Mu

Mu

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

John Berger





http://www.cpgb.org.uk/worker2/index.php?action=viewarticle&article_id=91169

Transcending the old Europe

John Berger, Patricia Macdonald 'Once in Europa' London 2000, pp130, �20

There is no formula for being human, as Rosa Luxemburg once remarked. Yet there is a widespread conviction on the left that Marxists themselves should live their lives in a kind of formulaic workerist pattern - fantasies largely perpetrated by those unable to comprehend the reality of global capital.

Traditional conceptions of the worker-intellectual-activist are doubly confounded when confronted by the life of someone like John Berger, who simply does not conform to the British left's idea of how a Marxist should act. All the more surprising then that Berger has led a life in which Marxist aesthetics, the art of liberation and communist revolution have been constantly entwined - not least in the basic everyday practice of living. A suburban bourgeois who embraced Marxism, an anti-Stalinist who regretted the passing of that alternative civilisation, a cosmopolitan intellectual who lives a life of seclusion in a peasant community in the French Alps - his life is certainly contradictory. Yet at no point has Berger abandoned his own peculiar reading of Marx or surrendered the Marxist project of the emancipation of the oppressed.

Berger's early fictions, such as A painter of our time, The foot of Clive and Corker's freedom, were marked by a diversity of theme, but his works on aesthetics have been constantly concerned with realism and the capacity of different art forms to witness the oppression of industrial and agricultural labour across the world. Both his fictional and non-fictional works since the 1960s have tended to focus on the experience of peasant emigration and exile. A seventh man, Another way of telling and Keeping a rendezvous - works often entwined with the photography of Jean Mohr - have documented the peasant experience, as that way of life dies or is transformed by the new social relations of global capital. Recent work has concentrated on the nature of the Zapatista experience in Mexico and, importantly, on Sebasti�o Salgado, the Brazilian activist-photographer who has done so much to uncover the nature of global working class experience over the last period.

One of Berger's concerns in relocating to France was to physically shift himself away from the terrain of metropolitan capital to what he considered to be the peripheral agricultural peasant communities of the French Alps in order to engage in a witnessing or t�moinage of the dying peasant class. Berger was clear from the beginning that his work was not designed to contribute to the survival or the sustaining of the exploitative peasant experience, but to explain to himself and others the following conundrum: why does a class which should already have been eliminated persist as a specific mode of experience?

Berger's obsession with the dissolution of the peasantry has led him to a deep and consistent reflection on that process by which the peasant is transformed into proletarian. This happens in a number of ways. Firstly, there is the geographical shift from periphery to metropolis. Secondly, the economic supersession of agricultural labour and the transition to factory work. Thirdly, there is the cultural shift allied to this, which not only entails the severing of workers from their ancestry and locality, but also reveals a transition from peasant individualism towards the solidarities and cultures of the urban proletariat. In fiction, photography and philosophy Berger has explored this moment of transition, or Aufheben, where a mode of experience is at once cancelled, elevated and preserved in the higher social formation.

Nowhere are these ideas better expressed than in his trilogy Into their labours. A magnificent reconstruction of the peasant transition to worker, it documents the dying social relations of the peasant class in all their complexity and darkness. The first part of the trilogy, Pig earth, is concerned with the glimpses of the industrial future. The second, Once in Europa, focuses on the moment of transition, and the third, Lilac and flag, witnesses to the experience of the peasant in the metropolis itself. The second part of the trilogy consists of a series of stories about that moment of transition, the most successful of which is that reprinted here with photographs by Patricia Macdonald.

The story is quite simple. Odile Blanc is the daughter of a peasant farmer in the Alps, whose farm, over the years, has been nearly swallowed by the ferromanganese factory next door. It is the early 1950s. She is at first taken on a date by a communist worker called Michel Labourier, who subsequently loses his legs in an accident in one of the furnaces. Odile then falls in love with Stepan, a Ukrainian emigrant worker, and moves into the �migr� barracks, nicknamed Europa, until his death, again in the furnaces. Finding herself bereft and pregnant with a son, she eventually finds love again with Michel Labourier many years later.

The story is framed by a gliding trip with her son: she surveys the fields and factories below her in which her tragedy and redemption has occurred. The observation of the Europa barracks instigates a complex reflection on the nature of Europe and the relationship of labour to the fields and the factories, displaying concisely the transition from peasant to worker. At the heart of the story lies a constant emphasis on struggle and progress, whilst recording the eclipse of the old, dying class of the fields.

There are a series of antagonisms apart from that of labour: town and country, �migr� and local, field and factory, progress and acceptance of defeat. Odile is frantic when she realises the implications of migrant industrial labour - "It had never occurred to me before that somebody could choose where to live. It seemed unnatural. No, said Stepan, it's simple with these - he held up both hands over my face - I can work anywhere in the world. Where, where will we go, Odile?"� (p63).

The nature of the factory which maimed Michel and killed Stepan is one in which their creative labour is stifled and distorted - it becomes a place of darkness and death to Odile: "Each wall, each opening, each ladder was like the bone of a sheep's skull found in the mountain - fleshless, emptied, extinct. The furnaces throbbed, the river flowed, the smoke, sometimes grey, sometimes yellow, thrust upwards into the sky, men worked night and day for generations, sweating, retching, pissing, coughing, the factory had not stopped once for seven years, it produced 30,000 tons of ferromanganese a year, it made money, it tested new alloys, it made experiments, it made profits, and it was inert, barren, derelict"� (p87).

After the death of Stepan Odile's life becomes hard to bear. She endures as the peasant endures - life goes on and on. It is only when she falls in love with Michel again that she realises the difference between endurance and struggle. Michel "said something which impressed me, for he said it so slowly and emphatically: things can't "� go on "� as they are"� (p108). Odile points out that things do go on and then we die. Only then does Michel make clear that his conception of life is resistance and the culmination of this social struggle is progress - but a progress which transcends the progressive forms of capital. He recognises that the route to the future lies in moving beyond the dark factory rather than turning back to the fields of the past.

The reflection on social struggle goes hand in hand with a reflection on love and physicality. Odile has a further child to Michel and in her children she sees Stepan and Michel embracing across the years, even though Stepan's body was never recovered and lies as ash in the piles of slag outside the factory. The dialectic of love leads Odile back to the peasant past of her father working in his orchards with the firestacks of the factory towering over the trees and the cliffs. In her love for men she expresses the ways in which her children are born and new classes emerge - not through a simple severing or supersession, but through the complex dialectic by which old histories and processes are elevated in the new social forms and relationships of the future. Her father grafts new strains onto the old wild apple trees. Odile grafts herself onto Stepan. New fruits and people are born. As the grafted apple is bound with cord, so our bodies are bound into the new form. This is also the way with the transition of social formations.

The new pictures accompanying the story, taken by Patricia Macdonald, are reason enough for the republication of Once in Europa, which first appeared in 1989. They forcefully express the way in which our idea of Europe has changed with the new compositions of capital. We share Odile's travels with her - we see the factory from its gates and then we see it from above, gliding over the fields and rivers. The industrial, agricultural and natural features of the landscape merge together. The power of capital to shape the world is unparalleled and there is no simple attempt to counterpose industry and nature in any simple sense here. They are both the territories of humanity. The darkest pictures, however, are the unnatural sulphuric oranges of the ferromanganese and the bricks burned and without life. But, much like Berger's text, they express the landscape in which human beings have to live and resist.

Nowhere in his work does Berger express doubt about the necessity for the peasant way of life to be transcended by newer forces and relations of production. This is because he has never wavered in his confidence that those forces and relations themselves will be, in turn, transcended.

Berger is sure of that, but he also leaves us with the smaller hope that, in that supersession, some part of the old forces, the old loves and the old traditions will find their place in the new relations of Europe beyond the moment of transition.

