Stalin and the Literary Intelligentsia, 1928–39

344 Pages·1991·32.727 MB·English

by  A. Kemp-Welch (auth.)

STALIN AND THE LITERARY INTELLIGENTSIA,
1928-39
Also by A. Kemp-Welch
THE BIRTH OF SOLIDARITY
THE IDEAS OF NIKOLAI BUKHARIN (editor)
STALIN AND THE
LITERARY
INTELLIGENTSIA,
1928-39
A. Kemp-Welch
Lecturer in Politics
University of Nottingham
Pal grave Macmillan
ISBN 978-1-349-21449-5 ISBN 978-1-349-21447-1 (eBook)
DOI 10.1007/978-1-349-21447-1
© A. Kemp-Welch 1991
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 1991 978-0-333-27770-6
All rights reserved. For information, write:
Scholarly and Reference Division,
St. Martin's Press, Inc., 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
First published in the United States of America in 1991
ISBN 978-0-312-05324-6
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kemp-Welch, A., 1949-
Stalin and the literary intelligentsia, 1928-39/ A. Kemp-Welch.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-312-05324-6
1. Soviet literature-History and criticism. 2. Socialist realism
in literature. 3. Russian literature-20th century-History and
criticism. 4. Stalin, Joseph, 1879-195:>-Inftuence.
5. Intellectuals-Soviet Union-History-20th century.
PN849.R9K425 1991
891.7'0912--dc20 90-44944
CIP
Contents
Acknowledgements VI
1 The Revolution 1
2 NEP in Literature 21
3 Proletarian Hegemony 68
4 The New Order 114
5 Socialist Realism 142
6 Debate on Doctrine 161
7 The Terror 205
8 Stalinism in Literature 240
Notes 269
Bibliography 318
Index 333
V
Acknowledgements
This book is based on unpublished Soviet archives of the 1920s and
1930s. My first debts are to the custodians of these unique collections,
notably those of the Soviet Academy of Sciences' Institute of World
Literature in Moscow. A full description of these and other archives
consulted is appended. My second acknowledgement is owed to
Harvard University for hospitality while I explored the Trotsky Exile
Papers (released in 1980) and photocopies of the Smolensk Archive,
made for Merle Fainsod and his team.
I learned much at the London School of Economics, particularly
from Leonard Schapiro, who introduced me to the study of Soviet
politics, and from Peter Reddaway who (in 1971) first suggested the
1930s as a subject for research. Then followed a post-doctoral fellow
ship in the Russian Centre at St Antony's College, Oxford, where I
had the good fortune to be encouraged and guided by the late Max
Hayward and Mr H.T. Willetts. The subsequent work was mostly
done in the Taylorian Institution Slavonic Library in Oxford. I am
immensely grateful to Mr David Howells and his assistants for access
to their magnificent collection.
The conclusion was finally reached in the Library of King's Col
lege, Cambridge, during sabbatical leave from the University of
Nottingham. I would like to thank Mrs Angela Fullerton and Mrs
Anne Macdonald for their miraculous transcriptions of my many
drafts, and Tim Farmiloe of Macmillan for his patience. I was saved
from many errors at the last minute by Julian Graffy. Those which
remain are entirely my own.
A. K-W.
October 1990
VI
1 The Revolution
A Russian writer should never live in friendship with a Russian
Government
Gorky, 1902
Theoretically, the Russian writer was an independent critic of the
state. When the state acted, the writer submitted its policies to
careful scrutiny; when, as was more frequent, the state did nothing,
writers attempted to goad it into activity. But, while regularly in
opposition to the authorities, the writers of the nineteenth century
found themselves increasingly critical of Russian society and found in
its ignorance, backwardness, violence, litigiousness and Oblomov
ism, plenty of material for literary expression. Caught in a limbo
between society and the state, such writers began to be regarded as
an intelligentsia 1 whose rootlessness was treated as a unique vantage
point from which to articulate the 'social interest' as a whole. To the
frequent charge that the intelligentsia 'lacks conviction', its members
liked to reply that 'on the contrary, only we are free to have intellec
tual convictions', untramelled by social or financial position. Despite
the numerous cases of compromises with the authorities, the notion
developed that the intelligentsia occupied the unique position of
custodian of cultural and ethical values against the infringements of
the state. Although the term cannot be equated solely with 'left-wing'
