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TITLE: 'A Critical View of the Bases, Significance and Devices of Contemporary Art Criticism' (1)
THIS VERSION: Copyright © 2003 Carol Adlam; all rights reserved. Notes by Carol Adlam and Robert Russell. Redistribution, or republication of this text in any medium requires the consent of the translator.
It is clear that criticism has ceased to be purely artistic, and that for it works of art are connected with social, psychological, historical interests - in a word, with the interests of life itself. Attempts to remain within the parameters of a detached art criticism remain no more and no less than attempts: certain of those who decide on such attempts themselves cannot keep within the parameters of purely technical tasks for long, and lapse either into a moral approach to art, or into an investigation of questions which concern art not as technique, but as experimental psychology. They seek, for example, to break down artistic ability into its constituent parts, to identify the powers of the soul from which keenness of observation, or other qualities which are understood to be part of being gifted, are formed; and they investigate questions which of course are extremely important, but in a psychological rather than artistic respect. [...] (2)

There is another, far more fundamentally unwarranted approach, whereby righteous indignation (itself a precondition of any expression of desire for criticism to change back) is directed at criticism which has ceased to be purely concerned with art.

There has arisen a point of view which constantly searches for predetermined theoretical aims that lie outside the work of art - a barbaric point of view, which estimates the value of the true creations of immortal art only in so far as they serve one or other aim which is set by theory. The connection between such an anomaly and attested fact is indisputable. When one considers art in connection with the essential questions of life, then it is not surprising, given nature's well-known passions, that one might be swept away by these questions to the point where interest in them swallows up one's entire life. That is why it is of course even harder to constrain one's love for art and the eternal truth of the human soul to the point where one subordinates it to the charm of the ephemeral, although this is possible, given an already-developing fanaticism: where there is an organic insufficiency, that is, where there is an absence of feeling for beauty and measure, it is exceedingly easy to turn art into an instrument of pure theory. [...] Nevertheless, over the last decade many articles have appeared in which the fanaticism of theory, bilious irritability, or enraged obtuseness have replaced any artistic understanding, any feeling of beauty or measure. We have seen how criticism has raised up and then overturned idols of all sizes, how it has placed Russian literature as a whole at the foot of a single, although truly marvellous, work; we have seen, and seen recently, how a preconceived idea which arose out of the noblest of sources - out of passionate love for the people and for their way of life - has blinded criticism to the point where, in reviewing contemporary literature, it has seen fit to foreground literary phenomena which are utterly shallow in their understanding of the life of the people and of their essence, leaving the best works of contemporary art stranded in the background. (3)

We have seen, and continue to see, all this, and it is understandable that we have more than had our fill of this. It is understandable that voices have been raised in support of art criticism, and that many have begun to value poetic understanding and aesthetic feeling highly.

But it is in fact the case that two things have turned out to be indisputable: the first, that only through works of art that have been born is the new introduced into life; truth is strong only when embodied in flesh and blood, so strong, moreover, that no theoretical critic is able to represent it as untruth - the evidence of this is on hand in everything new, in Ostrovskii, (4) in A Family Chronicle, (5) in Pisemskii, (6) in Tolstoi. (7) The second is the fact that criticism without poetic understanding cannot explain any of the vital questions posed by the work of art, that its explanations are not accepted in life or by the multitudes (who remain instinctively drawn towards beautiful living creations), and that criticism which on the contrary reveals any sort of inclination for poetic understanding whatsoever is believed, and is even forgiven its enthusiasms and flaws.

But here is the boundary of the question of pure art criticism. What is required of it at present is only negative, and can rightly only be negative, as a valid resistance to the deadly fanaticism of theory, or to enraged obtuseness. No sooner are positive claims voiced on behalf of art criticism than they lapse immediately into one-sided extremes. What is most amusing is that the one-sided extremes of these purely artistic views nevertheless conceal philosophical, social, historical, and psychological questions. [...] Is it not clear why criticism so suddenly, and so wholly without justification, cooled towards Ogarev (8) (a poet who is profound in feeling, and sincere as few of our poets are), when it adopted the purely artistic point of view? It goes without saying that this was not on aesthetic grounds, but because of the critics' changing moral viewpoint, or even because of a certain surfeit of ennui and melancholy. The matter is plain to see!

At the bottom of not just every question of art, but of science, lies an issue that is bound, in flesh and in blood, to the essential aspects of life. Only those questions of science are important where flesh and blood have been introduced into them by powerful warriors.

[...] Returning to the proper question of pure art criticism, we must say before anything else that such an art criticism can never exist, not just at the present time, but ever - that is, a criticism which would regard the phenomenon of literature as something sealed, and which would evaluate on aesthetic grounds alone, that is, it would discuss, for instance, the plan of the work, the beauty or deformity of the details in relation to the whole and to the design of the whole, and which would admire the structure or the draughtsmanship of the work. However much a critic (even a critic born with the most refined artistic sensitivity) might wish to assume an aloof artistic position, the living, or rather, vital aspect of the work will draw him into the position of the involuntary judge of the images therein, or, if the matter concerns a cycle of lyrical works, of a single image that is expressive in terms of its inner moral life.