Martyn Hudson

Hans Werner Henze




http://www.cpgb.org.uk/worker2/index.php?action=viewarticle&article_id=1002303

In the very fabric of art

In his rejection of practice that prioritises cooperation over competition, Hans Werner Henze conspires with a system he claims to oppose, writes Gordon Downie

Last weekend the music of the German composer Hans Werner Henze was featured in the Barbican’s Total Immersion series, which claims to examine the work of a single composer through performances, discussions and films.

Born in 1926, Henze moved to Italy in 1953, where he joined the Communist Party. His left-leaning political interests are reflected in a number of works, such as his requiem for Che Guevara, ‘The raft of Medusa’. His music is assertively eclectic and highly subjective, incorporating both atonal and tonal harmonic materials in addition to elements drawn from popular culture such as rock and jazz.

The bourgeois press has featured several interviews and articles about the composer. In the articles, Henze makes much of his disdain for the high-modernist avant-garde that arose during the 1950s in continental Europe. He claims that, during the establishment of the Darmstadt Ferienkurse für Neue Musik, composers’ music that refused to submit to ideals promulgated by this tendency was censored. However, a brief examination of concert programmes of this period does not necessarily support this claim.[1]

In an interview with music critic Andrew Clarke he makes a now familiar assertion that high-modernist music has been rejected by audiences because it exhibits “no emotions”, and claims that his move to Italy was prompted by a desire to avoid the “strictures of the post-war avant-garde”.[2] Clearly, Henze feels that he has a score to settle with his artistic enemies and competitors, a process to which the current music establishment appears more than willing to offer its assistance. And the current focus upon the composer’s music at the Barbican, in addition to further performances scheduled later in the year, is part of this process of legitimation. But precisely what might he mean by these remarks - criticisms that have been reiterated over many years?

No emotion

What does Henze mean by “emotions”? Firstly, the answer can be found in the reified affective categories that constitute the musico-discursive fabric and focus of not only Henze’s work, but a large body of officially sanctioned and neo-conservative contemporary music production. Such music seeks to establish a high level of identity with its listeners. As I have stated elsewhere, “this is most easily achieved by occupying an aesthetic, cultural and ideological terrain that most closely matches that with which the target is already familiar”[3]. This musical terrain is occupied by the established concert repertoire of canonised, so-called masterpieces, in addition to rock, pop and jazz - all of which is more or less tonal in construction.

By incorporating such materials in their music (even if complexly mediated), composers are able to exploit an infinitely large body of affective categories and inputs that are able to stimulate and guarantee an equally wide range of affective responses and outputs. As Zajonc has observed, subjects express preferences for stimuli based on the frequency with which they encounter them.[4] This is a form of conditioning. Thus, as “tonality forms the dominant aural and acoustic soundscape of both private and social environments, whether as TV advert or Hollywood blockbuster soundtrack, Microsoft Windows earcon, hotel lobby or shopping mall accessory, cell-phone ring-tone or medical centre waiting room anaesthetic”,[5] music is not recognised as such if it does not adopt these norms. In this context, tonality has a strongly integrative function.

Secondly, the answer can be found in the representational and mimetic power of tonality itself, in addition to the archetypal forms to which it is umbilically connected in terms of periodic and symmetric structuring and goal-oriented directionality. These constitute the ideal forms with which to represent the subjective experience of human environments, in terms of arousal, excitation and closure. In many respects, tonality functions in the same way as representation in landscape painting and still life, or narrative in the novel and film.

By ‘emotion’ then, Henze is referring to classes of reified and standardised modes of expression, and the ability of composers to trigger responses in subjects using suitably fabricated materials and cues. This is clearly not a critical perspective. Rather, as Brian Ferneyhough has observed, it is one that submits itself to “immediate purchase in the slave market of emotional exchange”.[6]

Avant-garde strictures

What is it about the programme of post-war aesthetic modernisation that generates such hostility? Artists can be characterised as experts who are frequently unable to access and account for the creative decisions they make. Their practice is frequently informal, and based on heuristic knowledge (or rule of thumb) that is frequently inaccessible, and thus unavailable for rational critique or systematic reflection. This accounts for much of the mystique generated by cultural artefacts, a form of mystification that cultural producers, their publicists and agents exploit in order to benefit from the aura and charisma that it creates.

But much of this hostility has its source in the role that culture is assigned in capitalist society. Its function, forming part of the leisure, heritage and culture industries, is largely diversionary - whether as entertainment, spiritual transcendence, libidinal excitation, surrogate religion, or all four. As I have outlined elsewhere, formalised art is seen to reproduce those features of administration and bureaucratisation from which subjects seek an escape.[7] If a subject’s environment is dominated by bureaucratic, administrative forms of social control and the scientific management of the labour process, we should be unsurprised that subjects do not want to encounter the same control mechanisms in those cultural products they consume in their leisure time.

What then is formalised music? In order to restore creative control over atonal, poorly structured pitch materials, during the 1920s Arnold Schoenberg and Anton Webern developed serialism, which fixes the order of the 12 notes of the western chromatic scale for an entire composition. In common with developments in the visual arts, some composers and theorists after 1945 began to explore the possibility of extending the organisational and structuring potential of serialism to other parameters of music, such as rhythm and dynamics. This was called integral serialism, or total organisation, to reflect the goal of building a compositional system - and aesthetic - determined by a precisely articulated and interconnected set of organisational principles.

Integral serialism (and related algorithmic procedures) can be viewed as a manifestation of general systems thinking. As it establishes and fixes certain structural relationships at the start of the creative process, it is a form of top-down, functional decomposition, and is a means of breaking down or deconstructing a problem, process or goal into successively more detailed steps.

What advantages does such a working method offer composers? As it allows a systematic and transparent mode of production, the semantic content and signifying capacity of the music can be more precisely determined, the impulsiveness and concomitant inconsistencies associated with spontaneity and opportunism are more easily avoided, and opportunities are generated for creative accountability. By following a deliberate, formally determined process, the aesthetic artefact can be liberated from following inherited paths and routines.

Such routines are overloaded with signifiers and referents that are more or less out of the control of the composer, and some members of the 1950s continental avant-garde, such as Iannis Xenakis, Karel Goeyvaerts, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Milton Babbitt and Pierre Boulez, claimed they wished to purge music of these inherited categories. And by formalising creative process in this way, an objective knowledge-base of creative method and standards of practice is established that transcends the particularities and limitations of ad hoc, personalised decision-making. In this context, opportunities are created for the collective ownership of materials and associated procedures.

This approach is in sharp contrast to creative behaviour that discards deliberate reflection in favour of more or less immediate commitment, which builds problem solutions from the bottom up. This applies to how most music is composed, and, indeed, how most cultural artefacts are produced - spontaneously, informally and ad hoc. And if formalisation does not eradicate the artist, it certainly transforms the artist. As systems theorist Edward Yourdon asserted, problem-solving processes need to be made “more explicit ... and less implicit and artful”.[8] Within this context then, art is what we call those types of human problem-solving behaviour that are more or less unstructured and display a resistance to formal explication or explanation.

Within capitalist society, the production of aesthetic artefacts is intimately connected to bourgeois notions of freedom of expression, and the licence given to artists is an assertion of this ideal. As Mike Macnair has observed, however, such a notion can be more effectively reconfigured in Marxist terms as freedom of communication.[9] This immediately removes our focus away from the disempowered singularity, or individual, to the more powerful collective, a body predicated on the free exchange of knowledge and information. And it is collective action that forms the basis of the approaches to creative problem-solving described here, a practice in direct opposition to the directive of competition driving capitalist society.

Style police

But the threat of collective action is one of the primary reasons the bourgeois music establishment continues its hostility towards this tendency, despite it having been a short-lived (albeit influential) movement, and despite the small number of works it generated (which are performed rarely). Thus, relating Henze’s encounter with this movement, Tom Service describes it as “the style police of post-war central Europe”.[10]

This is not an inappropriate description, as any dictatorship requires appropriate enforcement. However, Service did not mean to pay any compliments: western European formalism, in all media, has frequently been smeared by association with Stalinoid centralisation and authoritarianism - a wholly erroneous linkage, given that regime’s promotion of a moribund realism. Whether he is aware of it or not, however, Service and his ilk prefer the anarchy of the flexible market, and he appears blind to those ideological forces that function to ensure that all phenomena, artistic or otherwise, conform to it - surveillance takes many different forms. If they do not conform, then desperate attempts are made to remodel them so that they do.

