this means the cultural traditions of the revolutionary workers' movement---both international and Polish---traditions connected with the national liberation movement, and the anti-religious, free dom-loving, humanitarian arid rationalist traditions of man kind. The cultural traditions of the proletariat are of special value.. .. The culture which we are creating is the culture of the masses.. . .''
I have quoted at such length because this passage seems to me to be highly relevant. The attempt to select traditions in the interests of the main line of literary development which is closely linked with the political problems being solved by the people, is undoubtedly a correct approach.
One of the most characteristic features of the literature of socialist realism is its striving towards the future.
290The older form of realism, critical realism, also produced works in which I he central figure was a lighter and reform or, an advocate of new, .social ideals, concerned about the present and the future.
The art of the socialist struggle has made communist man the bearer of the trails of the bright future. It is not without good cause that socialist literature is held to start with Gorky's novel Mother, although this work was actually written some time before Soviet power was established. The character of Pavel Vlasov is historically three dimensional, in that he rejects the past conquering its vcsliges in himself, struggles in the present and blazes a new trail into the future affirming ils ideals.
At the Lime when the book was written even such a sensitive crilic as V. V. Vorovsky, who also played an active part in the revolutionary struggle, took the view that Gorky's revolutionary characters were not so much real people as heightened mythical figures. Vorovsky was wrong when lie wrote about Gorky's character Pelageya Nilovna that "the figure of Nilovna was out of the ordinary, idealised and closer to that which could be rather than that which actually is in everyday life''. As it happened, everyday life showed that Pavel, Nilovna and the other characters in the novel were true to life, not idealised. It was this that gave; them their special value, even in comparison with the poetic, allegorical characters of Gorky's early writing, such as Daiiko, for example, that legendary, almost mylhologised figure, somewhat similar to the myth of Prometheus. The legendary hero had an important role to play at the dawning of the new stage in the revolutionary movement, just as the beginning of the actual revolutionary struggle of the working class gave rise to characters in literature which were true to life.
The concern of Soviet writers for the future and their portrayal of characters constantly striving ahead have always been an important feature of Soviet literature right from its early days. This was true of our literature even at the lime when the people had just begun the great task of building communism. Jusf as Gorky's Pavel Vlasov was three-dimensional, as I put it figuratively, the same is true of (ialina Nikolayeva's Bakhirev, Vadim Ko/hevnikov's Baluyev, Chinghis Aitmatov's "first teacher" and Mikhailo __PRINTERS_P_291_COMMENT__ 19* 291 Slclmakh's Marko Bessmerlny. And can it not also he said that Davydov, one of the greatest creations of Soviet literature, exists in three types ol reality. And do we not i'ecl the breath ol I he future in works, which are smaller in size but of great philosophical profundity, such as the short stories ''The Fate of a Man" by Mikhail Sholokhov or '``Sunflowers'' by Vitaly Zakrutkin?
Certain foreign theoreticians are today challenging Gorky's idea that art should concern itself with the third reality, on the grounds that looking into the future is both alien to and dangerous for literature. Gorky's views about the reality of the future and attempts to foresee it are criticised by them as being "highly dubious" and they do not consider it possible to give "artistic form to the results of this dubious fortune-telling''. In so doing they drastically oversimplify Gorky's ideas which by no means entailed a detailed knowledge and description of the events of the future. What is more, in staunchly recommending realist writers to desist from looking into the future they arc going against the very essence of realism, threatening to turn it into naturalistic copying of reality.
Roger Garaudy approaches this subject somewhat differently without attacking Gorky. lie writes: "To demand in the name of realism that a work of art should reflect present-day reality in all its entirety, and sketch an historical trajectory of the age and people, that it should express the main currents of that age and its future development, is a philosophical not an aesthetic requirement.'' There is a great deal in this statement. Who wants a large encyclopaedia instead of a work of art? And who is suggesting that we should have textbooks on history, economics or philosophy in place of art? It is difficult to see to whom Garaudy's remarks are addressed. At the same time it would, of course, be wrong to suggest that socialist realism should not concern itself with expressing man's striving for the future.
It would appear that this confused understanding of the relation of socialist art to the future arises through an insufficient appreciation of the strength and-scope of the growing connection between this art and scientific thought and achievements. It is sometimes said that the only demand that one should make of an artist is that he should be an 292 artist, that is. a person who is capable of expressing him self in artistic form and giving an accurate picture of our age. This is an unjustifiable limitation of the problem. The problem of "how to write" (we are, of course, taking it for granted that the person in question is a writer and not a mere dilettante) is not merely a question of talent but of his level of ideological development, degree of social commitment and understanding of that which best serves the present and future in art.
There are many excellent articles, books and letters by socialist realist writers on the subject of writing and literary talent. Mayakovsky, Becher. Gorky, Martin Andersen Nexo, Brecht. Afinogenov. Alexei Tolstoi and Marshak have all turned Iheir pen to it. Works of this kind, profound studies of the criteria and principles of new writing, exist in abundance. They offer a wide range of concrete suggestions, advice and exhortations. But underlying them all is the urge "to measure the quality of poetry by the commune" as Mayakovsky put it. This urge cannot allow writers to remain indifferent to ques'.ions concerning the future and to regard such questions as being ``unartistic''. Nor can it permit the view that the main line of approach for the modern writer to the society of the future is in the creation of myths.
A great deal has been written by foreign critics in recent limes about the creation of myths. This question is frequently treated as being separate from that of how to approach the myths of the past.
The view is advanced that works of art in all ages are a function of labour and myth. By labour is meant actual strength, techniques, knowledge, discipline, social structure, in other words everything that has been or is being done. Myth, on the other hand, is used to represent a concrete expression of the knowledge of that which is lacking, that which still remains to be done in spheres of nature and society not yet mastered by man. The realism of our times is the creator of myths, an epic, Promethean realism.
293It must be said straight away that only dogmatists (such as our revered educationalists ol' earlier days with their gloomy struggle against the anthropomorphism of fairytales, legends and myths) would want to deny the artist the possibility of using and re-fashioning myths within socialist realism. But it must also be made equally clear that the creation of myths is not. and never will lie. the main path of socialist art.
One should bear in mind the well known words of Marx in his Introduction to "Principles of the Criticism of Political Economy" which give an excellent forecast of the role which the creation of myths is destined to play in the age of scientific progress. "All mythology masters, subdues and fashions the forces of nature in the imagination and with the assistance of imagination. Consequently it disappears when these forces of natvire are mastered.''
Popular myths were always the product of realistic thinking and cognition. They frequently embraced and reflected real phenomena, and in ancient times they were accepted not as invention, but as history delermining the social and aesthetic norms of the future. It is perfectly feasible that modern writers should have recourse to myths (we come across them, for example, in the tales and plays of Marshak). But the use of myths in modern writing takes the form of refashioning them. There are no grounds what soever for nourishing modern realist writing on the creation of myths (or for reducing it to the creation of myths alone).
Realist writing has many examples of the ``re-thinking'' of myths. Russian revolutionary writing showed that new. revolutionary works could be written modelled on myth and legend, as may be seen from Gorky's early poetry and poetic prose. But at that time the creation of myths was a matter of direct social expediency and, incidentally, also showed a critical attitude in relation to the myths of the past. Great modern writing is inspired by a vision of the new world and the future development of mankind. It gives expression to this not by creating myths, but by analysing and crystallising present-day reality in the process of its constant development, by the analysis and crystallisation of real, contemporary characters. Only writing which is based on advanced scientific thinking (including scientific 294 prediction) is capable of helping mankind to solve the great historical tasks before it. assisting in the building of a just society, and. most important of all. teaching man to be human.
``Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be,'' says Shakespeare in Hamlet. Socialist realism is called upon to help people become nobler, purer and better than they are today. In our country it has already begun the task of educating people for the communist society of tomorrow.
Let us now return once more to the question of the relation between realism and modernism in art today. Let us dwell for a moment on the comparative standing of these two types of art in the modern world. Let us ask ourselves which of the two represents the mainstream in human cultural development.
Modernism arose quite naturally in the process of the disintegration of bourgeois art. It is a natural consequence of the age of imperialism. At the same time it has not be come the leading tendency in modern artistic development, for even during the age of imperialism and the proletarian revolutions democratic, socialist art gained sufficient strength to offer active resistance to decadence in art. With the entry of mankind into the age of transition from capitalism to socialism, illusions about the hegemony of modernist art are increasingly disappearing.
Many bourgeois art theoreticians, historians and critics are doing everything in their power to spread the idea of a ``flourishing'' modernism. Suffice it to quote one fairly typical example of their argument.
I have before me a series of weighty tomes entitled A History of Russian Literature by the Danish specialist Adolf Stender-Petersen. published in the German Federal Republic. In the second volume of this work (Munich, 1957) Russian prc-revolutionary modernism is presented to the reader as flourishing art full of spiritual strength, brutally stamped out by the revolution. "The proclamation of the dictatorship of the proletariat by the revolution meant the 295 end of a whole literary period,'' writes Stender-Petersen. "But the literature which met with this tragic fate during and after the October Revolution was not decadent or weak, deserving nothing better. It would be unfair and historically incorrect to assert so. This was not literature which had exhausted its means and potential, and was thereby condemned to perish. Our examination of the history of its gradual development and rich flowering should show that we are dealing here with poetry which gave re markable evidence of its artistic wealth, literary imagination, depth and variety.''^^1^^
Thus the whole period of pre-revolutionary literature in Russia is called the age of modernism, in spite of the fact that it included Gorky and the Znaniije group, Maya kovsky and the Pravda group, Blok, Bryusov and other writers who had broken or were in the process of break ing away from modernism. Thus, we are asked to believe, Russian modernism was artificially cut ofl" in its prime at the time of "the spontaneous uprising against the power of the tsar" and the confirmation of ``Sovielism''. (It is only fair to add that Stender-Petersen mentions en passant that Russian modernism did not manage to win tinsupport of the people who, in half-feudal, half-capitalist Russia, had not benefited from those "social corrcc tives" enjoyed by the nations of the West, which, it would appear according to Slender Pclerscn, gave them the " spiritual maturity" necessary for appreciating modernist art.)
Is it really necessary to point out the extent lo which history itself gives the lie to this biased interpretation? The October Revolution did, indeed, deal a crushing blow to the conditions which had given birth to decadent art in Russia, but it was some time before this art itself disap peared entirely from the scene. What is more, the suggestion that modernism was ``flourishing'' is nothing but pure invention. One only has to read Blok's article "Without Divinity, Without Inspiration" referred to above, to see what a state of inner crisis and spiritual emptiness pre revolutionary modernist poetry was in.
_-_-_~^^1^^ A. Stender-Petersen, Geschichte der russischen Literatur Munchen, 1957, Band 2, S. 540.
296The statement that modernism is the leading tendency in present-day art is accompanied in the bourgeois press by the idea of the spiritual ``parity'' of realism and modernism. It is argued that once art of a modernist kind appears in bourgeois, imperialist conditions, it has the same right as realism to claim to be modern art: they are "two ambassadors of the great powers'', as it were. This is a profoundly mistaken argument.
Some even see modernism as a sort of "third realism" (alongside with critical and socialist realism), a kind of third power of realism. Thus a certain Western specialist writes: "If I ... define tachisme as 'irrational anarchism' or 'individual nihilism' is it not also realism, as the direct expression of the contemporary bourgeois situation?" And further: "This realism ... is realism vegetating in static non existence, in the inability to connect the historical present with the historical future; it is not even capable of sensing the future, quite apart from seeing it or grasping it. It is the realism of passivity, of 'waiting for Godot': absolute doubt and an eternal lack of purpose. In contrast to ' critical realism' and 'socialist realism' this is the realism of the irrational, the realism of confusion, the realism of solipsism which sees the content of one's own subjective consciousness as the only thing really existent.'' It requires no great perspicacity lo see that this "third realism" is nothing but modernism, pure and simple. But it is typical of such discussions that modernism in "dressed up form" is put on the same level as Irue realism and regarded as an equally valid form of modern art.
It would be wrong to expect modernist art to join with realism in its struggle against the bourgeois world for a world of freedom, democracy, toil, peace, equality, justice and happiness. The role of modernism is to rise in defence of the already doomed world of imperialism, militarism, exploitation and chauvinism. But there can be no doubt that individual modernist artists who leave the ranks of decadence and break the bounds of modernist art, will turn to the progressive world and swell its numbers as champions of realism. And we must do everything in our power to encourage this process. One must, however, exclude totally any possibility of peaceful coexistence between realism and modernism.