I will permit myself to say still more: a detached, purely technical criticism of art has also never existed with regard to verbal works of art. Such a criticism is possible only with regard to works of the plastic or auditory arts, although in these spheres of art criticism, too, a gnawing notion has already begun to creep in of the significance of contemplation in artistry, of the connection between the artist's apparently free brush, the sculptor's free chisel, the architect's free conception, and the general thinking of their time and its religious or ethical disposition; even in the criticism of auditory art have several brave people begun to introduce the idea of the musician's life, the person's soul.

I return once again to the question I have posed, of whether this is good or bad, correct or incorrect.

In order for me to have the right to say that this is bad and incorrect, show me one glorious moment of detached art criticism in the history of criticism of all peoples.

You will not find one in the history of English criticism, of course [...].

Neither will you find it in German criticism, although nobody has discussed detached art criticism more than the Germans.

[...] A moment when detached art criticism reigned is hardly to be found in the history of French criticism - that same criticism under whose old-fashioned guardianship Lessing (9) and Herder (10) liberated thought, amicably, albeit without predetermination, and in the context of a certain polemical relationship to one another as they completed the magnificent business of replacing the criticism of forms with criticism of the soul of the work.

[...] In the New World, which has been divided from the very beginning, the relationship of thought to works of art could not, and cannot, stay placidly technical. One cannot presume to ask the question of whether this is good or bad. An English thinker from the previous century, Browne, I think, expressed an idea that was witty in its form of expression, and profound in meaning: 'Let us assume that we are dwarfs in comparison with the ancients', he said, 'but the dwarf on the shoulders of a giant sees more than the giant himself'. (11) Our view of art has been expanded by the fact that art has been brought into connection with life. New criticism, that is, which does not repeat its forebears, could never be, and never has been, detached art criticism.

VI.

[...] By examining literary phenomena we can be sure that works composed with negative aims in mind merely provide evidence of opposition, but achieve no aims: negation alone does not create the true conviction without which creative work is impossible.

Only that which is alive, which has been born, which has imbibed flesh and blood is living and active. Only faith, the heart's essence, can fill life with content. Faith, the precursor of which is always reaction, usually grows imperceptibly, comes to light quietly, and matures in seclusion, but with its very first appearance it already shames and vexes both theory (i.e., that which has had its day and has withered), and reaction (i.e., that which dreams of surviving on the basis of its sharp contrast to that which has had its day).

[...] Since it is bestowed by life itself, this principle is never just negative; it is given as a free product of life, and not as a weapon against that which has had its day.

In a word, this principle is the new word of life and art. It may be greater or lesser in scope, but it is always born and not artificially made; it is always genius, i.e. connected with world strengths.

The first indication of that which is truly new or of genius is the presence within it of a content which belongs only to itself: in its womb, so to speak, it always carries something which reaction would never have dreamed of, but which is nevertheless the legitimate culmination of all that has preceded it. This [content] is related to everything, and by blood, moreover: to the past, the present, and the future. Without severing its ties to anything, however, and while assimilating everything to itself, while embracing everything with love, it never loses its own, particular essence since it is, in the highest degree, conscious. Both these results, these other indications, derive from a single source.

In persons of genius (since it is of these that people speak when they discuss a 'new word' in art and life) contemplation is not fragmented, but whole. While bearing the future within themselves, they nevertheless are palpably aware of this future's vital connection with the present and the past. They know that the last step of the past leads to the present, and that, while this step cannot be omitted, neither can one linger on it. Creative strength proceeds forwards evenly, quietly, cautiously, a stranger to blind rebellion against form. (i) It grasps only the last step of the past, squeezes all the remaining juice from it, and, having caught new effects in the old forms (the last they could give, and which, like links in a chain, connect the old forms with the new), reveals a new world. On the contrary, 'meteoric' activity in life and art begins squarely with the blind destruction of forms, such as Cromwell and Han of Iceland and the proposition that 'le beau c'est le laid', (12) or Makar Alekseevich Devushkin and his complaints about what be believes to be the pitiless representation of Akakii Akakievich; (13) and, like an meteor, it disappears in the air. 'And his memory perished noisily', (14) or, as Horace says, 'Vis consili expers mole ruit sua'. (15)

On the other hand, the creative strength of genius is always conscious to the highest degree. Much has been said about the fact that creative strength creates unconsciously; many instances have even been cited where the work created is stronger than its creator. But this false opinion cannot sustain any kind of criticism and is unworthy even of serious refutation. Many are surprised by how a man who is far less learned and educated than them is able to create something of genius; many are offended by the way in which strength of genius lays bare, with simple-hearted conviction, things which they have never read about in books - but how many accusations of immoderate pride, ignorance, and even of stupidity have been, and continue to be, cast at geniuses because of their simple-heartedness! And yet it is on such accusations alone that the preposterous notion of the unconscious nature of creative strength is founded. In fact it is completely the opposite. There is no point in saying anything about the fact that great creative strength knows its business: it even educates its own judges about itself - although at the beginning it has none, since the new that it brings into the world of art or life is explained (i.e. embodied) in the work itself. Genius is omni-faceted: a powerful genius's point of view is valuable even when it does not deal with its own affairs. Shakespeare could have been one of the greatest statesmen of England. When Briullov was in the Dardanelles, guided only by his keen eyesight and without the least knowledge of seamanship, he astonished experienced sailors with his shipboard manouevre, and, most remarkable of all, defended the possibility of such a manouevre with the stubbornness of true, conscious conviction. (16) Great creative strength is a conscious strength, a practical strength, a strength that gives birth, since otherwise it would not be capable of giving flesh to the new word in life or art with which it has been entrusted. [...]