Thus, in a review of a performance of Stockhausen’s early constructivist score, Kreuzspiel, Service claimed that the pianist brought “wit”[11] to the rendition of the music. In effect, Tom Service is claiming that, if the avant-garde refuses to repent, then their music can be reinterpreted, recuperated and repackaged in an attempt to drain it of critical content, so that those critical categories deployed for the simplicities and juvenilities of Haydn can be applied everywhere else - totalitarianism takes many different forms. However, the continued absence of this repertoire from concert programmes illustrates the failure of this process of appropriation.

In such a cultural and political context, the appeal of Henze is thus obvious. Henze displays all those traits of hyper-individualism that conform to bourgeois notions of genius. Everything about the features by Service and Clarke exude the archetypal and now reified characteristics of the bourgeois artist-as-hero music interview - and everything Henze has written functions to ensure its compatibility with the expectations embedded therein. Service notes that he is “standing outside the German composer Hans Werner Henze’s house in Marino, near Rome, looking at his olive grove, an infinity of gnarled branches and leaves that shimmer in the brilliant winter light”, whilst Henze’s living room contains “lavish paintings, a baroque effulgence of fabrics [and] two symmetrically placed Steinway grands”. The interview with Henze, Service remarks, is “punctuated by sips of his favourite cocktail, a mysterious green liqueur”.[12] And Clarke notes that Henze’s home is “an earthly paradise that has been his refuge for nearly 50 years”, that “Henze has long been a man of contradictions”, and “In his various writings Henze makes no secret of the fact that his life has been a yo-yo of hedonism and heartache.”[13]

We should question what any of this colourful prose has to do with Henze’s music. Discursive categories such as these certainly make it easier to sell the product, as they sit comfortably within the pages of weekend supplements that distract bourgeois readerships. However, in this form, such writing is largely indistinguishable from the copy found in the pages of Hello! magazine and similar celebrity fanzines. As such, it functions to reduce creative behaviour to mere autobiography, whereby the source of creative decisions is seen to be those incidents that form the creative subject’s lived experience.

Negation

Reminiscing with Tom Service, Henze notes that Adorno considered his music “not chaotic enough - music today has to be chaotic”, to which Henze retorts: “What a thing to say! There you are every day, trying to put something reasonable and clear on paper, and somebody comes and says it is not sufficiently chaotic.”[14]

It is unclear whether Henze understood Adorno’s criticism. In describing his music as insufficiently chaotic, Adorno was asserting that the music was insufficiently negatory. And it is to this that Boulez refers when he asserted that composers were useless if they did not adopt serialism - he was not making a merely colourful, rhetorical aside. Rather he was stating that any cultural producers who fail to fully critique and interrogate the medium within which they work lose control of that medium. By using material uncritically, composers risk becoming vehicles for the transmission of ideologies that are embedded and encapsulated - in a congealed form - in pre-formed, off-the-shelf materials.

Thus, to be truly negatory, opposition has to be built into the very fabric, material and generative procedures of the artwork itself. But in the eclectic nature of his work, in his submission to the cult of personality, and in his rejection of practice that prioritises cooperation over competition, Henze conspires with an economic and political system - capitalism - which he otherwise claims to oppose[15]

Notes

  1. See www.internationales-musikinstitut.de/index.php?option=com_content&view=category&layout=blog&id=36&Itemid=39=en.

  2. Financial Times January 8.

  3. G Downie, ‘Cultural production as self-surveillance: making the right impression’, in Perspectives of New Music Vol 46, No1, p201.

  4. RB Zajonc, ‘Attitudinal effects of mere exposure’, in Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 9, No2, supplement, June 1968, pp10-27.

  5. G Downie, ‘Cultural production as self-surveillance: making the right impression’, in Perspectives of New Music Vol 46, No1, p201.

  6. Personal correspondence, February 10 1994.

  7. G Downie, ‘Aesthetic necrophilia: reification, new music and the commodification of affectivity’, in C-S Mahnkopf (ed) Critical Composition Today Hofheim 2006.

  8. E Yourdon and LL Constantine Structured design New Jersey 1979.

  9. M Macnair, ‘Marxism and freedom of communication’, Critique conference, London School of Economics, March 2009.

  10. The Guardian December 14 2009.

  11. The Guardian September 8 2000.

  12. The Guardian December 14 2009.

  13. Financial Times January 8.

  14. The Guardian December 14 2009.

  15. It is the case, of course, that many composers of the post-1945 avant-garde also submitted to the excesses associated with the cult of personality. This is certainly the case for Stockhausen (as the Maoist, Cornelius Cardew, attempted to show) and Boulez, though it developed later in their careers after they abandoned their commitment to a more or less strict formalism. By his own, more youthful standards of analysis, Boulez is now useless.

Egypt's economy draws parallels to US economy


[for what it's worth...JR]


Extraordinary ordinary




Boris Sukov's A History of Realism

Progress Publishers 1977


Chapter on Walter Scott & et cetera

http://leninist.biz/en/1973/HR380/081-Scott

Walter Scott went through the same stages in his creative evolution as many other romantic writers. From an early interest in gathering and studying folklore material, he went on to investigate the history of the periods in which it was produced. But unlike the other romanticists, he did not rest content with admiring the mysteries of the folk soul as revealed in ancient beliefs, songs and tales, but analysed the objective conditions, both social and spiritual, that influenced the life of the people. Child of a tempestuous and fierce age, Walter Scott combined analytic study of the past, great erudition and a vast knowledge of the life, manners and customs of the past with a keen sense of history, presenting man in his novels not simply as a member of society but as a participant in the historical process. This represented a tremendous step forward.

While in classicism there was a tendency to idealise the hero and stress his noble character to the extent even of ennobling his negative features, and while the romantic hero was an exceptional individual, in his own eyes too, his originality being the distinctive feature of romantic art, the heroes of Walter Scott’s numerous novels were ordinary people. The romantic hero’s spiritual world was fenced off from the outside world and presented as an independent sphere professedly uninfluenced by environment. The Walter Scott hero is above all an integrated character, his individual nature and spiritual world being organically linked to his environment, of which he is a part, so that he acts as historical man, that is, as the point of intersection of the various conflicting forces in society, as a representative of a particular social force.

This principle of character portrayal represented the triumph of realism. Walter Scott not only continued the realist tradition of the eighteenth century English novel where social environment was given considerable attention, but he enriched this tradition with the addition of 82 a new quality, by differentiating the social substance oi environment, portraying it as the theatre of clashes between conflicting c7ass interests and endowing his heroes with clearly defined class consciousness. Freeing the narrative of the subjectivist element that was so typical of romantic literature, Walter Scott and the other great realists of the nineteenth century imparted truly epic features to the novel, enabling it to become a mirror of life.

Walter Scott’s conclusion on the nature of social relations in bourgeois society was proved to be truly momentous and vital by the subsequent development of social thought. Three years after the publication of the Waverley novels, the French historian Augustin Thierry, broke away from the influence of the theories of Saint-Simon and embarked on a work on the English revolution, in which he also concluded that the class struggle is the motive force at the root of the historical process. The affirmation and development of this view in the works of Thierry and Guizot was to be greatly influenced by Walter Scott’s philosophy of history as embodied in his novels.

Thierry broke with the accepted canons of historiography, asserting that it was not heroes and rulers but the common people, participants in the movement of the masses, that were the real makers of history. This too betrays the influence of Walter Scott, whose best novels presented the story of ordinary individuals against the background of important historical events that have a direct impact on their destiny, events in which the masses play an important role.