297To recapitulate, the leading tendency in modern art is realism, or more precisely, socialist realism. Even in those countries where it has not yet become the predominant artistic method, it has won the hearts of the reading public, conquering their minds with its spiritual strength. Let us take even a small country with a great literature---- Denmark. Who are the big names in twentieth century Danish literature? The answer is. of course, Nexo, Kirk. Scherfig. Wulff and those other realist writers who have told the truth about their times and pointed to the people the path of historical progress, and not the countless followers of the modernist schools and trends floundering in the debris of their subjectivist self-expression, who have nothing to show us but their dead souls.
The boundaries between realism and modernism are not like ordinary boundaries. They cannot be closed. They are spiritual boundaries which cannot exclude the possibility of a modernist invasion of socialist territory, and cannot prevent (in spite of the many attempts to do so) the development of realism and socialist realism on capitalist territory.
The task of guarding the frontiers of realist art is just as vital as that of launching an attack from these frontiers on decadence. Socialist realist aesthetics instils its artists with a militant attitude towards two important positions: the initial position which is linked with the problem of selecting literary traditions, the problem of ideological, artistic ``armament'', and the advanced position, that which is at the same time a ``detachment'' directed against bourgeois ideology and an "advanced post" for our spiritual influence on all those whom the logic of the events taking place in the world of today is turning from modernism to realism, from putrefying callousness to a deep love for man and mankind in general.
Thus and only thus do we conceive of the problem of realist art, the possibilities of which are boundless, but which in the present struggle of worlds and cultures is compelled to take the necessary measures to safeguard and fortify its spiritual boundaries.
[298] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Nikolai LeizerovThe fact that in recent years problems connected with realism have been constantly appearing on the agenda and attracting the attention of a wide range of social groups, scholars and art historians in many countries, is in itself evidence of the tremendous ideological importance which this, it would appear purely academic, problem has assumed. It gives rise to the most heated debate and argument. Behind the dispute of scholars and artists in literature and the press and at international symposia and conferences on the subject of whether realism has become outdated in the modern world, what are its limits and scope, the main cause of this disagreement is clearly discernible. Discussions about realism invariably include reflections on the destiny and purpose of art in our extremely complex and critical age.
The leading artists of our day are inevitably faced with the following alternative: is art, which provides an historically concrete reflection of life, to serve the cause of self-knowledge and the transforming of human society, or is it to take flight from reality at this critical point in history and turn in on itself, thereby becoming a segregating and alienating force. On close examination these questions together with many others which are of direct relevance to defining the purpose of art in the life of present day society, appear like so many communicating vessels linked with the arguments concerning realism.
The problem of realism is a complex one. It is made even more complex by the fact that today representatives of artistic trends which are essentially non-realist have somehow or other come to realise the importance and 299 Emacs-File-stamp: "/home/ysverdlov/leninist.biz/en/1969/POMA347/20070812/347.tx" __EMAIL__ webmaster@leninist.biz __OCR__ ABBYY 6 Professional (2007.08.12) __WHERE_PAGE_NUMBERS__ bottom __FOOTNOTE_MARKER_STYLE__ [0-9]+ __ENDNOTE_MARKER_STYLE__ [0-9]+ attraction of realism and hoisted its banner themselves. As early as 1916 Kazimir Malevieh advanced a special sort of realism, "artistic form for its own sake".^^1^^ The supporters of surrealism and later also abstract expressionism believed that the only possible role for art was the expression of the subconscious world of the artist. Realism is also compromised by those artists who proclaim their mediocre, naturalistic works products of the realist method. The founders and theoreticians of the anti-novel also give a wrong in tcrpretation of realism. Kobbe Grillet maintains that realism in its classical form only "obscures the shape of things: they must exist independently of theory whatever form it may take".^^2^^ The Polish writer, Maria Dabrowska, considers that classical realism is concerned with "artistic order and arrangement" and is, therefore, very remote from an "accurate reproduction of reality''. The absurd, inconsequent behaviour of Beckett's and lonesco's characters is. in her opinion, "a more accurate picture of reality" and constitutes true realism.^^3^^
With the problem so obscured by divergent opinions, the only possible approach is to define the nature of realism, thereby removing all that is alien to it.
Soviet aesthetics has made a close study of this question in recent years. Its most important conclusion is the recognition of realism as an historical phenomenon in the process of development, based on reality in the form of imagery and drawing its artistic, forms and ideals from life.^^4^^
In this connection there is one extremely important factor that must be emphasised: the absolute dependence of art upon life (like that of all other human activity) does not justify giving the name of realism to any work _-_-_
~^^1^^ K. Malevieh, Ot kubizma i futurizma k suprematizmu. Novy zhivopisny realizm (From Cubism and Futurism to Suprematism. The New Realist Painting), 1916, 3rd ed., p. 12.
~^^2^^ Quoted from V. Dneprov, Problemy realizma (The Problems of Realism), Leningrad, 1961, p. 233.
~^^3^^ Iskusstvo Kino No. 1, 1963, pp. 108--09.
~^^4^^ See, for example, the summary of discussions on realism (1957) in L. I. Timofeyev's book Sovietskuya Literatura. Metod, stil, poetika (Soviet Literature. Method, Style mid Poetics). Moscow, 1964, Chap. 1, "The Concept of the Artistic Method''.
300 of art which reflects life to some degree or another. In recognising the connection between art and life we are not asserting that all art to some extent gravitates towards realism. It is quite clear, on the contrary, that in addition to realism there exist other forms of art which are also historically conditioned.Even Aristotle in those ancient days before realism had developed as an artistic method, distinguished between various possible approaches to the portrayal of reality in art. He wrote that the artist "must . . . represent things . . . either as they were or are, or as they are said or thought to be or to have been, or as they ought to be".^^1^^ This statement distinguishes between I wo fundamental types of art: art which aims at reproducing life and art which aims at re-creating it.
This basic distinction may be traced throughout the whole history of art.
In the course of the Mariette excavations (last century) Arab peasants unearthed an ancient Egyptian wood-- carving which had been buried in the ground for some five thousand years and were amazed to see a striking resemblance between it and their village elder. This carving of a kind elderly man stepping forward leaning on his stick was remarkably true to life. Next to this figure in the museum arc many stone and bronze carvings of pharaohs. also Egyptian but entirely different in character. Khai're of the 4th dynasty is portrayed by an unknown sculptor not as a living person but as a god-like figure endowed with impassiveness and immortal strength. He represents the idea of power embodied in stone, a symbol of God's deputy on earth.
Art just as life cannot be confined to even the most perfect of systems. We frequently come across a combination of contradictory artistic aims in one and the same work. The Iliad, for example, contains descriptions of nature, everyday life and numerous battles which are entirely authentic. Side by side with "fleet footed'', " shining helmeted'', ``all-conquering'', ``storm-like'' earthly heroes and the even more elevated inhabitants of the heavens we find the figure of Thersites "squinting and _-_-_
^^1^^ Aristotle, On the Art of Poetry, Oxford, 1920, p. 86.
301 crippled'', whose "completely hunched up shoulders" '"met on his bosom" whilst his down-covered head ''rose up like a blade".^^1^^These two tendencies, the ``ideal'' and the ``real'', which were first formed i'ar back down the centuries can be clearly traced throughout the whole of human history with its never-ending change of epochs, artistic quests and achievements, sometimes diverging from one another and sometimes appearing in one and the same work.
Medieval art gives a particularly vivid illustration of tinway the artist transforms the objects and phenomena of the real world in order to embody his design, and how he makes them serve religious ideas. This is true of the figures on the has relief "The Apocalyptic Vision" on one ot the tympana of the portals of St. Peter's Abbey in Moussac which dates back to the beginning of the twelfth century. These very figures which greet you as you walk in, the excessively large Christ, the slightly smaller seraphim and evangelists, represented in the form of symbolical, winged creatures, and lastly the elders, minute by comparison, embody the church hierarchy in their proportions. But this is not all. The exaggerated foreshortening of the elders, the strikingly irregular folds of their clothing, the ethereal bodies of the seraphim and the elders and the calm figure of Christ, the only peaceful element in this chaos of move ment, all these serve to embody the idea of an omnipotent divinity and the inevitability of retribution for the sins of life on earth.
Medieval theological aesthetics saw true beauty first and foremost in the soul which renounced the 'sinful vanity" of bodily beauty for its own ends. Even the purely formal characteristics of the carving and fashioning of the stone figures and ornaments on the facade of the church in the St. Peter's Abbey at Moussac bear witness to this aesthetic theory which dates back to the works of St. Augustine in the first century B.C.
Many works of medieval art lost direct touch with life through this tendency to express "celestial ideas" by changed forms.
_-_-_~^^1^^ The Iliad of Homer, translated by Alexander Pope, London, 1873, p. .'«
302The deliberate distortion of living forms for Ihe sake of a biased and false idea is not the only feature of nonrealist art. There are more complex manifestations. Modern existentialist art often makes use of finely authentic elements and causation of reality to advance philosophical concepts which distort reality.
In cases such as these the external features of realist portrayal and expression, which give the illusion of being true to life whereas in fact they are simply a substitute for profound study, turn out to be a most convenient means of embodying and substantiating an artistic method which has nothing whatsoever in common with realism.
Albert Camus's novel L`t'lruni/er is an excellent example of this.
The aim of this short novel is to prove the absurdity and poinllessness of human existence. Man's only way out of the impasse into which he has been driven by nature and society is for him to acknowledge the irreversible fatality of the absurdity of life. It is this absurdity which gives each of us the moral right to assert himself outside the agreed framework of good and evil.
The strikingly vivid and finely drawn portrayal of nature and human feelings is used solely as a device for putting over the author's philosophical and psychological views. An example of this is the totally plastic description of the tense atmosphere on the beach outside the town when Meursault kills the Arab who drew a knife on him. The plastic description reinforces the episode which is a central one, and provides a motive for the committing of a senseless crime by a man whose behaviour was activated solely by the desire to desist from any sort of independent action.
The cross-examination at the trial and Meursault's talk with the priest, together with the descriptions of his state of mind when he realises that he stands defenceless and doomed before the apparatus of the law are all used by Camus to give psychological substantiation to the enlightened consciousness of a man indifferent to the world. Having made the reader believe in the events in which Meursault is involved the writer proceeds to expound his philosophical creed.
On careful examination L'etranyer turns out to be 303 similar in kind to the "Apocalyptic Vision''. In the '``Vision'' a religious idea is expressed through openly del'ormed real figures, whereas Camus's irrationalism is supported by an "authentic portrayal oi' life''. The conclusion is obvious: the conscious or unconscious distortion of life subordinated to a single idea is the distinctive feature of non-realist art.
Any definition of the essence of realism must distinguish between the realism of art and the realist method. The first concept expresses the initial link between art and the material world, the property of giving an objective reflection of reality as one of the forms of social consciousness. The second concept concerns the conscious aim of the artist to reflect the causal relationships of phenomena.
The realist method presupposes the existence of a special, historically determined way of seeing life on the part of the artist. The desire to understand the world by proceed ing from it makes the realistic work a means of understanding reality and revealing man's attitudes towards it.
Let us draw a small comparison to give a clear idea of the contrast between the religious, mystical attitude to life, for example, and the realist attitude in direct relation to art.
In his letter to Nebridius Saint Augustine contrasted the "soul and body''. "Which of them is best?" he asked. And replied: "The soul, of course. What is the body praised for? I can see nothing other than beauty. What is bodily beauty? Well-proportioned parts with a certain pleasantness of colour. Is this form better where it is true or where it is false? ... And where is it true? In the soul,'' etc.
Having declared "bodily beauty'', the beaut}' of natural forms, to be false, Augustine proceeds to a dogmatic categorical renunciation of the aesthetic pleasure which people obtain from ``sensual'' objects. "What is to be done,'' he says, "if sensual objects provide too much pleasure?" His reply is: "They must not be allowed to.''^^1^^
In the apocryphal story about St. John the saint rejects a portrait of himself on the grounds that it is only a " bodily likeness''.
_-_-_~^^1^^ History of Aesthetics, Classics of Aesthetic Thonyht. Moscow. 1<J(>2, U.S.S.R. Academy of Fine Arts, Vol. 1, p. 276.
304``That which you have made,'' said .John, "is child's play, imperfection. You have drawn the dead likeness of dead flesh.''^^1^^
Almost the whole of early Christian ail is infused with the desire to stress man's spiritual essence, "the divine spark''.
The views on nature and art of Leonardo da Vinci, one of the most consistent realists of the Renaissance, show an entirely opposite approach. As a scientist and artist he concentrated first and foremost on revealing the causal relationship of phenomena.