IX.

[...] When art finally catches life's ceaselessly-flowing stream and distils a particular moment of it into everlasting form, then that form which has been cast by art possesses an irresistible charm in its ideal beauty, it subjugates compassion to itself almost despotically: thus entire epochs live, so to speak, under the yoke of particular works of art with which ideals of beauty, goodness and truth are connected. On the one hand, it is natural that the influence of these distilled forms is perceptible in many imitations and in work done in accordance with these forms. It is also natural, on the other hand, that the analysis of these ideals leads many to nothing but bare, abstract ideas which have been extracted from living works with the anatomist's knife, and that these abstract ideas, in their turn, become in themselves the basis for works. In short, either there are copies from nature in the manner of a famous artist, with his devices and palette, or there are variations on themes extrapolated on the basis of analysis of artistic creations. This is how it always is. Works of art leave a long trail behind them, a long trail in literature, in feelings, in social mores: long to the point where there is always a moment of inclination towards the past, not their own, of course (since they themselves are not to blame for this), but that of the lifeless copies made in their manner, or of the variations on arid themes abstracted from them. Thus it goes, until the point when art calls a new world forth from non-existence, until it utters a new word or provides a new stimulus.

X.

Just as the limits of purely aesthetic criticism consist in the requirement that criticism should provide poetic understanding and sensitivity, so the boundaries of historical criticism are determined by historical feeling; i.e., criticism must understand, profoundly, that it hears living voices in artistic opinions, and that the great secrets of the world of the soul, and of the people are revealed to her in works of art. In what way, then, can life itself be accepted as a criterion for judgement above that which itself lays life bare, which casts light on everything in life that is fortuitous, magical, and in which life's higher laws come together?

Historical criticism, incidentally, has travelled this treacherous path; that is, having accepted life as a phenomenon beyond the level of art, the correct way of seeing a reflection of life in art in general and in verbal art in particular, quickly turned into a thoroughly incorrect way of seeing in art a slavish servitude to life. Such a view of criticism towards art is not even like that of the blind towards the blind: no! for here, it is the blind who wants to lead the sighted. This is precisely what has happened and continues to happen in criticism when it accepts a false method. Art always outstrips it, its grasp of life is always wider than that moment upon which criticism arbitrarily lingers.

What, then, is the conclusion from this? Surely not a slavish servitude to art and a blind faith in it? ... This would be utterly dispiriting, although one must agree that blind faith in art and a slavish servitude to it is superior to that slavish servitude to theory which is so full of preposterous pride, and which wants to detain the revelation of life at a particular moment, and measure it against the Pillars of Hercules. (17)

Evidently, there is no way out for criticism, no way out of the following dilemma which logical thinking has exposed:

1. Either criticism is not independent at all, but is subservient to art;

2. Or, criticism is falsely independent; that is, its independence is harmful or fruitless.

That is the way it is if the criterion for criticism is drawn from the phenomena of life or the phenomena of art itself.

But the point is, in fact, that both art and art criticism are subservient to a single criterion. One is a reflection of the ideal, and the other an interpretation of that reflection. The laws by which that reflection is explained are not drawn from the reflection, which is always a more or less limited phenomenon, but from the essence of the ideal itself. Between art and criticism there is an organic kinship which lies in the consciousness of the ideal. For this reason, criticism cannot and should not be blindly historical, but should be, or at least strive to be, just as organic as art itself, and through its analysis, should comprehend the same organic principles of life which are conveyed, synthetically, in the flesh and blood of art.

Notes

(i) Thus Pushkin moves from Ruslan and Liudmila, working through everything vital that he found in the old, everything which had been hallowed by Ariosto's name, and which did not offend the old, and comes gradually to The Captain's Daughter and Boris [Godunov]. Thus Gogol' moves from Evenings on a Farm, working again through what he found to be vital in the historical novel, comes to The Overcoat. Thus, in our time. Ostrovskii begins with It's a Family Affair, We'll Settle Things, where the Gogolian device is for the last time applied to reality, and transforms it into a gentle, free, wholly sensible, truly poetic relationship to Russian life. Thus, according to one of his biographers, Briullov chose the subject of Pompeii because this subject 'combined the imagination of the new Romantic school with the strict studies of venerable Classicism.' Thus Meyerbeer pays his dues to the old tendency with his Crociato and then immediately reveals a new world in Robert.