Whether he is writing of the decline of the Scottish clans or Jacobite abortive uprisings, going far back into the past as in Rob Roy, or the Waverley novels, or writing of his own times as in St. Ronan’s Well, his manner of portraying his hero’s psychology and behaviour is always the same. Scott is not interested in describing his hero’s self-contained passions, thoughts and feelings and conveying the illusion of their free play. His novels present the struggle between various social interests, and class conflicts, the clash of socio-political forces at work in society, inevitably involving the main characters of the story, who become participants in the historical drama 83 whether they like it or not. It is these social forces that form the hero’s inner world, imparting to him unique individual qualities that are naturally and organically dependent upon the social environment that produced them. Walter Scott adopts an historical approach to the portrayal of character. The Knight Templar in Ivanhoe, the oppressed Saxon peasants and feudal lords, think and act in accordance with the historical conditions of their age. The psychology of the sons of rebellious Scottish clans depends directly on the ties of kinship which hold them in their tight grip and force them to subordinate their own interests to the interests of the clan. Both the stern rebel Rob Roy and his fierce wife are unthinkable outside the environment which bred and educated them. The noble villain Jean Sbogar of whom his creator Nodier is so fond acts in a perfectly artificial world, appearing now amid the inhabitants of some Balkan state, now in splendid salons, and everywhere remaining the embodiment of the author’s own views and not a living flesh-and-blood character. Rob Roy emanates the fresh breath of the Scottish mountains, his plaid is made by the calloused hands of women from poor Scottish crofts, his proud bearing, slyness and cunning in his dealings with strangers, his power over his fellow clansmen, indeed his whole nature and behaviour, are determined by the fact that he is a member of a mountain clan. One can only imagine Rob Roy, that bold, rough and ready Highlander, with his own personal code of honour, as he is—dressed in home-spun clothes that reek of sheepskin and night fires, and not in the cloak of the romantic hero.

The pure-hearted, quick-witted and prudent Jeanie Deans,—Scott’s best portrait of a character of the people— reveals great moral fortitude and will-power and a strong sense of justice, in saving her rather flighty sister who is accused of murdering her child after being seduced and abandoned by a dissolute laird’s son. Jeanie’s journey to London where she manages to get an audience at court and save her innocent sister is a kind of Odyssey, which enabled Scott to present a whole historical period in English life, by making an original historical cross-section. In The Heart of Mid-Lothian, as in Scott’s other novels, the 84 personal interest of the individual—in this case Jeanie— is shown to be interwoven with the social interests of many other people, and indeed to depend on them and form an integral part of the whole system of social relations. Such a view of the interdependency and interconditionality of heterogeneous social phenomena in a causal relationship was a feature of realism, and it is on this that the epic quality of realism is based.

Balzac criticised the romanticists for neglecting to analyse the ensemble of social phenomena observable in life. In his philosophical treatise la recherche de 1’absolu he launched a strong attack on “certain ignorant and avid people, who demand feelings without the principles that produced them, the flower without the seed that was sown and the baby without the mother’s pregnancy. But can art be stronger than nature?" [84•1 The author of La Comedie humaine insisted that the events of human life, both personal and public, form an organic whole. “Wherever you begin everything is connected, everything is interwoven. The cause enables us to divine the effect, and an effect enables us to trace the cause." [84•2

Causality never appears in realist literature as a mechanical succession of events, a chain with every link firmly joined to the next. This is the approach of naturalism, which attempts to present a photographic copy of reality, mixing indiscriminately essential and secondary features and often allowing the particular to obscure the general, and failing to bring to light the hidden processes of life that lie below the surface and determine its movement.

Causality in realism is expressed not only in the organic unity of the whole work and its parts, the unfortuitous nature of the details, the consistent development of the plot and the relationships between the characters, and a well-founded structure, but also, and indeed, above all, in a historicist approach.

Walter Scott evolved a historical approach as the result of his observation of and speculation on the development and intensification of the class struggle going on in 85 English society during the writer’s lifetime. Scott’s works covered the long period in English history between the Glorious Revolution and his own day and age. In presenting the antagonism between the two forces of feudalism and the bourgeoisie with their class hostility, the compromises they concluded in the course of the political struggle in which the masses were involved, and in portraying the religious dissentions, conflicting philosophies of life, the clash of material interests, the division of society, and hence of the characters in his novels, into supporters of the old feudal order and supporters of the new bourgeois society, Scott was able to perceive in the mass of facts and events the major trend in social development—the formation of capitalism in England. He was a sufficiently shrewd observer of life to grasp the inevitability of the process and to see it as an historically progressive one. He also realised that the formation of capitalism affected every aspect of English life, and that therefore the personal fortunes of his heroes were dependent on this process, realised, that is, that there was a causal relationship. Thus, in order to understand and present the personal fortunes of his hero, the realist writer had to study the social environment in which the character lived and acted in its entirety, taking note of the general trends in its development, in order to understand and show its influence. This approach put an end to the subjectivism of the romantics’ method of treating character, by which circumstances were regarded to be of slight importance, and characters were abstracted from the environment of which they were the product. When Byron ironically combined in Don Juan the character of the seducer sanctified by the old tradition of romantic exclusiveness with a realistic, authentic environment, he was producing far more than a remarkable aesthetic effect: by portraying both character, and environment, Byron created a truly realist work.

Scott’s historicism destroyed the romantic idea that only the exceptional individual could be the hero of a work of fiction, for he practically proved that realism could depict both the ordinary and the exceptional and not merely the ordinary and mundane as the romanticists 86 asserted. Scott’s heroes were ordinary people, who as a rule did not stand out in any way from the masses. But acting as they do in close connection with important historical events, in the magnetic field so to speak, of these events, in the conditions they produce, his heroes acquire substance for the events that affect their lives are substantial. Likewise, Scott portrayed important historical figures not as despotic demiurges of history but as children of their age, linked by numerous threads to the historical soil that grew them and whose minds reflected and refracted the ideas and prejundices of their day. For this reason they have a fulness and completeness which was lost by the twentieth century writers who portray historical figures as independent incisive characters determining the whole course of history.

In presenting an exceptional phenomenon or character, realism explains them, revealing the sources of the exceptional in life itself. Pushkin’s Captain’s Daughter is a fine example of this. There is no doubt that Pugachov is an exceptional, highly unusual individual. [86•1 Yet Pushkin explains the appearance of such an exceptional figure by the particular nature of the peasant war in which he plays such an important part. Since the whole psychology and class consciousness of Pugachov and his “generals” was inseparable from the social environment that produced them, from the violence and grandeur of the rebellion, the scale of the events which shook the Russian Empire to its foundations imparts scope to the character of the leader and his supporters, making them natural without reducing their significance. The perfectly ordinary squire Grinyov also acquires significance since he is bathed in the reflected glow of history and his life is drawn into the mainstream of the life of the nation.

p The idea that the practical activity of perfectly ordinary people is at the same time historical activity gave Scott’s novels an epic dimension and a democratic flavour. Although we find no direct depiction in his works of the life of the oppressed and exploited masses, and his social 87 views were certainly not revolutionary, his method of portraying history through the lives of ordinary people showed the way for literature to follow if it was to arrive at a broad presentation of the life of the masses, a way that it indeed followed.

But Scott’s democratic outlook is not only revealed in his destruction of the view of history as being purely the domain of rulers and heroes. The French historians who discovered the laws of the class struggle in society claimed that this struggle ends with the triumph of the third estate, after which an age of general welfare ensues. Walter Scott studied the actual results of the bourgeois revolution and came to a different conclusion. In St. Ronan’s Well, which dealt with contemporary life, he showed that bourgeois society resulting from the class struggle had a corrupting influence on human morals. The novel contains in a nutshell Scott’s views on England’s social development, and shows how, adopting a democratic standpoint, he changed his view of the nature of bourgeois progress, and came to regard it as relative progress since it had not only failed to bring people social welfare, but had revealed its essentially inhuman nature.

Scott came to understand the motive forces of social development through history, as it was history he was concerned with presenting. Pushkin solved a far more complicated aesthetic task, revealing the way these forces influenced contemporary society, observing the influence on society of the very same factors that conditioned historical development. Pushkin was thus concerned with portraying contemporary life, that is history in the making.