``There is no action in nature without a cause,'' he wrote in his essays About Myself and My Science, "find the cause and you will not need an experiment.''^^2^^
In his view the artist should be not only scientist and philosopher but teacher. The aim of the painter is to penetrate constantly into the very essence of the structure of objects.
``'A painter who simply copies relying on experience and the evidence of his own eyes,'' he wrote at another point in his tract on painting, "is like a mirror which simply reflects everything facing it without knowing anything about them.''^^3^^
Leonardo's method of painting is best illustrated in the "Last Supper" which he painted in the refectory of the monastery of St. Maria delle Grazie. The painter's realistic perception of the world is expressed in the psychological interrelations between all the thirteen figures in the painting.
The painter juxtaposes goodness and treachery by portraying the reactions of the twelve disciples to the words just uttered by Christ: "One of you shall betray me.''
This elucidation of the causal relationship and the urge to give material, plastic expression to the spiritual state of mind of the figures in the painting by means of mime and gesture recall certain passages in the Tract. In spite of the fact that the connection is a remote and oblique one, _-_-_
~^^1^^ M. R. James, The Apocryphal New Testament, Oxford, 1926, p. 282.
^^2^^ Leonardo da Vinci, .Selected Works in Two Volumes. Vol. 1. Akademia Publishers. Moscow-Leningrad. 1935, p. 52.
~^^3^^ Ibid., Vol. II, p. 88.
305 it helps us to understand the logic behind this great realist's artistic thought. "If you want to show someone talking in a crowd of people you must have a clear idea of the subject which he is to discuss and make all the gestures correspond to it___'"Show an old man astounded at what he has heard, with his mouth drooping at the corners drawing the cheeks into a multitude of furrows; the brows should be slightly raised at the point where they meet so that they form many wrinkles on the forehead. .. .''^^1^^
In this way the realistic method shows itself in the general principles used in selection, evaluation and portrayal by the artist of reality and in his desire to reveal the natural laws inherent in contradictory, real phenomena. As a rule the realist makes use of the real forms of the object being portrayed, but he may also have recourse to generalised or even symbolic forms provided always that they serve to reveal the objective essence of the real phenomena portrayed.
Since both the approach to reality and even the motivation of character development may be the same in the case of various writers, but their expression takes a different form, we speak about the existence of many historically concrete realist styles.
Realism reached its peak in the nineteenth century.
Being unaware of the future course of the development of society, the great European and Russian masters of realism saw their main task as that of providing a true, comprehensive analysis of social life. In Balzac's own words he aimed in writing La comedic humaine at drawing up an inventory of vices and virtues and selecting the most important events of social life. The sober analysis of the contradictory reality towards the middle of the nineteenth century, rich in tragic social contrasts, and the intensifying struggle between the people and their exploiters, inevitably led to criticism. At the pen of the most talented, reflective writers realism naturally assumed a critical character and became critical realism. "What is art in our time?" asked the theoretician of Russian realism, V. Belinsky, and gave _-_-_
~^^1^^ Leonardo da Vinci, op. cit., pp. 209 10.
306 the reply: "It is the judgement and analysis of society; consequently, criticism.''^^1^^At that period a deeper understanding of reality was required for a critical examination of it than that possessed by the romantics, for example. The realists explained their characters in relation to life and their dependence on their environment. The basic features of the realistic method are the absence of subjective arbitrariness, the true-to-life motivation of human character and the conscious striving for authenticity. They can be seen in literature, in the paintings of Courbet, Daumier and the Russian peredvizhniki and in the art of those actors who, in the words of one of the pioneers of realism in the Russian theatre, Mikhail Shchepkin, did not impose their own personality on the dramatic role, but strove to "get into the skin" of the character.
Social history, the history of the morals of contemporary society is the main theme which won nineteenth century critical realism a place in world culture. The mainspring of the action was the conflict between the individual and society, the predominant artistic principle was truth to life, and the most widely used plot in prose and drama became the private lovers' or family conflict. Whether the writer chose to portray ``superfluous'' or ``small'' people, or deal with village life or the "women's question" the action very frequently took the form of a love story or family history, even though this might have only external significance. Only in rare cases the intertwining of political intrigues and banking or commercial operations, or philosophical, religious, moral and aesthetic conflicts took the place of the usual eternal triangles. This striving for careful motivation of action and characterisation together with a socio-economic altitude towards life brought a psychological, even physiological approach to the fore. In the beam of the author's projector which picked out individual episodes of real life, and the hero's solitary reflections it was only natural that one should find that which formed an organic part of a love intrigue, the mainspring of the action.
_-_-_^^1^^ Vissarion Belinsky, Collected Works in Three Volumes, Gospolitizdat, Vol. 2, Moscow, 1948, p. 348.
__PRINTERS_P_307_COMMENT__ 20* 307Profound, many sided portrayal of contemporary life was the great achievement of critical realism. From depicting typical representatives of vices, passions, social groups and even professions, the writer proceeded to a portrayal of man in a constant slate of movement. Whereas in Gogol's Dead Souls the writer's set of literary devices is used to show various typical specimens of landowners and government officials, the typical clement of Lev Tolstoi's characters is completely dissolved in the diverse descrip tion of changing spiritual stafes of mind. The life stream at the end of the nineteenth century cleansed art of rationalism in the organisation and treatment of material stemming from the classical tradition, and of the excessive whirlpool of romantic passions to be found in writers' impassioned digressions, in exciting twists in the plot, in the conventional sighing lovers, daemonic villains and noble fathers. Art became the true mirror of life, but the nearer this mirror came to the individual, the more its grasp on reality became limited to small themes. If art was to attain a comprehensive understanding of the world it would have to acquire a general, sharply defined conception of life which was in accordance with its historical development. It could not simply rely on descriptions of everyday life or mere compassion for the good and condemnation of the bad. This is illustrated by the separate existence of philosophical and moral treatise in the works of Lev Tolstoi or the philosophical dialogues and monologues which form an organic part of Dostoyevsky's novels, where various ``pros'' and '``cons'' are discussed ad infmilum.
By searching for the link between their characters and life and connecting their art with the natural course of events, critical realist writers came close to an understanding of the processes which determined the course of hist or}'.
It was on this path, however, that their artistic method, unbeknown to the writers themselves, came into conflict with the popular myths and fantasies which had grown up out of a narrow or simply false analysis of reality.
The words of one of the great realist writers of our time, Thomas Mann, are most relevant to this point. Referring to his work on the novel Buddcnbrooks which tells the story of the decline of the upper strata of bourgeois society, 308 Mann said: "The problem which absorbed me and forced me to write was a biological, psychological problem, not a political one. I was interested in the spiritual, human element and dealt with the sociological, political implications en passant and half-consciously.''^^1^^
One only needs to compare Buddenbrooks with another novel on the same subject, The Artamonous by Maxim Gorky, to see how Thomas Mann's premise restricted the problem with which he was faced.
Only a truly scientific conception oi' history and the artistic method of socialist realism which is indissolubly connected with it, generated by the period of transition from capitalism to socialism, was able to provide realist art with an integral, forward-looking understanding of man and the world. Socialist realism is characterised by a conscious, consistent materialistic approach to the life which is being reproduced. Life is reflected in art in the light of the laws of development of life itself discovered by Marxist-Leninist philosophy. In portraying life socialist realism fights for its transformation in accordance with general humanitarian, communist ideals.
In the present day this striving for an effective, everwidening artistic range always associated with intelligible artistic form has become a characteristic feature of every artist who does not isolate himself from the people. Such was the poetic career of Vladimir Mayakovsky who devoted all the "ringing strength" of his poetry to the attacking class of the proletariat. Intelligibility strengthens rather than detracts from the value of realist works, in that it demands clear imagery, precise use of language and artistic devices and the subjection of form arid content to the clear expression of the meaning of reality itself.
By reproducing reality realist art learns to apprehend it. This process of apprehension includes the thoughts, feelings and strivings not only of those who create valuable works of art but of the people who appreciate them. The mobile frontiers of realism are drawn by the degree to which reality is mastered by art and not by formal devices completely remote from reality. It is precisely this _-_-_
~^^1^^ Quoted from V. Aclmoni and T. Silman, Thomas Mann, Leningrad, 19f>0, Sovielsky Pisatel Publishers, p. ,>3.
309 profound portrayal of life and broad range which distinguishes the socialist realist method from oilier historically conditioned methods.Reading the theoretical writings of the prominent masters of socialist realism on their artistic method one sees that in their statements of general, indisputable theses. such as the portrayal of life from a socialist position and the desire not only to understand reality but to change it. emphasis is placed on an individual interpretation of the method, taking into account the nature of this or that form of art.
In the case of Alexei Tolstoi, for example, the leading principles were the laws of realist typiiicalion: "Realism,'' he said, "is the generalisation of individual events which bear characteristic features. Realism discards the accidental and integrates characteristic quantities. Realism takes the current facet of life and turns it into a constant phenomenon containing the essence of that which is current, i.e., life, whereas naturalism, for example, simply gives an indifferent picture of it. Realism means a social theme and generalised social types. Realism does not wander about the age, nor does it dress up the heroes of ancient tales in Soviet leather jackets. Realism makes a frontal attack on the new life. And then, depending on their skill, it is up to each one to take what he is able to lay his hands on and make off with, to take that which is alive and not an empty shadow. The latter we leave to the formalists.''^^1^^
A different attitude to this question was expressed by the brilliant modern poet, Nazim Hikmet. lie conceded the use by socialist realism of the widest range or artistic forms, even including those which made a complete break with traditional principles as he put it "of the purely external portrayal of natural events and the human soul".^^2^^ Proceeding like Alexei Tolstoi from the predominant importance of content in art, Hikmel firmly opposed the idea that any certain artistic forms should be considered as exclusively inherent in socialist realism. "To conceive of serving the party and people by picking out any one _-_-_
~^^1^^ A. N. Tolstoi, Collected Works, Russ. ed., Vol. 13, Moscow, 1949, p. 379.
~^^2^^ Problemy Vostokouedeniya No. 2, 1959, p. 80.
310 particular form is to transform this service into a self-- contained problem of form- -and this is formalism pure and simple.''^^1^^We have paused to consider only a few of the tendencies in defining socialist realism, of which some veer away from a true representation of life and others do not conceive of socialist realism outside the strict observance of the "forms of life itself''.
To our mind Brecht provides a very clear definition of the frontiers of socialist realism in his theses entitled "Socialist Realism in the Theatre''. We find here a whole aesthetic programme in which the principles of the new method are given an extremely individual Brechtian interpretation.
``Socialist realism is the reproduction of life and human relationships in accordance with reality by artistic means from the socialist standpoint.''^^2^^
Here Brecht is emphasising that the "truth of life" is attained by "artistic means''.
``This reproduction.'' he writes, "makes it possible to penetrate into the very core of social processes and arouses spiritual impulses of a socialist kind.''
It is clear not only from these quotations but from an analysis of Brccht's ideas in dramatic form that the " artistic means" make it possible to select and generalise the essential aspect of the processes and phenomena of life. There can be no question here of artistic forms which are true to life in the strict external sense.
This becomes evident if we examine any episode from the parable play The Good Woman of Sezuan which is fantastic in subject matter but strictly realist in essence. Let us take the following scene. The rich barber has struck the water-carrier Vang with his longs and broken his arm. The heroine of the play, Shen Te, has just found out about it.
Shen Te: What's the matter with your arm?
Shim: The barber broke it with his longs right in front of us.
_-_-_~^^1^^ Ibid., p. 78.
~^^2^^ Quoted from the first publication of the theses by I. Fradkin in an article entitled "The Artistic Originality of Bertolt Breeht's Plays''. Vaprosy Literatunj No. 12, 1958, pp. 70--71/
311Shen Tc (horrified at her inattention): And I didn't notice anything. Go to the doctor's straight away, or else it will set like that and you won't ever be able to work properly again. What a dreadful thing to happen! Get up quickly. Come on!
Unemployed man: He wants a judge, not a doctor. He's got the right to demand compensation i'or injury from the rich barber.
Vang: Do you think I stand a chance?
Shim: Only if it's good and broken.
Vang: I think it is. Look, it's all swollen up. Do you think it's enough for a life pension?
Shim: You'll need a witness, just in case.
Vang: But you all saw him do it. You can all say so. (Looks all round.)
The unemployed man, the girl and the sister-in-law are sitting by the wall of the house eating. No one looks up.
Slien Te (to Shim): But you saw it happen!