Scott’s historicism arose against the background of the class struggle which was gaining momentum with the development of the Industrial Revolution in England, bringing with it all the contradictions of capitalism. Pushkin grew to spiritual maturity and came to form his historicist approach at a time when a recent peasant war that had brought to the fore the antagonism between the peasantry and the gentry was still very much in people’s minds, at the time of a remarkable upsurge of the national and social consciousness of the Russian people due 88 to the war against Napoleon, in the atmosphere of the Decembrist struggle, when the spirit of Revolution was rising in Europe, and the injustice of the social order was becoming perfectly obvious, for despotism was depriving millions of Russian peasants—the bulk of the country’s working population—of the most elementary rights and freedoms.

The unbearable position of the peasantry was the most important social factor in Russian life, and just as radiation changes the structure of live tissues so this factor influenced the minds of Russian thinkers and writers, from Radishchev to Tolstoi, changing the structure of their consciousness, and compelling them to defend the interests of the downtrodden exploited peasant masses. The position of the peasantry attracted the attention of Russian social thought to the essential problems of the historical process, for the emancipation of the peasantry was ultimately associated with the establishment of Russian capitalism, and hence necessitated the adoption of attitude to capitalism as a whole and the clarifying of the prospects of social development in general.

Pushkin was not a peasant poet, but a truly national poet, yet the question of the position of the peasantry, in other words of the people, was at the centre of all his reflections on the principles of social organisation, and it was this that conditioned all those features of his work that go to make him a poet of the people. “Shall I ever see the people free" was practically the leitmotif of his work. For Pushkin the emancipation of the peasants betokened the emancipation of man and serfdom was a sign of wrongly organised society. Thus, the need to find a way of achieving the emancipation of the peasantry became for him the point of departure for studying the nature and sources of the power some men wield over others and man’s objective position in a society based on private ownership.

Pushkin did not only achieve an encyclopaedic portrayal of Russian society. His brilliant mind grasped the results of post-revolutionary development in Europe and was quick to realise the negative effect of capitalist progress on the consciousness and morals of man. Criticism of 89 capitalism became an important aspect of Pushkin’s manysided work.

The bourgeois ideologists inferred from the post– revolutionary development of Europe which so favoured the growth of capitalism that the main positive result of progress was that the individual was able to freely exercise his own will. The apologia for individualism was a reflection of the development of bourgeois society towards “free” capitalism and “free” competition, characteristic of pre-monopoly capitalism. It was this type of thinking that produced the apologia for bourgeois individualism in Max Stirner’s Der Einzige and sein Eigentum. Egoism as a constructive factor, and the individual as its bearer, indeed Stirner’s whole outlook fitted very easily into the general anti-revolutionary pattern of bourgeois consciousness, while retaining the semblance of criticism of life. Ideas such as these were blowing in the wind at that time and naturally caught the attention of writers. They became the subject of the half-serious conversations between the young people at Madame Voquet pension that had such serious consequences, hardening Rastignac’s heart and arming him with indifference for his fellow men. They turned Julien Sorel’s heart to stone and drove Raskolnikov to make his terrible test of the value of his own self, and they were the substance of the nihilism and seductive mixture of criticism and denial of revolution characteristic of Ivan Karamazov’s views. Pushkin strongly criticised ideas exalting individualism, and showed their hostility to goodness and humaneness. He began by debunking the selfish romantic hero. The Gypsies represented a turn towards realism, and with such works as Byron’s Don Juan and The Age ol Bronze and Stendhal’s essay Racine et Shakespeare ushered in a new period in the development of realism. The Gypsies contains a brilliant expose of the features bourgeois social development had introduced into the human consciousness, and reveals that eminently sober view of life and people typical of true realism. Aleko, the hero, is an extremely self-centered individual, who is isolated from others since he only pursues his own personal interests. His rejection of civilisation a la JeanJacques Rousseau turns out to be an illusion, a mistaken 90 and ineffectual way of overcoming life’s contradictions, for the civilised world has set its seal on Aleko’s soul forever. “For yet among you sons of nature, happiness I do not see...”. For no man can be happy and free who encroaches on the freedom of others and is unable to master and overcome his own selfishness. So it was that there emerged in Pushkin’s work and in world realist literature as a whole a new type of humanism involving a search for ways and means of freeing man from all forms oi social injustice.

Aleko was given the opportunity to overcome his selfishness; the Old Gypsy indicated it to him in his tale about his acceptance of his wife’s desertion. Yet Aleko answered the old man’s wise humanism with the classic formula of individualism, “I’ll not give up my rights”, and the close knot of relationship between the characters ended in tragedy and bloodshed, in the spiritual bankruptcy of the “lone wolf" who had sought freedom only for himself. With its striking generalisation and powerful, tragic climax—“There’s no escape from fateful passions and no defence from Fate"—Pushkin’s poem clearly points an accusing finger at the destructive nature of the dominant outlook of contemporary society.

Condemnation of selfishness and self-will as principles conditioning the relations between people in society based on private ownership is a recurrent theme in Pushkin’s works, where it gradually received more concrete historical and social expression as the poet matured spiritually, for Pushkin saw and presented social egoism not as an irrational force but as the direct product and result of a wrongly organised society. As well as studying character and passions, he at the same time investigated society, its manners and morals, its consciousness, the various ideas and moods that prevailed, its structure and social conflicts. He evaluated the development of life and history from a truly humanitarian standpoint. He showed that one of the causes of Boris Godunov’s tragic end was that in gaining absolute power and satisfying his own selfish interests, he neglected the welfare of the people and flouted the unwritten laws of true humanity. “Son by marriage ... of a hangman, himself in soul a hangman,” he played up 91 to the people, trying to placate them for a while in the pursuit of his own selfish interests and get them to forget the heinous crime he had committed in order to seize the throne. Boris is unable to bring the people true welfare, for his autocratic rule, despotic by its very nature, is based on violence and hostile to freedom.

The memory of the murdered child constantly haunts Boris, destroying all his undertakings and drawing him inexorably towards his doom. The murder of Dmitry was more than a trump in the hands of Boris’s political rivals intriguing against him: in the play the image of the dead child is raised to become a symbol accusing the power of man over man, and injustice and evil in life. The question of the effectiveness of this symbol is one that has been much discussed, but it is no accident that Ivan Karamazov’s powerful and shattering argument in his revolt against God and the unjust world he has created should be based on the symbol of a child’s suffering. The meek defencelessness of a child in the face of the cruelty and inhumanity of life and people, like the defencelessness of the weak in general, developed as a leitmotif in Russian realist literature, with its tradition of the “little man”, the underdog—from Pushkin’s Yevgeny in The Bronze Horseman, terrorised by the great statue symbolising the power of the state, and Vyrin, the hero of The Postmaster, to Akaky Akakievich in Gogol’s The Greatcoat and Makar Devushkin in Dostoyevsky’s Poor Folk, and a whole host of other tragic figures of “little men" in Russian literature. But unlike many of his successors—Dostoyevsky for example—Pushkin, the father of Russian realism, was never to ignore the possibility of his underdog rebelling against the social order. The pathetic St. Petersburg clerk in The Bronze Horseman amid the raging elements that crush his brittle happiness dares to raise his voice against the powerful lord and master whose autocratic will was the cause of his woe. It is no accident that Pushkin studied the possibility of the “injured and insulted" man joining a peasant rebellion in Dubrovsky, or that in The Captain’s Daughter, despite the many reservations, the hero’s contact with the element of a peasant rebellion filled him with “exalted awe”, for Pushkin had no doubts about the 92 lawfulness of a popular uprising. Thus, the main idea of Boris Godunov, the opposition of violence and humaneness, arose from the poet’s profound awareness of the antagonism that existed between the oppressors and the oppressed.

An historical approach to the present was what determined the historicism of the tragedy, in which the conflict between two states, the struggle between different political interests around the Muscovite throne, human destinies, and the relations between government and people were presented in accordance with the spirit and meaning of history. The tragedy in Bon’s Godunov springs from Pushkin’s understanding of the real underlying factors of the historical process, of the material interests which determine events. In the play Pushkin presented the characters and the circumstances that produced them, man’s environment and psychology in their unity and mutual iniluence, without which realism, and especially the realist novel, could not have developed as they did.

At the time when Pushkin’s contemporary Balzac was still writing amorphous works in an ultraromantic and melodramatic spirit, like Clotilde de Lusignan, ou le beau Juil, and Stendhal was writing travel notes and treatises on aesthetics, only just setting out to embody in the novel form the “iron laws of the real world" he had perceived (which he had not succeeded in doing in Armance), when E. Bulwer-Lytton was just laying the foundations of bourgeois realism, and in his novels Falkland and Pelham or the Adventures of a Gentleman—as in those of his elder contemporary Jane Austen, and later in the forties, in the works of the critical-realist Bronte sisters—realism was strongly spiced with romanticism, Pushkin had already produced Evgeni Onegin, a novel in a new realist manner, whose canons have preserved their validity down to the present day. Despite the fact that the lesson of Evgeni Onegin only became part of the general heritage of European and world realist literature not directly but through the Russian realist novel when it came to occupy a dominant position in the world literary scene in the mid-nineteenth century, the genetic ties 93 between it and the novels of other great realists are easily traced.

For a long time the European novel had preserved Lesage’s system of plot development, whereby the hero meets with numerous obstacles and overcomes them. The character of the hero or the narrator are little influenced by environment, and are presented as already formed. Events succeed one another in a chain which could be made quite endless at will. It was of no basic importance what form the writer chose to tell his story, whether epistolary as Richardson or narrative: the general pattern remained the same. We find it in Fielding and Smollett. It was convenient in that it enabled the writer to draw a broad background and cram the narrative with incidents, insert little self-contained novellas and make the work entertaining. The preromantics injected a strong subjective element, and while the early realists often concentrated on portraying environment to the neglect of the characters’ psychology, the pre– romantics, especially in the Gothic and romantic novel, subordinated environment to the subjective world of the feelings. But both preromantic and romantic novels are influenced by the traditional plot structure. Paradoxical though it may seem, Sterne, for example, who showed the most pronounced subjective approach, could have ended Tristram Shandy anywhere or added several further volumes, for the inner world of the heroes did not depend on the objective processes of the external world and the artist was little concerned with relating the events of the characteis’ inner lives with real external events. The same applies to the novels of Jean-Paul Richter and the early works of Victor Hugo. Walter Scott’s historical sense led him to give a synthetic portrayal of environment and psychology, yet even he did not completely abandon the traditional plot scheme, something that was first achieved by Pushkin.

In Evgeni Onegin the psychology of the characters and the environment which formed them are presented in organic unity and the action is subordinated to the task of revealing individual and unique features of the characters. For the romanticist Constant circumstances were 94 essehtially unimportant: for Pushkin analysis of character was unthinkable without investigation of environment, investigation from a historical angle and a clear understanding of the social features of society. Thus, Pushkin’s presentation of his characters’ natures and their relationships with one another, their various conflicts, expands to embrace a picture of the life of society with all its social contradictions. The personal life of the heroes, their clashes of opinion and emotional conflicts—everything that had hitherto appeared in novels as independent of environment, was in Pushkin determined by environment and typified, and reflected the main features of the social structure. The mental sufferings of the heroes also reflect their specific class psychology and the basic characteristic feature of the age—its hostility to the normal, healthy, natural development of the personality and the baneful influence of propertied social relations on man.

Evgeni Onegin, like Pushkin’s previous works, showed the spiritual bankruptcy of the self-centered, selfish hero. The poem condemned egoism as a typical feature of social relations and social consciousness, and in this sense Evgeni Onegin develops the humanitarian trend in Pushkin’s work a stage further.

Pushkin attributed the hero’s selfishness to social causes: his freedom was based on the unfreedom of others, who enabled him to lead his empty life of leisure, and since his spiritual world is immoral it follows that the social order which produced such a character is also immoral and abnormal. Pushkin’s criticism of his hero implied criticism of life’s order.

Onegin’s selfishness makes him defy the norms of moral behaviour: he coldly rejects Tatiana’s love, trampling her poor heart and ruining her life, dispassionately kills another man, and sails through life vainly searching for pleasure, perfectly indifferent to the fate of others, concerned only with his own self and his own selfish whims. And it was only when he fell hopelessly in love with the woman he had once spurned, when he felt the torture of repentance and was assailed with regrets in much the same way as Boris was by the “blood-stained ghost... appearing every day”, only then, when he realised the 95 baneful effects of egoism, that he began to feel his loneliness as a curse and his own self-will as a punishment. Onegin’s scepticism and selfishness are in sharp contrast to Tatiana’s moral integrity, her pure, firm faith in human dignity. Her conscious refusal to build her happiness on the misfortunes of others raises Tatiana above the hero and gives her self-denial the strength of a moral example. The humanitarian idea with which Pushkin imbues Tatiana makes her a perfectly enchanting and delightful character. This poor, modest provincial girl and society lady with tremendous pain locked away in her heart was the first in the gallery of fine women characters in Russian literature on which the People’s Will and Bolshevik women of the future were to be brought up.

Confining the conflict to the love relationship between the hero and heroine but analysing their feelings in the wider context of society, Pushkin imbued his heroes with a tremendously rich inner life. In this Evgeni Onegin was vastly different from the novel of the Enlightenment and early realism. This comprehensive approach to character portrayal was soon to become a distinctive feature of realism. Stendhal, comparing the novel in his time with that of the eighteenth century could write in Memoires dun tourists: “Have you read Fielding’s Tom Jones which has practically been forgotten nowadays? This novel occupies the same place among novels as The llliad does among epic poems, and yet Fielding’s characters, like Achilles or Agamemnon, now seem too primitive to us." [95•1 The realists freed their heroes from what Stendhal referred to as their primitiveness, and were to go on to improve the methods of psychological analysis. But it was Pushkin who laid the foundations of analytic study of the human heart in realist literature.

Pushkin studied the nature of human alienation and the causes of man’s preoccupation with himself with the thoroughness of the historian and the penetration of the sociologist. Analysis of an apparently purely moral problem inevitably led him to undertake an analytic study of life, for it was there, he knew, that he would find the 96 answer to the question of what was causing alienation and self-centeredness and social conflict. This fundamental problem for realism was brought into special relief in the Little Tragedies, and was in fact the basis of all the tragic conflicts in these plays which form a cycle by virtue of their common philosophical conception. Pushkin demonstrates exceptionally strong historical sense in the cycle. Only a writer aware that the manners and customs of society and people’s social and moral conduct depend on circumstances of place and time and perfectly concrete historical conditions could have created such a set of vivid characters from various periods. The characters of the Little Tragedies do not only wear the costume of their age: they are also endowed with many psychological features typical of their age. At the same time they are generalised and realistically typiiied to an extent that is only equalled in Shakespeare’s characters, and thereby go beyond the confining limits of historical fact. Pushkin managed to generalise in them the essential, more permanent features of human consciousness formed by the world of property relations. Following the main theme of his art, Pushkin brought his heroes—self-centered individuals—into direct conflict with humanitarian principles, with the unwritten laws of humaneness, condemning egoism as a basis for human relations. Each of the heroes of the Little Tragedies has his own individual type of conflict with other people and the world, and yet in a way all these conflicts have a common denominator. The gay seducer Don Juan, who regards life purely as a source of pleasure and satisfaction of his own desires, is finally crushed by his own inhuman intention to sacrifice another person’s virtue, honour and life to his own transient whim; Walsingham in The Feast During the Plague, is assailed by a most bitter moral torment for having turned a deaf ear to the sufferings and hardships of his fellow men in this terrible time of trial and joined with his reckless friends in godless revelry. Salieri suffers a crushing defeat in his moral duel with Mozart, driven as he is to crime by his own pitifully narrow and selfish view of art. Making of art a mystery whose secrets are only revealed to the initiated few, Saliefi dares to oppose his will to the great unifying and 97 educative power of art that freely gives joy to mankind. He extinguishes Mozart’s radiant genius, thereby doing a terrible violence to the creative element in man. He acts like all those who seek to extinguish reason and put a stop to its hard and utterly selfless work to free mankind from the power of prejudice, ignorance and evil. Pushkin’s humanitarian idea acquires tremendous power of generalisation and great critical force.