Shim: I don't like having dealings with the police.
Shen Te (to the sister-in-law): Then what about you!
Sister-in-law: Me? I wasn't looking.
Shim: What do you mean? I saw you looking. You're just afraid because the barber has power.
Shen Te (to the grandfather): I'm sure you won't refuse to be a witness.
Sister-in-law: They won't take any notice of anything he says. His number's up.
Shen Te (to the unemployed man): But there could be a life pension at stake.
Unemployed man: I've already been cautioned twice for begging. My testimony would only harm him.
Shen Te (mistrustfully): So none of you have got the courage to say what happened. You see a man's arm broken in broad daylight and keep your mouths shut. . . .
The scene which we have quoted is designed to show how hunger and poverty corrupt. The situation chosen for this is an extremely acute one. The laconic rejoinders of the characters are motivated by the given circumstances and reveal the type of people which they are.
This scene, however, is essential for the play not in order to advance the action but to affirm the writer's general intention and the special message of this particular 312 incident. This is the reason why Shell Te's lines suddenly change from prose into poetry in which the voice of the writer himself is clearly heard.
Unhappy men!
Your brother is assaulted and you shut your eyes.
He is hit and cries aloud and you are silent?
The beast prowls, chooses his victim.
And you say: He's spared us
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ because we do not show displeasure.
What sort of a city is this? What sort of people are you? When injustice is done there should be revolt in the city. And if there is no revolt, it were better that the city should Perish in fire before night falls!^^1^^
__b_b_b__It is extremely typical that this should be followed by a return to prose. We now have a continuation of Shen Te's speech from "and keep your mouths shut''.
``. . .Vang, if the people who actually saw it refuse, I'll say that I saw it.''
This psychological motif is developed further. One of the women witnesses not only refuses to bear testimony but also intends to betray Shen Te.
Unemployed man: She's rushed off to the barber to make up to him.
Sister-in-law: We can't change the world.
Shen Te (despondently): I didn't mean to tell you off. I just got scared. No, I did mean it. Get out of my sight!
The unemployed man, the sister-in-law and the grand father go away chewing and pouting.
Shen Tc (to the audience):
_-_-_~^^1^^ In N. S. Pavlova's article, "Expressionism and Curtain Questions Concerning the Development of Socialist Realism in German Democratic Literature" (in the collection Realism find Its Relation to Other Artistic Methods, Moscow, 1962, U.S.S.R. Academy of Sciences, p. 298), Ihe scene in question is interpreted differently. The author regards it as being true to life up to Shen Te's monologue, but considers the monologue itself as belonging to expressionist drama. In our opinion Ihe whole scene, and indeed the whole play, are not entirely I rue to life, but nevertheless Shen Te's monologue, this scene and the play as a whole are realistic in the true sense of the word. Realistic bocause they show in generalised, visual form and with the utmost completeness the laws of Ihe development of life and human consciousness in the age of the collapse of capitalism.
313 They no longer answer.
Where one puts them they stay.
And if one sends them away, they quickly go.
Nothing moves their hearts. Only the smell of food
Can make them look up.^^1^^
It is quite clear that the sister-in-law's words assume a generalised, symbolic meaning in the given context. They represent the conclusion of people who are not capable of fighting. The author's resume, dealing not with the problem of ``non-interference'' but the socio-psychological make-up of the modern lumpen-proletariat, is again put into the mouth of Shen Te and again expressed in verse.
The setting of the action of the play in China is a pure convention. The characters are also conventional, but at the same lime they do not by any means give the impression of being empty symbols or personified ideas. This is explained by the fact that the main action of the play, that is, the socio-philosophical problems, are given very skilful psychological motivation by Brecht.
All the conventional, dramatic devices used in the play, such as the dual figure of Shen Te, the visit of the gods to earth, the poetic interludes and the scenes which are not important for the unified development of the action are all points of departure for the comprehension of the social processes which take place in life. The whole dramatic texture of "The Good Woman" leads inevitably to the conclusion that it is essential for the world which disfigures man to be changed, although the writer leaves it to the audience to reach this conclusion on their own and strives to arouse their active participation.
This is the purpose of the play's epilogue which is addressed by an actor standing in front of the curtains to the public.
My audience, my very reverend friend!
I know this isn't quite a happy end.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
The curtain falls and here, perplexed, we stand,
No problems have been solved, we understand _-_-_^^1^^ B. Brecht, "The Good Woman of Se/uan''. Quoted from Inostrannaya Literatura No. 2, 1957, pp. 30--31.
314And yet there must exist a true solution.
Go try and think of one for money or for love!
To change the hero? Or to show his evolution?
Wouldn't it do to change the powers above?
Or do without them?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I am silent, flustered,
So friends, do help me! Let all minds be mustered
And let us try and find, as best we can
Good ways to good for a good man.
A poor end is excluded out of hand.
It must,
~ ~ ~ ~ it must,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ it must be happy,
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ understand?
Brecht's plays deliberately avoid all "true to life" fortuitousness. Its place is taken by "the natural order" the essence of which are the natural laws of historical social development ``regulated'' and generalised by art. Whilst not being the only possibility, this was a perfectly acceptable form of the realistic portrayal of reality in its revolutionary development.
Whereas in Gorky's novel Mother the author's ideas are revealed to the reader predominantly by means of extremely concrete descriptions of Nilovna's psychological states of mind linked with details of everyday life, Brecht's dramatisation of the novel presents her with practically none of Gorky's character traits.
True to his artistic principles Brecht praised Helene Weigel. the actress who played the role of the mother, first and foremost for the fact that out of all Nilovna's character traits she "selected those which justified the widest possible political interpretation of the Vlasovs (and which were, consequently, completely individual, unique and unrepeatable!) ; in other words she acted as if she had politicians sitting in front of her, although this did not detract from her as an actress and did not prevent her acting from being art".^^1^^
_-_-_~^^1^^ B. Brecht, About the Theatre, Collection of Essays, Russ. ed., Moscow, I960, p. 90.
315The nature of the indi\ idualisation oi' the character of Nilovna cannot he called into question. The essential touches for a psychological portrait necessary in order to give material expression to the political situation were drawn hy the actress primarily from her personal experience of life.
As we sec Brccht was not trying to make the audience identify themselves with that which was heing enacted on the stage (as Stanislavsky tried to do) to such an extent that they forgot they were in the theatre. In this the playwright and director was following in the hold attempts at innovation and traditions of Soviet art in the twenties, linked with Mcyerhold's search for new forms in the theatre, Mayakovsky in poetry and Eisenstein in the cinema. From this point of view we are hound to regard Brechl as a most brilliant example of the never-ending link between certain tendencies in the socialist realism of the twenties with that of the thirties and then the forties and fifties.
The typical significance of Nilovna which Gorky conveyed by the individual character trails of the heroine and which convinced the reader of its unbreakable link with life in Russia and the specific period of the 1905 revolution was broadened by Brecht in the interests of his aesthetic aims into showing the general laws of the revolutionary workers' movement on an international scale.
In spite of the fact that Brceht's dramatisation was different from the original in many respects Gorky authorised it in 1932. He was not disturbed by the unusual principles of typification, and conventional devices employed to explain the meaning of realistic things and phenomena. The most important aspect of Brechl's dramatisation was in full accordance with Gorky's aims and conceptions; in such a context any device fulfilled the required aim.
Both Gorky's and Brecht's Mother bears out the fact that the most important aspect of a socialist realist work of art is its general conception of life which makes use of the most varied and, in the case of true artists, original devices and means to achieve realisation.
Let us return to Brecht's theses.
``The joy which every form of art should give takes the shape in socialist realism of joy al the knowledge that so ciety is capable of determining (mcistert) man's destiny.
316``A work of art created in accordance with the principles of socialist realism reveals the dialectic laws of social development the knowledge of which helps society to determine man's destiny, and shows people and events as being historically determined, capable of being changed and contradictory by nature.''^^1^^
The idea of the perception of beauty has always been associated in materialist aesthetics with the comprehension of the world. In the passage which we have quoted Brccht is emphasising the special contribution which socialist realism makes to an aesthetic understanding of life. Having reached an understanding of the laws of social development, man is then able to start determining his own fate. It is precisely this that constitutes the initial cause of the optimistic catharsis contained in socialist art, which may find expression in the most various styles, including those which are very far removed from Brechtian generalisation.
Brecht's art is based on the belief that the world can be understood and changed in the light of communist ideals. The principle of party commitment in the arts helped him in his search for new representational devices. Following the path of socialist realism Brecht was the sworn enemy of that type of bourgeois drama in which, to quote the well-known English theatre critic, Ronald Peacock, "the individual is overshadowed by the conflict of impersonal forces of which he is more and more the victim and less and less the agent".^^2^^
Art is not, of course, limited to one single type of realism and the forms of realism change with the times and strain ahead to the future. It should be realised, however, that behind the changing nature of the arts in general and realism in particular there exist clearly defined boundaries. Thus art must never break away from its maker, man, and the material of art has always been and will always be reality which has passed through the artist's consciousness and become imprinted in his work. Even when reality has been changed almost out of recognition losing all meaning and completely de-humanised, it still continues to exist both _-_-_
~^^1^^ The Literature of the \'cn> (IcriiKini/, Buss, ed., pp. 239--40.
~^^2^^ Ronald Peacock, The Poet in the Theatre, 1946, p. 5.
317 in the pictures of the non-objective or abstract painter and in tbe meaningless phrases of trans-sense poetry.Whether or not we accept such works as belonging to the world of art is another question. The fact remains that the only form of material for any human activity is that which we receive from life. As far as realism, one of the great highroads of art, is concerned it would be pointless to discuss it. once its bounds have been obliterated and the historically determined frontiers of its schools and trends destroyed.
Like any other artistic method realism is distinguished by certain special features which it modifies in relation to the actual object of reflection and the artist which perceives it. But no matter how the world and man's vision of it may change, realism, if it is to retain its inherent meaning, cannot change its primary aim and renounce its main task which is the comprehension of the essence of objective reality by artistic means. It follows that those artistic forms within which realistic art develops are not subjective and arbitrary, but rather directed towards the understanding of life. They are subject not to the dictates of uncontrolled feeling and not to artistic chaos, but to the expression of a definite content drawn from life itself and throwing light on ils natural laws.
The new artistic method of socialist realism is distinguished by the vast range of artistic possibilities at its command. It has embraced the highest aspirations of the romantics, elements of the grotesque and the portrayal of reality in symbolic, allegorical generalisation.
The true value of socialist realism, which is in a constant state of development and artistic quest, lies in its striving to understand life's truth and not blind dogma, and in its active, revolutionary, by no means passive humanism.
[318] __ALPHA_LVL1__ Boris SuchkovThe aesthetic effect may be produced in art by a number of different means and devices. This fact explains not only the ability of art to develop but the simultaneous existence of diverse trends and tendencies varying in their ideological and aesthetic mastery of reality and its embodiment in images.
By reflecting elements of reality which possess a general importance, works of art acquire the capacity to communicate, and the force of their aesthetic eil'ect depends on the substance of this generalisation of reality through images, which is the fundamental principle of the artistic image.
The basic element in a work of art, the artistic image, cannot exist unless it conforms with that which is objectively real. By subjecting itself to the discipline of reality, art is able to convey the distinctive features and characteristics of reality at different stages in the development of human society. These distinctive features may be found in the art of the ancients, as well as in golhic, baroque, rococco, classical and romantic art. It was realism, however, that first produced an artistic study of the life of society and human character in their complex interrelation.
As a creative method realism is not an inherent property of art. It is an historical phenomenon which originated at a definite stage in the development of artistic knowledge at the time when people were faced with the inevitable necessity of trying to understand the nature and course of the development of society, when they 319 began to be aware, at tirst instinctively and laler consciously. that human actions are not the result of passions or divine intent but are determined by real, or to be more precise, objective causes. The realistic method in art developed together with the awareness of the concealed i'orc.es. which condition the mechanism of social relations.
Renaissance art and philosophy were the first to recognise the integral connection between being and conscious ness and the need for an analytical study of reality as the basic requirement of the new age. This concept was formulated by Francis Bacon, the main principle of whose philosophy, to quote Herzen, was to proceed from the particular to the general in the study of both the external and the internal world of man.