But what was the soil in which all these human tragedies arose, what is it that feeds misanthropy and breeds disharmony in human relations? The answer to this question was provided by The Covetous Knight, the key work in the cycle. Here we have the world where all ideas of what is right and wrong are turned upside down, where son is advised to murder his own father, where the lascivious murderer seduces the wife of his victim, where selfless kindness produces hatred and anger, where “bloody villainy" is always ready to be called to life, where tears and sorrows evoke scorn or indifference, youth and talent are forced to sell themselves and a man’s worth is judged by what he owns, where self-interest and personal gain are the guiding principles and conscience and morality go by the board—a world ruled over by an old knight-usurer, the master and slave of gold. His armour is rather too tight for him: with his understanding of the essential features of the new masters who were consolidating their position in the post-revolutionary world, Pushkin did not endow the baron with contemporary, early nineteenth century features, lest he should be at variance with the general pattern of the cycle. But despite his knightly attributes, the old baron had parallels in the realist literature of Pushkin’s day. He represents very much the same as Balzac’s Gobseck, in the understanding of the processes going on in life that he reflects. Gobseck serves his master gold with equally fanatical devotion, and in the same ways as the baron rejects the outward signs of wealth and power for the secret but very real power of wealth, likewise understanding that self-interest and gain are the prime movers in relations between people in the society in which he lives. Like the baron, Gobseck is a powerful, monumental character, despite his petty 98 avariciousness. They are still accumulating capital, not using it to run the world. They are typical of the early period of bourgeois accumulation, and represent the first portrayals of capitalist vultures in world realist literature.

For Pushkin, as for Balzac, Stendhal, Dickens and Thackeray, the main thing in judging the nature of historical development was the question of their attitude to capitalism. In studying the effect the new social system was having on the life of society, they all sought for social forces and principles of social organisation to counter capitalism. Balzac mistakenly supposed that the unruly development and anarchy of capitalist enterprise and the corrupting influence of selfish bourgeois morality could be curbed by the strict authority of the monarchy and the Church. Dickens held that the power of moral feelings— which must be aroused in people—would be able to counter the destructive influence of capitalism on social consciousness. Pushkin, however, like Stendhal, explored the possibility of union with the revolutionary people in such works as Dubiovsky and History of the Revolt of Pugachov, and also in Scenes from the Days of Chivalry, whose basic idea is similar to that of Merimee’s La Jacquerie. Like the other great realists of the past, Pushkin looked beyond life as it was in an attempt to guess the future course of social development. The search for a perspective arises from the very nature of realism and is its sine qua non. When a writer analyses reality he is bound to achieve an understanding of the direction in which the world he is investigating is moving. The great realist writers of the nineteenth century embarked on their search for a perspective due to their refusal to accept the bourgeois society they lived in. Pushkin rejected capitalist progress outright, both in its “pure” American form, and in the form characteristic of Europe. “They were amazed to see democracy in its disgusting cynicism, its cruel prejudices and its unbearable tyranny,” he wrote of American bourgeois democracy. “All that is noble, selfless, and elevating is crushed by egoism and a passion for contentment; the majority presumptuously oppressing society; Negro slavery amid education and freedom; genealogical persecution in a people that has no nobility; cupidity and 99 envy on the part of the electors; temerity and servility on the part of the rulers. . . ." [99•1 Stendhal criticised American democracy in almost exactly the same words in his account of the journey of a certain Captain Holly to North America. Of course, the freedom to which Pushkin and Stendhal were referring was the freedom of private enterprise proclaimed by the bourgeois revolution. These same features of American civilisation were also criticised by Dickens in his superb satire of bourgeois democracy Martin Chuzzlewit.

Pushkin also wrote as follows. “Read the complaints of the English factory workers, and it’s enough to make your hair stand on end. What dreadful tortures and incomprehensible torments! What cold barbarity, on the one hand, what terrible poverty! You might think it were a question of building the pyramids of the pharaohs, of the Jews labouring beneath Egyptian whips. Not at all; it’s merely Mr. Smith’s fabrics or Mr. Jackson’s needles. And note that this is not abuse, it is no crime, but is all performed strictly within the limits of the law. There seems to be no more unfortunate lot in the world than that of the English worker, but look what happens when a new machine is invented and five or six thousand people are immediately released from hard labour and deprived at the same time of their regular means of subsistence...." [99•2

Engels had the following to say on the position of the English working class. “Every improvement in machinery throws workers out of employment, and the greater the advance, the more numerous the unemployed; each great improvement produces, therefore, upon a number of workers the effect of a commercial crisis, creates want, wretchedness, and crime." [99•3 Such were the inherent contradictions of capitalist progress which did not remain hidden from the perceptive gaze of Pushkin and the other great realists of last century. Pushkin gave a great deal of thought to these contradictions and studied the effect they had on man’s moral world. Thus, in his Queen of 100 Emacs-File-stamp: "/home/ysverdlov/leninist.biz/en/1973/HR380/20070330/199.tx" Spades he was able to create a hero of the new age m whom typical features ol bourgeois consciousness found clear realistic expression and were generalised. Hermann, whose actions had a single motive in his passion for enrichment was, like Rastignac and de Rubempre, the perfect individualist. His obsession with his own self and his own interests poisoned and smothered all his natural human impulses, making him completely callous, cold and calculating. Blinded by the lure of wealth he will stop at nothing—even deception and crime—to attain his lifelong aim, which he pursues with maniacal devotion. Mercilessly crushing or sweeping aside everything and everyone that stands in his way, he follows the savage side of his nature, seeing society as a battlefield and other people as either enemies or tools for the achievement of his own ends. It was no accident that the tale was given its urban setting, and the haunting image of St. Petersburg that pops up throughout gives a foretaste of the atmosphere in Gogol’s Nevsky Prospect and of the intensely dramatic scenes of St. Petersburg life in Dostoyevsky’s works, for it was in St. Petersburg that all the social contradictions of Russia were concentrated and stood out in bold relief.

Describing the features of bourgeois society, Engels remarked that they made themselves felt most strongly in the life of the big towns, the centres and strongholds of bourgeois civilisation. “And, however much one may be aware that this isolation of the individual, this narrow self-seeking is the fundamental principle of our society everywhere, it is nowhere so shamelessly barefaced, so self-conscious as just here in the crowding of the great city. The dissolution of mankind into monads, of which each one has a separate principle and a separate purpose, the world of atoms, is here carried out to its utmost extreme.

“Hence it comes, too, that the social war, the war of each against all, is here openly declared. Just as in Stirner’s recent book, people regard each other only as useful objects; each exploits the other, and the end of it all is that the stronger treads the weaker under foot, and that the powerful few, the capitalists, seize everything for themselves, while to the weak many, the poor, scarcely a 101 bare existence remains." [101•1 These features of bourgeois consciousness and bourgeois relations remarked upon by Engels are reflected in The Queen ol Spades. Hermann should really have been struggling for wealth and power not in a gaming house but on the stock exchange, his whole character and outlook predisposing him for that. In both The Queen oi Spades and The Covetous Knight, where Pushkin demonstrates a perfect awareness of the processes going on in society, a deep understanding of the new social phenomena that had arisen since the revolution, and does so with consummate artistry, the emphasis is on analysis of the moral consequences of the growing influence of social egoism on man. This feature of Pushkin’s method of presenting bourgeois society was conditioned by the slower rate at which capitalism was developing in Russia. While fully aware of the main trend in social development and understanding perfectly well that the bourgeoisie was bound to come out on top and feudalism was doomed, Pushkin was unable to study and investigate the formation and establishment of the new social relations with the same breadth and fulness as were other realists who actually lived under capitalism. But it was he who laid the foundations of a new type of realism, critical in character, synthetic in the method of portraying the relationship between man and his environment, between man and society. Pushkin portrayed his contemporaries historically, that is, as the product of a particular social environment, and possessing a perfectly clear-cut class consciousness that was their own, and theirs alone. Pushkin’s typical method of portraying reality was characteristic of critical realism as a whole in the classical period of its development.

It was this method that enabled Balzac and Stendhal, Dickens and Thackeray, the Bronte sisters, Gogol, and the Russian writers of the “natural school" to reveal and analyse the contradictions inherent in the new capitalist relations that were growing up on the ruins of feudalism. As it happened, only critical realism proved capable of assimilating the new life, for bourgeois realism, which 102 regarded capitalist progress as the natural form of social development, made no effort at all to study life in its actual movement, but substituted portrayal of the spiritual life of man isolated from society for portrayal of the contradictions in society. This attitude was clearly stated by a leading exponent of bourgeois realism, that talented psychologist and portrayer of morals and manners BulwerLytton, who wrote in Pelham or the Adventures of a Gentleman: “Works which treat upon man in his relation to society, can only be strictly applicable so long as that relation to society treated upon continues. For instance, the play which satirises a particular class, however deep its reflections and accurate its knowledge upon the subject satirised, must necessarily be obsolete when the class itself has become so. ... The novel which exactly delineates the present age may seem strange and unfamiliar to the next; and thus works which treat of men relatively, and not man in se, must often confine their popularity to the age and even the country in which they were written. While on the other hand, the work which treats of man himself, which seizes, discovers, analyses the human mind, as it is, whether in the ancient or the modern, the savage or the European, must evidently be applicable, and consequently useful, to all times and all nations." [102•1 The portrayal of “man as such" became the chief characteristic feature of bourgeois literature of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Carried to its extreme, this principle of portraying man abstracted from the world of social ties lies at the roots of modern decadent literature.

Nor was romanticism able to reveal the real contradiction in the “free” capitalist system that was developing. The new features of life that lay bare the inhuman nature of bourgeois society needed to be investigated and understood. To the romanticists the process of bourgeois development seemed to be irrational, and extremely difficult if not impossible to understand. The conservative romanticists either adopted a position of stoical non-acceptance of life and the new society, like Alfred de Vigny, or 103 openly supported feudal reaction like Arnim, Southy and so on. Those romanticists who, like Lamartine, believed in the illusions of bourgeois liberalism while being opposed to the more unpleasant aspects of bourgeois progress, were of the opinion that the new social order merely required certain minor improvements. Only the revolutionary romanticists who were to a greater or lesser extent connected with the rise of the proletarian and democratic revolutionary movement which culminated in the revolutions of 1848—people like Heinrich Heine, Freiligrath, Moreau, Barbier, Lenau, the worker poets and Chartists— revealed the contradictions of capitalist progress, though without giving a complete, integrated picture of bourgeois society. The critical realists alone were able to see and comprehend the contradictions in social development as a whole and analyse the main distinctive features of the bourgeois consciousness and social order. Critical realism flourished at a time when bourgeois society had already turned its back on the heroic days of the Jacobins and the bloody epic of the Napoleonic wars, and was consolidating its own gains and entering the stage of free competition. The bourgeoisie were feting their freedom. The cancan replaced the Carmagnole, the bowlar hat replaced the Phrygian cap, the Hussar’s uniform with its colourful trimmings had given way to the practical frock-coat oi the new world conqueror, the knight of debit and credit. The orators of the Convention who had shaken the world with their fiery speeches had been superceeded by parliamentary windbags. The bourgeoisie were mercilessly enforcing their rule at bayonet-point. They ruthlessly quelled the masses on the barricades during the July revolution, shed the blood of the Lyons workers who had the audacity to demand human rights for themselves, crushed the uprising of the Silesian textile workers and mobilised their forces against the Chartists, who were naive enough to believe that the democratic freedoms declared by the bourgeoisie would permit the working class to free itself from capitalist enslavement.

* * *

Notes

[84•1] Honore de Balzac, CBuvres completes, V. 14, 2me p., p. 308.

[84•2] Ibid., p. 309.

[86•1] Yemelyan Pugachov, the leader of the peasant uprising in Russia in 1773–1775.—Ed.

[95•1] Stendhal, Nl6moiies d’un touriste, Tome I, Bruxelles, 1838, p. 27.

[99•1] A. S. Pushkin, Collected Works in ten volumes, Moscow, 1949, Vol. 7, p. 449 (in Russ.).

[99•2] Ibid., p. 290.

[99•3] K. Marx and F. Engels, On Britain, Moscow, 1962, p. 167.

[101•1] K. Marx and F. Engels, On Britain, p. 57.

[102•1] E. Bulwer-Lytton, Pelham or the Adventures o! a Gentleman, New York, p. 48.

14 January Front statement: The revolution must continue until it achieves is objectives


http://wpb.be/

14 January Front statement: The revolution must continue until it achieves is objectives

30-01-2011

14 January Front statement:

The revolution must continue until it achieves is objectives



While the Tunisian masses continue their sit-in at the Governmental Square at Qasbah (in the capital city), and tens of thousands of Tunisians have marched in Sfax, Tunis, Sidi Bouzid, Jendouba, Nabeul and other parts of the country, to bring down the government of “National Unity", they imposed on us a modified government led by Mohamed Ghannouchi, with clear evidence of the interfering of USA Secretary of State Feltman.

This government is the continuation of the dictatorship and tyranny and was dictated by imperialist forces of America and European countries that have brought our country into what we are enduring now of unemployment, impoverishment and marginalization .

Therefore, the "14 January Front" declares the following:

1 - Rejection of the amended government of “national unity," because it is against the people's revolution and demands and aspirations.

2 – Rejection of all types of tutelage of U.S.A., European or others on the destinies of our people and our country.

3 – For the formation of a "provisional government" acceptable to the people, and that would result from a national conference to protect the revolution, and consists of:

  • All political parties, associations and trade union organizations, human rights and cultural organizations and independent personalities, which sponsor the demands of the people's revolution and struggle to achieve them.

  • Representatives of the forces which were produced by the revolution in all areas of the country through the councils or committees or associations formed at the initiative of the masses.

  • Representatives of Tunisian associations and organizations abroad, which has resisted the dictatorship and supported the revolution in Tunisia.

4. The mission of “The National Congress for the Protection of the Revolution” consists of drafting texts about the provision of complete freedom for the Tunisian people by repealing the laws that prohibit freedom and ending the implementation of the constitutional articles which negate freedoms and people's sovereignty until the passing of a new constitution.

The tasks of the “provisional government” are the following:

  • The managing of daily affairs

  • The dissolution of the appointed representative bodies

  • The dismantling of the ruling party and its militia, the expropriation of its properties and calling to account the figures who were behind the economic and political crimes.

  • The dismantling of the political police apparatus.

  • Appointment of provisional officials in the diplomatic corps, the governorates, the delegations and the sectors to carry out the tasks of the transitional period.

  • Preparing the election of a constituent assembly in an atmosphere of freedom. This assembly should represent all the vital forces in the country after agreeing on the type of representation in it (the use of proportional representation) in order to avoid exclusion.

  • The constituent assembly undertakes the drafting of a new constitution for the modern, democratic and civil Tunisian republic that fulfills the Tunisian people's ambitions of freedom, equality, social justice and dignity.

In declaring these stances, the 14 January Front warns the “national unity government” against pursuing any repressive measure towards the sit-in in Al-Qasbah and the protesters all over the country.

The Front calls for the continuation of the mobilisation, defending the masses and and all the democratic political forces as well as all the organisations, groups, associations and independent individuals to continue the struggle to achieve the objectives of the people's revolution, in devotion to their martyrs and will.

Tunisia 28 January 2011

[Translated by Raida Hatoum and Nadim Mahjoub]