Analysis was becoming the main feature of realistic art. It is present in the work of the great Renaissance writers Rabelais, Cervantes and Shakespeare. Breaking through the mythologised narrative of Gargantua and Pantagruel it allowed Rabelais to convey the social outline of papistry, scholastic ideology and the feudal state, and in the figure of Panurge certain features of the new man beginning to acquire bourgeois characteristics, whose way of life turned out to be incompatible with the Utopian humanism of Theleme. In Cervantes's novel the analysis is even, more evident enabling him to give a more profound picture of his age and a more penetrating description of its main conflict: the tragic incompatibility of the Renaissance ideas of humanism with the concrete development of society. At the same time as glorifying goodness, Cervantes was destroying the illusion of its eventual triumph in the conditions of a gradually developing bourgeois world order. In the case of Shakespeare, who generalised the standing features of the social psychology of a property-owning society, the central conflict of Rabelais's and Cervantes's novels lost its conventional fantastic nature, and assumed a concrete, historical form showing his realistic understanding of the interrela tion between man and society. For Shakespeare the social medium in which his characters acted provided the mainspring for their moral conflicts and struggles.
By portraying society as the sphere of conflict between material and social interests Shakespeare laid the founda tion of realism as a new artistic method. Elements of 320 realislic thinking can, however, be found in the art of earlier ages. Reality became, for Shakespeare an object of genuine investigation, analysis and comprehension.
After Shakespeare the tendency towards the analytical study of social life blossomed out in realist art, which developed on the eve of the great French Revolution in the work of Richardson and Defoe, Fielding and Swift, doethe and Lessing, Diderot, Mercier and Marivaux from the portrayal of everyday life to that of social life, and became its predominant feature.
The essence of the realist method is social analysis, the study and portrayal of man in society.
The basic properly of art---portrayal of the world of human thought and feeling---is elevated by realism into a principle which transcends mere imitation and a subjective view of human nature. Realism does not isolate man from the social environment in which he lives and acts. It aims at understanding and portraying the dialectic' of social relationships in their objective contradictions. Behind the isolated individual facts and phenomena of everyday life the realist artist sees the more general picture of the movement and struggle between difl'erent social forces. The intellectual element which penetrates realist works of art demands from the artist a cool, unbiased view of the world.
To ensure that social analysis of the environment in which characters act is realistic, it is essential for the writer to see and portray reality in its typical manifestations objectively present in the sphere of human social relationships and reflected in the individual characters of the given work. Engels emphasised this as being the most important feature of the realist method.
The principle of typification in realist art naturally and logically expresses the causality of social phenomena. The sum total of the individual properties of the character are examined and depicted by the realist writer as the product of many, but at the same lime typical circumstances. The typical character of realist art means that it accumulates and unites the most generally relevant, essential and decisive characteristics of the environment which gave birth to the hero through whose fate the characteristics of this very social environment arc revealed.
321Non-realist art also c.rcalcs characters hut it is not concerned \vilh their lypificalion. Not one of the trends in world art, neither classicism nor romanticism, which have enriched art with works of great aesthetic value, have created anything like the gallery of typical characters which are to he found in the works of the realist writers, the creators of the epos of the new age.
In its study of reality on the eve of the French Revolution, realist art still regarded bourgeois society, which had matured under feudalism, as the ideal and perfect norm of civilisation, and advocated the ``natural'' man as the bearer of the idea of social freedom, free from absolutism, the scignorial concept of duty and the feudal ethic. The early realists created a new hero, the new man, who dil1'ered from the refined hero of classical literature. Unhampered by bourgeois limitations, they concentrated on show ing the acute social contrasts of the day in their works, but this extremely accurate, even empirical portrayal of the environment was accompanied by the idealisation of the central figure. This is explained by the fact that early real ism was not yet in a position to expose the contradictions between the principle of social freedom and its practical embodiment in bourgeois society. The ``natural'' man soon showed his true nature turning into a shrewd, calculating member of the bourgeoisie who confirmed his concept of freedom as the expression of egoistic self-interest. This exposed the limitations of Enlightenment morality which gave birth to the psychological tendency in realist prose found in the work of Prevost, Sterne, Goethe at the period of Die Leiden dcs Jungen Wcrthcrs and later Choderlos dc Laclos.
For the characters created by these writers life was devoid of the clarity and simplicity common to the characters of the Enlightenment novel, who acted without hesitation in the most complex situations; they saw human character as a strange, complex mixture of inner contradictions, in which melancholia or uncontrollable passion predominated. Writers of the psychological school were aware of the complex connection between man and his social environment, and also of the incontestable fact that reality had certainly not been shaped according to the laws of Enlightenment philosophy and morality. Thus they 322 discovered the yawning gulf and conflict of interests between the individual and society. Whilst revealing the contradiction between man's striving for freedom and the impossibility of its attainment, eighteenth century realism was unable to look for ways of solving this fundamental conflict of the century, because the bourgeois revolution, the growth of which was sensed by realist writers, confirmed a new form of exploitation at the same time as declaring freedom. The social thought and realist art of that time did not and could not raise the question of the justice of private property (although this question was fermenting in the social consciousness) and therefore came up against ideological contradictions, which they were unable to resolve. These were the conditions which saw the emergence of neo-classicism and the pre-romanlic movements in art.
In the age of the bourgeois revolution classicism was the expression of civic consciousness making the concept of social duty an absolute one. Burgher ideology which was characterised by half-measures and moderation regarded classicism as a form of compromise with reality. For Goethe and Schiller whose works crowned the aesthetic and social quests of the eighteenth century, classicism, that is, beautiful and consequently moral art, based on perfected classical models and engendering a spirit of harmony, was a means of educating man, a means of overcoming his egoism and lack of harmony which were the product of capitalist reality.
Goethe and Schiller were fully aware of the sterility and barrenness of the bourgeois cult of the individual preached by the Sturm und Dran;/ and could not accept the representation of reality by pre-romanlic. and romantic art, which saw life as a web of illusions and cither look refuge in the world of fanlasy or tried to restore the old order destroyed by the revolution. Joining with the future represenlalives of social thought in a frantic search for Ihe key lo progress, Goethe and Schiller began to see the renewal of arl and philosophy in the concept of development which by Ihe turn of the 18lh and 19lh century had actively penetrated social consciousness and was formulated by Hegel in his Phenomenology of Mind. At the same lime Ihe concept of Utopian socialism was being formulated, offering a new solution to the contradiction between freedom 323 and the social order which had been established in the post-revolution world, as it were confirming the truth of the law of negation ol the negation discovered by Hegel. The idea ol' development compelled people to lake a fresh look at history and see it as a process.
Schiller, who devoted a great deal ol' lime to the study of history, saw material interest as the secret mainspring of human actions in his later tragedies, approaching tinanalysis of events as a realist. Overcoming I he theoretical principles of classicism he defended the concept of the rule by the people in Wilhelm Tell, having realised that the order which was established in place of the feudal relations destroyed by the revolution was not the final stage, in social evolution.
Goethe regarded development as an inherent properly of nature and he applied it to all spheres of life including history. By the end of his life he had unravelled a great deal which was unknown to the eighteenth century, displaying in Wilhelm Meisters a proximity to the practical ideas for the reorganisation of society put forward by Fourier and Saint-Simon. The idea of development runs through Faust also, the culmination of which is the scene in which Faust, blinded by Care conceives of re-creating a whole region and finds the achievement of personal desire in serving the people. Even the sound of the Lemurs' spades digging the grave for the blind visionary cannot drown Faust's dreams of the possibility of people finding happiness on earth. By stating that the "Golden Age" was in the future and not in the past, Goethe's tragedy confirmed that the solution to the social problems resulting from the bourgeois revolution was to be found only in history itself which became the subject of study and research in nineteenth century art.
By the beginning of the nineteenth century classicism was clearly on the decline, for its inherently static view of life contradicted the mobility and dynamism of the historical process. A new view of the world which saw the light of day in the post-revolutionary period, together with new aspects of reality, were first discovered and presented by romanticism, which possessed an inherent sense of history and consciousness of the changing forms of social life. Romanticism also detected the lack of harmony in the historical process: for actual experience destroyed the 324 enlightened illusions engendered by Ihe revolution about the possibility of social harmony in a properly-owning society, since capitalism created the unharmonious individual instead of the harmonious man, a fragmented society instead of an integrated one. disunity instead of brotherhood, and individuals dominated by selfish thoughts and feelings rather than people alive to the common good. The causative element in bourgeois society which transformed people into mutually repellent atoms was private interest, to quote Engels. which gave rise to universal disintegralion. The progressive romantics, Byron and Shelley in particular, recognised the antagonistic character of social relations and gradually realised that the masses, carrying Ihe burden of progress on their shoulders, were the force which was moving history forward. Similar bursts of insight together wilh Ihe political protest against the national enslavement of peoples, the struggle for human freedom and Ihe impassioned rejection of authoritarianism---all served lo extend the social content of their writing, leading them to understand the true nature of the historical process and preparing their transition to realism. In Ihe case of Byron this process of spiritual evolution culminated in the realisl works ``Beppo'' and "Don Juan''; Shelley's premature death prevented him from developing this far as a realist wriler, although he actually surpassed Byron in his social development, lie not only recognised the antagonistic nature of social relations and the fact that this sprang from the unequal distribution of property, but in his works directed against tyranny and his political satires preached Ihe inevitability of changing the existing social order, which was given poetic expression in "Prometheus Unbound" dominated by the search for belter social, moral and political conditions than those offered by capitalism.
Romanticism, however, did not fully understand social contradictions in their entirely and exaggerated the role of the individual, making his inner world universal and severing his link with the objective world. In tackling the same problems as romanticism, realism differed from it in seeing reality as an integrated whole, wilhin which relations and causes were mutually conditioned. It investigated the objective prerequisites and conditions of historical relationships and their material and social bases. Bv 325 overcoming the romantic one sided view of the world realism supplemented the criticism of property-owning society by its social analysis. Approaching history as an aesthetic object Walter Scott began to portray characters, void of all romantic larger-than-life characteristics, as historical beings, i.e., as the point of intersection and interaction between the conflicting forces in society and as the representatives of one of them.
By differentiating between the social elements of the given environment and regarding it as an arena for the collision of class interests, Scott like other great nineteenth century realists endowed the novel with a truly epic quality which enabled it to become a mirror for the reflection of reality. The concept of the class struggle as the motive force behind the historical process was developed not only in Scott's novels, but in the writing of the French historians Augustin Thierry and Francois Guizot. Such an approach made Scott's novels historical and enabled him not only to give a faithful reproduction of the details of everyday life and morals, and the political struggle of the Scottish clans, but also to reveal the causality linking the phenomena of social life.
Historicism is the highest form of expression of causality in realist art. It enabled Scott to depict the usual and the exceptional, revealing the conditionally and substance of both and making his characters life-like. It also enabled him to reveal the sources of the exceptional in reality itself, just as Pushkin did in The Captain's Daughter by showing the connection between the character of Pugachev, the leader of the Peasant Revolt, and the world of rebellion and uprising initiated by objective causes. Historicism enabled Scott and other realist writers to understand the limited nature of the bourgeois victory over feudalism, and initiated the search for a different social order. Whereas Scott reached an understanding of the motive forces of social development through history, Pushkin revealed the mechanism of the effect of these forces on contemporary society, tracing in it the action of the very factors which conditioned historical development.
For Pushkin the crucial question was the serfs' lack of civil rights, that is, the position of the people as a whole. Quick to perceive the negative aspects of the eifect of 326 capilali.sl progress on people's mind and morals, Pushkin began with a criticism of individualism, which had become a generally accepted bourgeois principle, and condemned the self will of Ihe individual in the character of Aleko who opposed the people. In Boris Godunou he showed the tragedy of individual egoism which disregards the good of the people and attains its own ends by inhumane means. Starling with Pushkin realism affirmed a new type of humanism inextricably bound up with the search for ways and means of liberating the individual and mankind as a whole from all forms of social injustice, since Pushkin acknowledged the justness of popular uprisings.
Pushkin anticipated the West-European realists in creating a new type of novel, a novel of characters who, by existing in organic unity with their environment and being determined by it, express typical features of the social order. In other novels of a similar kind criticism of reality takes the form of criticism of the hero, as in Eugene One(/in which shows the spiritual collapse of the hero concerned only with his private self-interest. In investigating the nature of the gulf separating people one from another Pushkin turned to a study of a new form of social reality, because, like Balzac, Stendhal and Dickens, he was concerned with defining his attitude to capitalism. In The Queen of Spades he created the character of Herman, the new hero, devoured by his own selfish interests, which has no counterpart in any other character to be found in the work of the other great realist writers in the first half of the nineteenth century.
Inspired by the fervour of scientific enquiry and thirst for knowledge, they wrote as critical realists, for they saw the reality around them as something unfavourable to man. The insight and criticism contained in Balzac's novels, where concrete social reality is examined and described with extreme precision, enabled him to convey the objective character of bourgeois social development, the growth and spread of social atomism and the division of people into isolated individuals. Balzac created ``monistic'' characters, marked by the unity of their inner world with their consuming passion. His characters arc remarkable for their forcefully expressed individuality, and in showing their struggle for a place in the sun he (races, like an historian, 327 the intrusion of bourgeois self-interest into all spheres of private and social life. At the same lime, like Stendhal, he shows that behind the struggle of private interests is the collision of class interests, and that the class struggle, which lies at the root of social relations, is the key to historical development and the motive force behind progress.
Stendhal saw that a constant, undeclared war was going on in the society of his day between the ruling propertyowning classes and the people with whom his sympathies lay. This explains why his heroes either opposed ``society'' as, for example, Julien Sorel, or began to break away from it, like Lucien Leuwen. Stendhal's heroes are composed of many various elements, but nevertheless present a dynamic unity of the individual and the general, the particular and the typical. It is precisely this which explains their extraordinary richness.
Stendhal understood the undemocratic nature of bourgeois democracy and in his later works moved on to a study of new conflicts in society not only between the people and the ruling classes, but between the ruling classes and the proletariat. The same direction was taken by Dickens based on experience of highly industrialised English society and the struggles of the Chartists. In Dickens's characters the predominant trait is generalised or exaggerated with the help of satire or humour, a trait which is extracted and typified from [he multitude of everyday details of the life of the hero with which the narrative always abounds. Dickens's passionate humanism led him to reject bourgeois practices and show the appalling poverty and misery of the lower classes as being a direct result of exploitation of the people. The critical realists who made an analytical study of capitalist society went on to discover the crucial contradiction of the capitalist system, namely, that between labour and capital. They did not, however, have a clear idea of the means by which this conflict could be solved. This was provided by Marxism, scientific socialism, which gave expression to the political and philosophical consciousness of the revolutionary working class. Nevertheless, during the classical period of its development critical realism discovered and recorded the basic, conflicts of bourgeois society, and this was made possible thanks to the hisloricism of the critical realists' 328 approach. Sons of their time, liable to error born of historical conditions which shaped their thinking, they expressed the protest of the masses against Ihe inhumanity of capitalism, and the moral principles of their work which opposed the apologetic tendencies of bourgeois ideology coincided with the efforts of the masses to resist the capitalist attack on human rights.
After the 1848 Revolution bourgeois ideology took it for granted that capitalism's decisive victory did away with the need for a social reorganisation of society.
Bourgeois ideology began to drive a wedge between the individual and his social environment, regarding human nature as an unchanging constant and social reality as something stable and not liable to change. As bourgeois thought became increasingly decadent it moved further and further away from a rational understanding of the world, turning to the irrational and intuitive. This is the predominant motif in the works of the "fin de siecle" writers and those who carried a similar mood over to the twentieth century, such as Wilde, Ilofmannsthal, Hamsun, Sologub, Maeterlinck and George. This decadent view of the world imparted an aesthetic cloak to evil and cruelty, renouncing humanist ideas.
New historical conditions brought about a transformation of realism in West-European literature and witnessed its vast development and enrichment in Russia, for the revolutionary period in Western Europe was drawing to a close and the centre of the world revolutionary movement was switching to Russia.
The weakening of the epic element in West-European realism led to attention being focussed on psychological problems.
The tragedies of Ilebbel possess, as it were, a dual centre, for Ihe psychological centre plays a more important role in the development of the action llian reality which is used to set the action in motion. The tense world of his characters is somehow elevated above life and the real conflicts of life tend to lose their importance when faced with the complex psychological dilemmas of his heroes. Wagner's operas reinforced these tendencies even 1'urlhcr.
This trend towards studying man's inner world in isolation from his social environment was making itself felt 329 in prose also. Flaubert's Madame Bouary had already been conceived and written as an extended psychological study, rather than an analytical investigation into the interaction of environment and character.
The heroine's spiritual drama, the collapse of her romantic illusions and the agony of her love occupy the central position in Flaubert's novel at the expense of the social environment, which is portrayed as something stagnant and immobile. In his later works also such as L'Education sentirnenlale the writer tends to concentrate on showing intimate private human relations, relegating social life to secondary importance, although he continues to see the hero as a product of his social environment. A sceptical attitude towards the progressive ideas and movements of the day, the cult of form and doubt in the power of reason made Flaubert's work and that of many of his contemporaries such as Ibsen, susceptible to the ideological influence of decadence. But the devotion of certain writers, Maupassant, for example, to the principles of realist art enabled them to create a rich gallery of types who represented in generalised form the most characteristic features of the social psychology of that lime and reflected the striking contradiction between material and moral progress.
The prose of the English realist writers at the turn of the century also showed a swing to the portrayal of the private, psychological aspect of life.
Whilst perfecting psychological analysis they lost the power of social analysis and fell victim to the illusion that society could be reformed by the moral re-education of its members. This illusion was, however, contradicted by life itself giving rise to a predominant pessimism in their works, in the case of Hardy and Buller. for example.
These developments led to the appearance of naturalism which claimed to show life as it really is, basing its aesthetic theory on faithful, true to life portrayal.
It described arid classified phenomena in the same way as positivism, which was its philosophical basis, but it was incapable of revealing the contradictions of social life and showing its true course. Naturalism imitates realism, but differs from it not only in its lack of social analysis, but also in its inability to typify. In spile of this the naturalist 330 method influenced and weakened realism, as may be seen from Ihe works of Zola, which contain a constant struggle between naturalist and realist tendencies.
Zola discerned a great deal about bourgeois society: the growing influence of the bourgeoisie in the Second Empire and the change in its form of rule. Zola saw the beginning of the concentration of capital and the growth of the power of the banks; he also saw the disintegration of the bourgeoisie, the corruption of its morals and the decay of social morality (I'ot-lxtuille and Nana). He realised that the great conflict of the age would be the collision of labour and capital (Germinal), lie wanted to see man as a social being, but was conscious of him first and foremost as a biological entity subject to the laws of heredity. Zola began to turn man into an animal. This was a deviation from realism. In his reflections on the future of capitalist civilisation Zola fell under the influence of a belated ulopianism in his portrayal of class harmony.
Russian realism of this lime shows a far richer and more consistent criticism of property-owning society.
Its boldness in Irealing questions which had a direct bearing on the position of man in a property-owning society made it the receptacle of the popular consciousness.
The chracteristic feature of Dostoyevsky's writing is his intense preoccupalion with man's inner world. In portraying the struggle and clash of various lypes of social psychology he characterised both the environment and Ihc conflict which occupied a central position in social life. Dostoyevsky reveals Ihe social aspect of his heroes through their spiritual world, in the struggle and clash of their mental requirements and interests with the interests of the other characters. The high degree of intellectual conlenl in Dosloyevsky's novels gives them an almost dramatic structure since the action is advanced through clashes of human altitudes.
Dostoyevsky investigated the dill'erent forms of Ihe bourgeois consciousness in all its contradictions, and his novels summarise, as H were, all Ihe spiritual searchings of the second half of the century, beginning with the idea of the "`superman'' in Raskolnikov. and ending with the " Rothschild dream'' of Arkady Dolgorukov. Dostoyevsky's attack on Ihe egoism of the individual's personal strivings was 331 based on his greatly distorted concept of devotion to the people. In this respect he was close to Tolstoi.
By reflecting the consciousness of a patriarchal peasantry during the period of a change in social relations fraught with socialist revolution. Tolstoi subjected the properlyowning society to merciless criticism---its morals, state institutions, ideology, church and army---the whole diffuse mechanism of oppression. The individual is not submerged in life in his truly epic descriptions of ``hive'' life: his heroes always represent their own self-contained worlds across which, however, rolls the never-ending stream of life. lie was able to distinguish individual human personalities from the vast working masses, realising that it was impossible to understand the spiritual life of the people as a whole without first understanding the spiritual and moral essence of each person. Without a careful investigation of the dialectic of the individual soul it is impossible to study and portray the life of the society to which the individual is bound by a multitude of ties.
Tolstoi made an important advance in the portrayal of the people, an advance without which it is impossible to envisage the development of socialist realism. Without this fundamentally new method of portraying the people which he was the first to introduce into world literature as someone capable of viewing society, history and the future both with the eyes of a writer who stood at the forefront of European culture, and with the eyes of the people themselves, it is impossible to imagine how Gorky could have portrayed the popular character in the process of developing revolutionary consciousness.
Tolstoi's work shows a further polishing of psychological analysis which the writer turned into one of the most important devices for exposing social contradictions, one of the important auxiliary devices of social analysis. In expressing Ihe constant stream of thought and feelings in human consciousness Tolstoi brought the internal monologue, lirsl introduced by Stendhal, to a fine art.
The main Iheme of his wriling, an awareness of Ihe archaic nature of existing social forms and their irrelevance to people's natural requirements, reflected the intensification of the revolutionary processes which were preparing the collapse of the class stale. The atmosphere of the 332 primilive peasant democracy, il is true, conferred a certain passivity and conservatism upon his philosophy and wriling, but taken as a whole Tolstoi initialed a new stage in the development of critical realism. Whereas before him realism had been concerned with the study and portrayal of Ihe relations between the individual and society, the structure of society and the fate of the individual who came into conflict with society, twentieth century critical realism concentrated its attention on the fate of society itself.
The disastrous nature of social development, the aggravation of social contradictions in the nineteenth century which determined the polarisation of social ideas, and the complex, agonising change in social systems, impressive by its sheer scale, exerted a colossal influence on all spheres of thought, including the arts. Whereas bourgeois art in the person of such apologists for capitalism as Barres, Farrere, D'Annunzio, Marinetti, Kipling and Vershofen was extolling the "strong personality" and advocating the preservation of the existing social order, singing the praises of the "white man's burden" in the colonial and dependent territories, while the democratically inclined writers of critical realism were defending culture against bourgeois primitivism and fighting for human dignity, the whole development of art was preparing for the emergence and acceptance of a new creative method which would enable realism to show the new elements operating in society and reshaping the whole system of social relationships on a socialist basis.
The development of critical realism prepared a qualitative change in the realist method and led to the creation of socialist realism. Critical realism, which precedes socialist realism, does not change into this new type of realism automatically. It forms part of the heritage of socialist realism, but not all its features are inherited. The formation of socialist realism is connected with the enormous growth of social consciousness in the working class and presupposes in its turn that the artist is fully aware of the historic mission of the proletariat. In other words, a decisive role is played in the new method by the class factor, that is, by the artist taking up the cause of the revolutionary proletariat which is bringing about the social and cultural 333 revolution. Creative method cannot, of course, be reduced to world outlook alone. It changes in accordance with historical change and this is only natural since method in the sum total of the basic principles of ideological, artistic knowledge, which have been shaped by history and enriched by application, together with the embodiment of life in images. There can be no question of socialist realism, however, if the artist does not share the world outlook of the revolutionary working class, in the case of the capitalist countries, or of the working class which has become predominant in socialist society.
It was Gorky who laid the foundation for the new creative method in world art. Universal, all-embracing criticism of capitalism was organically linked in Gorky's works with a fervent enthusiasm for that which was new and socialist, and which was taking the place of the dying social order. In Gorky's works criticism of the property-owning society took the form of a comprehensive analytical study and portrayal of life and relations between the leading classes of this society. He saw and portrayed the whole of Russia in seething ferment, purged by the storm of revolution, from the lowest to the highest, in her greatest hour, the hour of the formation of popular consciousness.
Gorky showed with merciless accuracy the limits to which man can be deformed, degraded and humiliated. He exposed human cruelty as a consequence of abnormal social relationships which were ripe for change and revolutionary transformation. His heroes, who arc always highly typified, provide a remarkably vivid reflection of class and social instincts and views. But unlike the critical realists, Gorky did not limit himself to a simple statement of the existence of the class struggle in society and its influence upon the members of that society. For the first lime in the history of art the writer's inner vision of social development coincided with the objective course of history and social development.
Gorky did not need to find a way to the people for he himself was part of them. lie examined history as a constant process. His writing is characterised by the historical optimism which he drew from his understanding of the process of the objective development of society. Gorky saw the popular movement which was leading Russia on to the 334 great Revolution as a factor which, together with economic causes, was determining the course of history. His characters come slowly but surely to realist- the inevitability of and necessity for a change in I lie existing order, and proceed from an instinctive protest to a fully conscious protest against bourgeois society. The main theme of Gorky's writing is the liberation of man from all forms of spiritual and material enslavement. In order to become the true master of his fate man must fight for his freedom.
Whereas the positive ideals of the critical realists were frequently revealed in their moral position, Gorky created characters who were themselves a moral example, men of action who were refashioning the world, lie emphasised the unity of purpose among the people, showing how capitalism not only alienated them but also divested the individual of his feeling for the community, whereas the collective feeling among the masses is strengthened in the struggle againsl injustice.
In emphasising Ihe crealive urge in man Gorky poeticised work and extolled all aclivily aimed at eliminating social injustice. Aclivily liberaling man from suffering was Ihe keynote of Ihe new humanism for which Gorky fought.
The new literary method which originated with Gorky opened up new great possibililics for Ihe synthetic porIrayal of life's conlradiclions, ils basic conflicts, and this corresponded with the requirements of the age, for all Ihe main forms of Iwenlielh cenlury social ideology recognised Ihe need for synthesis, which had been created by the powerful revolutionary processes transforming the face of Ihe world.
The mosl lypical philosophical trends of Ihe twentieth century---nco-posilivism, Anglo-American neo-realism, neothomism and Freudism---claimed lo provide a comprehensive explanation of their age. The diil'ercnl art forms also felt this urge to porlray all aspecls of reality, which resulted in the dividing line between them becoming blurred. But whereas revolulionary, democralic art based on artistic synthesis made and continues to make, lo quote Aragon, "Ihe real world'', decadenl arl was based on Ihe alienation of Ihe individual, and its synthesis of contemporary reality was in fact a false one. This tendency could not prevail because it was prevented by the anthropocentrical and 335 anthropological approach to a study of the life processes, from modern intuitivism to phenomenology, typology and existentialism. In the arts it gave rise to the abstract presentation of human nature divorced from reality and capable of providing only a superficial stimulus to the progress of the human spirit. This was how such writers as Marcel Proust, Virginia Woolf and Eugene O'Neill portrayed life. Seeing man's psychic and biological side as autonomous, they frequently replaced the social motivation of human behaviour by biological or instinctive motivation, as was perpetually the case with Sherwood Anderson, for example, and frequently occurs in William Falkner. These writers were concerned with the study and portrayal of the experiences of the private man, and not with the life which had engendered these experiences and was inextricably bound up with them, which resulted in an impoverished picture of the objective world.
It was perfectly natural that the new historical conditions which obtained after the First World War and the Great October Revolution should present modern man with a new problem which had not been so urgent before, namely, that of personal commitment in the social struggle.
Although bourgeois ideology does not reject the use of force, even fascist dictatorship, the threat of using nuclear weapons, etc., in its efforts to find ways and means of preserving the capitalist society, it also has recourse simultaneously to social reform, including plans for the reorganisation of the system of government such as Roosevelt's "New Deal'', the "New Frontiers" policy put forward by the late President Kennedy, (iaullist attempts to plan the capitalist economy, or the advancement of the ideas of ``workers' capitalism'', and "the system of human relations''. But in the present age of transition from capitalism to socialism the days of integrity, clarity and unity of bourgeois art and consciousness are past. They are now characterised by their heterogeneity, internal contradictions, false picture of the world, external complication alongside an inner simplification of life and the transformation of reality into a system of myths. Modern bourgeois thought cannot keep pace with life and is losing the ability to caplure its definitive features and conflicts. In their 336 schematised, primitivised portrayal of life many writers who support bourgeois ideology are beginning to refute the idea of progress by emphasising the animal instincts in human nature, as in the writings of Aklous Huxley. They preach the nihilistic readiness to accept evil as Celine who was quite willing to collaborate with the fascists.
However, the very course of historical development confirms Lenin's theory that monopolistic state capitalism is the material preparation for socialism. Today we arc witnessing the confirmation and emergence of a new form of human consciousness, free from the delusions and fantasies engendered by the property-owning society, and communist in essence and character. At the same time all those views on society which were the product of capitalism are being subjected to the most penetrating criticism and reappraisal. In the arts this process has found expression in the development and consolidation of socialist realism which has provided the artist with the greatest possible scope for a balanced, comprehensive, synthetic understanding of life and the modern age. While preserving the features which it has in common with critical realism---social analysis and the typification of characters and situations---socialist realism differs from it in that its understanding and portrayal of life proceeds from the conscious historicism of the artist's way of thinking. In its world outlook socialist realism is related to scientific socialism, Leninism, which does not, however, provide art with any more than the basic principles. In each case these are given individual application by the artist who investigates and examines life in its constant state of motion, generalising his discoveries and embodying them in imagery. Generalisation of this kind constitutes an indivisible act in which cognition and embodiment are inseparable, and not the mechanical superimposing of sociological concepts onto an individual, unique manifestation of life lull of novelty.
Commitment to party, as an indispensable feature of socialist realism, is an essential prerequisite for a truly creative attitude towards life, the ability to detect the profound lies between human plans, feelings, passions, interests and their basic social principles and the capacity to see the world and present-day society from a rcvolulionary, socialisl point of view.
337The artist's work gives direct expressino to and defines Ihe basic, historically progressive interests of (lie masses. Socialist realism is the art of peoples who have won or are lighting for freedom from exploitation and attaining conscious historical creation. It is popular because it is revolutionary in spirit and because its vision of social development is that of a harmonic, classless communist society.
Marx pointed out that in an antagonistic property owning society man is divided: he is both a social being and a private individual whose interests and requirements conilicl rather than coincide with the interests of society. This conflict between the individual and society was the subject of penetrating examination in ciritical realist writing.
In the new social conditions which have emerged, this gulf between the private and the public aspects of man, between his personal, private interests and the interests of society as a whole gradually disappears. This does not mean that the individual is engulfed by the masses, or by society: on the contrary, their interests begin to coincide or approximate and the individual is thereby provided with objective scope for his full development. For this reason the main concern of socialist realist art remains the portrayal of the developing social consciousness and the strengthening of social and individual morality.
For the first time in the history of art the people begin to play a sovereign role. Revolutionary achievement and the movement of the masses were the main themes of Serafimovich's The Iron Flood, Furmanov's Chapayev, Fadeyev's The Rout and Shplokhov's And Quiet Flows the Don. In these and other socialist realist works the main characters were not only representatives of the fighting people, but the people itself which had risen up to defend the new social ideals and was acting as an independent creative historical force with a single collective will uniting the individual wills into one and attaining a higher level of social awareness through revolutionary action. In The Iron Flood Serafimovich showed how the masses turned into reality the possibility of creating a new life, which would meet the needs and interests of the workers who had attained conscious historical creativity and become the central figure of the novel. The true hero of Fadeyev's The 338 Rout is also a detachment, that is, a group of people united by a common aim. But this group is composed of separate people with highly individual, different levels of social awareness.
An individual joining the group may not himself command the same fullness and purity of social consciousness as the group as a whole, since he still possesses certain features of the past, certain characteristics of the environment in which his character and opinions were formed. Socialist realism shows the individual reaching the ideological, ethic and moral level of the group in all its complexity, without oversimplifying the difficulties of spiritual growth for a person who has come into contact with a higher level of social consciousness than that which he possessed before. This conscious historicism enables socialist realism to attain and reproduce a fusion of man's social and psychological features without divorcing the psychological element from the social conditions which gave rise to it. For the writers employing this new method man is the point of intersection of all the social forces acting in society. Social environment is depicted in socialist realist writing as a mobile, changing force affecting the destinies of the characters and their relations with each other.
It follows that the character of the central figure portrayed in socialist realism is not simply the sum of various qualities and features all equally valid and significant. Nor is it a conglomeration of unhealthy passions, a mixture of ``complexes'' and neuroses, fears and longings or a vessel of hereditary diseases. Nor is it an "hermetically sealed" involute system resistant to and incapable of producing change.
Socialist realism sees character primarily as an individual manifestation formed by many varied social influences. Special emphasis is always placed on the social aspect of a character, i.e., on that which unites or binds the individual with the process of transforming life, with its historical movement and change, which predetermine and condition the inner conflict of passions, interests and inclinations in a person's soul and his attitude to the social struggle and the conflicts of his day. The new art portrays, analyses and investigates considerably more complex relations between the individual and society than pre-socialist realism.
__PRINTERS_P_339_COMMENT__ 22* 339By showing the, revolutionary changes in life, socialis! realism has created typical characters ol' the makers of his tory who helped the masses lo understand their own revolutionary activity -the characters ol Ko/hukh, (Ueh (ilui malov, Levinson. Ihe Commissar 1'rom An Optimistic. Tray edij and Pavel Korchagin. These characters were not only armed with the powerful weapon of historic optimism, but also served as a moral example capable of elevating the masses to their moral and social level and guiding them along the true path to the future.
They helped the masses to turn into a collective whole with a different level of social consciousness, for these leaders of the people realised that collectivism is one of the mainstays of socialism and communism. Thus the column of the Taman army led by Kozhukh turns into an invincible monolith by breaking through to join up with their own people; the indissoluble ties of class brotherhood unite Levinson's detachment fighting in the remote depths of the taiga; and the anarchic sailors became a revolutionary collective inspired by the will and example of the Commissar, the true Bolshevik.
The process of cultivating this new, collective sense among the people is beset with difficulties in the form of relics of the property-owning society, lack of culture and habits inherited from the past whose terrible, stagnant strength was pointed out by Lenin.
Progress towards the future necessitates the overcoming of the oppressive heritage of the past, and the greatness of And Quiet Flows the Don, for example, lies in the fact that Sholokhov, in exposing his main character lo the icy blasts of history and portraying the harshness and cruelty of the class struggle, showed that only by discarding the habits, views and ideas inculcated by the property-owning society and overcoming them could man hope lo prepare himself for the new reality. The fate of the novel's central character Grigory and the tragic events of his life arc a remarkably vivid illustration of the crisis and exhaustion of the property consciousness, its historic doom and the genuine difficulties which faced the individual in breaking with the old world. The writer adopted a critical attitude towards the character of Grigory so rich in human and psychological content. In socialist realism which examines and 340 portrays the real contradictions of society and man's inner world from the viewpoint of conscious hisloricism, criticism is inextricably bound up with the affirmation of the positive social ideal which was brought into life by the socialist revolution. Socialist realism directs uncompromising, well-reasoned, and well-balanced criticism at property relations and the way of thinking which they engender, and also at everything which prevents and obstructs the progress of the free socialist world towards communism. Sholokhov's critical altitude towards his hero did not prevent him from showing the objective causes which had brought about the clash between Grigory and the constructive forces of history, nor did it hinder him from understanding the tragic nature of this conflict which resulted from the continued influence of the past on a man who is already trying to make a break with it.
Socialist realism has recorded the great achievements of the cultural revolution which changed the spiritual face of the masses. It has analysed the great socio-psychological consequences of the agrarian revolution and shown the consolidation of new social relations in the country marked by the victory of the collective-farm system. Sholokhov's Viryin Soil Upturned, Panfyorov's Bruski and Tvardovsky's Murauiija Land showed how the peasantry overcame bourgeois altitudes of mind, how a new attitude towards properly grew up and how the collective spirit was consolidated among the many million agricultural workers. During the Great Patriotic War socialist realism analysed and described the results of the ideological and spiritual development of Soviet man during Ihe building of socialism, for the terrible war years put lo the test not only the material but the spiritual results and triumphs of socialism as well. This lest was passed with flying colours, and socialist realism showed the hero abreast of historical events of unparalleled lension and complcxily, a hero whose personal experience was equal to Ihe experience of history, thereby enabling him to understand the true nature of what was taking place, the social character of fascism, the historic significance and nature of the changes which the Soviet people's victory had brought about in the world.
A comprehensive portrait of the hero at the time of the Great Patriotic War can be found in Ihe works of 341 Dovzhenko and Leonov, Sim.onov and Panova, the verse of Tikhonov and Isakovsky, Surkov and Berggolts and the longer poems of Tvardovsky, Antokolsky and Aligher.
Socialist realism inculcates a civic sense and a spirit of true internationalism in the people, for it was socialism that roused the formerly oppressed nations and peoples to historical action. It concentrates its efforts on showing the common goals and interests which bind together those nations and peoples who have a deep respect and concern for the progressive traditions of their national cultures. There is a constant exchange going on in socialist realism between the literatures of different countries, of creative ideas and cultural treasures, and this represents a new element in cultural history which is characteristic of socialism alone.
Socialist realism sees man as a maker of history, a social being, inextricably bound up with society which he is rebuilding and perfecting at the same time as he is changing himself. Today in the present stage of gradual transition from socialism to communism, at a time when special emphasis is being placed on the humanistic nature of socialism as a social system, socialist realism is rightfully becoming dominated by the moral conflict in the portrayal of the development, struggle and victory of new moral principles in the individual and the social psychology.
The fundamental social conflicts of our age were also detected by the critical realists whose study and presentation of the objective process of change in social formation was, however, less penetrating than that of socialist realism. This is only natural since critical realism in reflecting the state of mind of the democratic masses absorbs the weak as well as the strong aspects of democratic consciousness and its incorrect interpretation of historical processes.
In investigating social causation, depicting the changes in society itself and studying the position of man in the modern bourgeois world, critical realism in the writing of its best exponents reaches the objective conclusion that the capitalist system is outliving itself and that capitalism is not capable of resolving its rending contradictions. This conclusion is. however, rarely accompanied by an analysis of Hie .social processes which have a direcl influence on 342 social life. It is generally the result of investigation and analysis of the causes for the collapse of the ideological and ethic values of bourgeois society, i.e., of an analysis of the consequences indirectly testifying to the decline of this society.
Critical realist writers are aware that bourgeois society is exerting an increasingly inhibiting effect upon man. The illusion of constant progress in bourgeois society and the opportunity for personal success and advancement within the framework of this society has been exposed once and for all. Theodore Dreiser's An American Tragedy dealt a crushing blow to this illusion with great literary persuasiveness. In subjecting the primary aspects of life in bourgeois society to the most penetrating analysis he succeeded in showing both the impoverishment of moral principles and the collapse of moral values. This process was studied in more detail in Sinclair Lewis's novel Babbitt which revealed the central character's inner world void of individuality, the existence of something like a vacuum in his soul which he fills with a multitude of fetishes and idols--- his worship of things, his banal, prosaic ideas about democracy and the advantages of private enterprise, etc. Babbitt's moral indifference was by no means a harmless phenomenon. It made him and his like an easy target for conformist ideas including those which heralded fascism.
The true essence of fascist ideology which was exposed by such writers as Thomas Mann, Lion Feuchtwanger and Romain Holland enabled them to highlight as one of the main causes of its spread, the amoral character of bourgeois society, the relative nature of its moral values and the loss of morals by the majority stripped of their individuality by fascism.
The critical realists saw the growth of reactionary tendencies in modern bourgeois society as a sign of its obvious weakening. In their study of the changes taking place in bourgeois society writers such as Galsworthy and Thomas Mann, Holland and Hemingway, Sean O'Casey and Roger Martin Du Card produced great epic novels, in which a picture of the changing relations between man and society went hand in hand with a study of the historical role of the bourgeoisie which has become of prime importance for modern critical realism.
343Critical realism succeeded in giving a piclurc of Ihe various aspects of the general crisis of capitalism with the use of different literary devices and means. Whereas Du Card showed the collapse of the family, the decay of the very core of bourgeois society and the preparations for the First World War marking the beginning of the crisis of capitalist society, maintaining a strictly realist narrative style, Jaroslav Hasek, for example, painted a vast panorama of the decline of the old world, its law and order, morals and religion, its private and public morality by using satirical hyperbole and grotesquely condensed imagery. The humanist fervour of Hasck's epic was in keeping with the form of criticising capitalism characteristic of twentieth century critical realism. In his novel A Farewell to Arms Hemingway contrasted the great power of love and human closeness with the cruelty of historical events showing the pointlessness of the modern Crusoe, the tragic futility of an attempt to escape the contradictions of life by withdrawing into one's private sphere.
Aware of the changing nature of society critical realist writers, studying the process by which the bourgeoisie turned to terroristic methods of preserving the dominion of the propertied classes, left behind them such important works as The Magic Mountain or Success. At the same time these novels reflected the internal contradictions of critical realism. Realising the need to struggle against reaction the critical realists challenged it with the power of the word, continuing to believe in contemplative humanism and beginning to regard history as a tragic balance of reason and barbarity. A similar view of the social process caused certain exponents of critical realism to adopt a stoical attitude towards life which was particularly characteristic of Hemingway who valued human bravery, the ability to preserve one's dignity and feeling of human brotherhood even in the most soul-destroying conditions, pinning his hopes on individual stamina and human will which help man to face the tribulations of life with stoic endurance. Stoicism led Hemingway to concentrate on studying human behaviour in tense situations, which indubitably restricted the range of his work in which the conflicts are of a somewhat limited personal relevance. The conflicts portrayed by critical realism during the period of economic crisis have 344 a wider significance. Here the writers in studying the position of the masses gave an extremely accurate picture of both the consequences of capitalist exploitation and the difficulties involved in inculcating a true social sense in the masses of exploited workers. The novels of Fallada, Upton Sinclair and the writing of Erskine Caldwell about the sad fate of tenant farmers and tenants, turned out of house and home, show how painfully these writers look for ways of solving the social conflicts of their characters and what sort of obstacles arise to impede their search for the truth. In Steinbeck's epic novel The Grapes of Wrath he not only describes the collapse of a working-class family under the severe blows of the economic crisis but the growth of social protest in the masses. However, the characters in the novel, who are prepared to fight against social injustice, see it in the form of something abstract and anonymous, the Bank, the Trust or the Shareholding Company. They do not know how to or cannot fight against these abstractions. A full picture of the interaction of social causes and results evades them, and therefore they are ready to fight against isolated defects in society, but not against the whole social order. This position is also shared by the writer. However, in showing the objective difficulties of the masses attaining a higher degree of social consciousness, the critical realists caught the process of fermentation in the masses of forces for which the problem of the nature of social action was inseparable from the struggle against social injustice. A study of this process forced the critical realists to re-- examine the question about the individual's social obligation and did away with stoicism.
Halldor Laxness showed how the protest against bad living conditions moulded and tempered the character and will of Salka Valka, a daughter of the working class. Although there is still a great deal which she does not understand in political life, she is not going to stop halfway once her spiritual development has started. The fighters of the Resistance were made from the same heroic human material as Salka Valka. Many critical realist writers were inspired by true historical events---the Spanish Civil War and the growth of the fascist threat. The great humanist Romain Holland who fought long and hard in the defence of spiritual values created by democratic culture. 345 against the destructive influence of capitalism, proclaiming the spiritual and political life of bourgeois society to be a fair for the sale of people, ideas, honour and conscience, constantly followed the experience of the land of the Soviets and spoke in its defence against the attacks of the enemies of socialism. He never tired in his search for the historical truth, bravely discarding his own mistaken beliefs, and his path to the truth was a difficult and thorny one. But his belief in the heroic element of human nature enabled him to create the magnificent character of the L'Ame enchantee---Annette Riviere, the forerunner of the future brotherhood of men. Accompanying his heroine around the jungles of post-Versailles Europe, spiritually growing and maturing with her, responding to the powerful calls of history with an open heart, gazing with eyes wideopen on the light of truth which did not blind but rather intensified artistic perception; becoming aware of and portraying the disintegration of bourgeois society, the degradation of its moral, political and ideological principles, the ruin of the young in the stone debris of bourgeois civilisation, by understanding and describing machinations of politicians behind the scenes, preparing the Second World War, unleashing the fascist cur on the people, Holland and his heroine assume that today truth is on the side of the new world which is building socialism in such exceptionally complicated and difficult conditions and showing mankind the way forward into the future. L'Ame enchantee is the work of a writer who has advanced beyond critical realism and is proceeding towards a new method ---socialist realism.
The problem of socially conscious action is becoming increasingly important for critical realism. It brought about a radical change in Hemingway's writing during the struggle against nazism when his heroes stopped trying simply to endure the trials and tribulations of life and began fighting against fascism. Examples of this arc Philip Rawlings, the hero of Fifth Column and Robert Jordan in For Whom the Bell Tolls. But whilst admitting the need to fight fascism, Hemingway's heroes tried not to think of the final aims of this struggle, i.e., the question of what was to be done when fascism had been del'ealed, how and on whal basis social relations should be established. They 346 saw nothing but the actual problems at hand, which they resolved courageously, but this reluctance to look ahead made them victims and their defence of the ideas of purified, idealised democracy of the Lincoln brand prevented them from understanding the most progressive ideology of the modern age, socialism.
One of the greatest products of contemporary critical realism, Karel Capek's play Mother contains an open defence of social action, where the writer criticises the philosophy of social neutralism and shows the need to struggle. The character of the mother who hands a rifle to her last remaining son and gives him her blessing for the sacred struggle against the invaders and oppressors shows how progressive, democratically inclined critical realist writers took up their stand on the side of the peoples fighting against fascism during the years of bitter historic tribulation.
In the years which followed the Second World War, with capitalism appreciably weaker and the socialist camp stronger, awareness of the social responsibility of the artist and his work became considerably more acute in critical realist writing. Thomas Mann, who had reached the conviction that only socialism was capable of leading mankind to true human achievements, provides a penetrating examination and criticism of the spiritual values to which bourgeois art and philosophy gave rise in his novel Doktor Faustus showing their lack of humanism and their unconstructive role in history. Reflecting on his spiritual experience Lion Feuchtwanger reached the conclusion that history is not a balance of the rational and irrational, but a process the driving force of which is the masses whose striving compels mankind to move unfalteringly forward.
By their study of human lives and the individual in relation to real historical events, the critical realists show how people matured as a result of the clash with great historical tribulation, realising the treacherous role of the ruling classes who collaborated with fascism (see the novels of A. Lanoux and C. P. Snow) or fan the cold war sowing the seeds of fascism and intolerance (see the novels of Graham Greene, and Ihc plays of Lion Feuchtwanger and Arthur Miller). The new historical situation which (lex-eloped in the post-war years has not been able lo 347 impede the further evolution of critical realism, proof of which may he found in the appearance of nco-rcalism in Italian literature, the active efforts of the West-German critical realists struggling against the powerful fascist heritage and the movement of the ``angry'' young men. who in spite of the limited, inconsistent nature of their social criticism, still record the grave defects of the old bourgeois democracies which have changed and adapted themselves to the new conditions.
Critical realism reflected and generalised the social processes, confirming the fundamental fact of modern history ---the replacement of one social formation hy another based on socialist principles---and in this respect it is the ally of socialist realism.
The method of realism is as inexhaustible as life itself which it studies and reflects. Realism begins in art when behind the movement and development of the characters the writer learns to study reality, the relations between man and society, and human social life in its real contradictions. Man in all the greatness of his actions and suffering, the fullness and complexity of his spiritual life, his creative urge---this is the true subject-matter of realist art. Man breaking away from captivity to true freedom --this is the hero to whom the future belongs.
[348] __ALPHA_LVL0__ The End. [END]PROGRESS PUBLISHERS RECENTLY PUT OUT IN ENGLISH:
APRESYAN Z. Freedom and the Artist~
Z. Apresyan, a Soviet art critic, has devoted this book to one of the major problems of aesthetics---the problem of artistic freedom.
The author traces the history of this problem from ancient to modern times, speaks of the contribution made towards the solution of this problem by WestEuropean socio-political, philosophic and aesthetic thought, and modern philosophy, including Marxist philosophy, in the theory of artistic freedom.
Z. Apresyan examines the views of the thinkers of the Past---Plato, Diderot, Schiller, Heine, Hegel, Balzac, and the representatives of modern literary schools and aesthetic trends---Jean-Paul Sartre, Martin Heidegger, Jacques Maritain and others. By investigating the different forms of artistic creativity---the work of a writer, an artist, a sculptor, and so forth---and the results of this work---masterpieces created at different times (the more significant works of Soviet artists are also included), the author tries to answer the questions: what is genuine artistic freedom, and under what conditions can an artist's subjective idea become a creative success?
Paper 11X17 cm 256 pp. Illustrated.
[349]Art and Society (A Collection of Reports Delivered at the Stockholm Congress on Aesthetics)
This book is a collection of articles on aesthetics and art, setting out the Marxist point of view on the problem of art in relation to social reality. In this volume the reader will find an analysis of the method of socialist realism and a new, sophisticated interpretation of some aesthetic categories. There are several articles dealing with the social aspects of artistic creativity, such as: the correlation between he world outlook of the artist and his creative individuality, the objective and the subjective in art, the nature of imagery, and so on. The book touches upon such problems as the social need for aesthetic education and its functions. There are a number of articles by Marxist aestheticians on topical problems of Western art---on the avant-garde movement, on the theory of mass art, on alienation and escapism.
Not just the specialists in aesthetics and the arts, but also the laymen will find this singularly interesting book.
Paper 11 X 11 cm 354 pp.
[350]REQl'EST TO HEADERS
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