opposition, it was in politics that it had the most vital consequences,
the outcome of which, it would be scarcely an exaggeration to say,
was the Russian Revolution itself.
The first response of writers to the February Revolution was
characterised in the classic account as 'an endless flood of talk'. The
'fullest liberty had been declared and there was no power that could
have enforced restrictions, even if they had existed'.2 Their first
concern was to protect the past. A meeting assembled in Gorky's
apartment in early March to organise protection for the country's
historic monuments. At the next session, the Gorky Commission
advanced further objectives: the erection of statues to 'fighters for
freedom' and other measures for the 'development of Russian art'.3
They also approached the Petrograd Soviet which agreed to issue an
appeal to Russian citizens to protect national monuments. Gorky's
Commission obtained offices in the Winter Palace and was attached,
1
2 Stalin and the Literary Intelligentsia 1928-39
as a special advisory board on cultural matters, to the Provisional
Government. But neither Gorky's rapid elevation nor the priorities
he proposed passed without challenge from the rest of the artistic
community. Some 1,400 members attending a mass meeting at the
Mikhailovsky Theatre on 12 March called for 'complete freedom in
the arts' and protested against any form of governmental intervention
in this sphere. It condemned Gorky's Commission in this connection.
In reply, Gorky emphasised the purely practical role of his Com
mission to protect historical monuments and denied that it harboured
any aspirations to a commanding role in the arts.4 His audience was
unconvinced. Fundamental objections even to such limited activities
were raised by a 'freedom of art' group formed the previous day.
Although broadly based, a significant minority of its founding mem
bers were 'leftists' such as Meyerhold and the art critic Punin. Their
spokesman Mayakovsky called for a complete separation of the arts
from central government and the passing of both teaching and
organisational matters such as financing to local levels. This too failed
to sway the meeting which became hopelessly split between the
'leftists', an unofficial 'rightist bloc' headed by F. Sologub, and a
centrist group. But none of these managed to muster sufficient votes
to elect an organisational structure.5 The meeting achieved a negative
result in discouraging even the minimal cooperation with the Provi
sional Government suggested by Gorky, who felt obliged to disband
his Commission shortly afterwards.
This inability to act together was deeply perturbing to many
sections of the intelligentsia. Long accustomed to consider them
selves the most advanced part of the nation, the intelligentsia was
perplexed to find itself left behind by a radical Revolution which its
earlier actions and writings had, in part unwittingly, done so much to
engender. A crisis of confidence ensued which led in turn to a
re-examination of the intelligentsia's own role and to a search for
fresh identities and expressions. One response was patriotism. Al
ready, in March 1917, the writer Bunin had made an ill-fated attempt
to organise a campaign against Bolshevik anti-war policy. Soon
afterwards a 'league of Russian culture' was announced. Ostensibly
non-political and dedicated to the cultural traditions that 'unite all
Russians', it was in practice a Kadet venture in which the former
Marxist P. Struve was prominent. A number of patriotic rallies were
held to coincide with the Provisional Government's June offensive.
The military debacle that followed put paid to these assemblies.6
The Revolution 3
Thus attempts by the liberal intelligentsia to assert a leading role in
this time of crisis proved entirely ineffective.
During the 'July days', with its abortive coups from both right and
left, the intelligentsia experienced even more sharply its own help
lessness. Bely complained to a correspondent 'time is outstripping us:
it is almost impossible to catch up'. 7 In an attempt to find a positive
role for the intelligentsia, Sologub advanced the view that it was
not simply neutral towards the struggle between capital and labour
but that it actually formed a third class between the proletariat and
the bourgeoisie.s This came close to the suggestion that the intel
ligentsia might use its own superior education and knowledge to
foster its self-interest. In Russian history this is associated with Jan
Machajski (Vol'skii), who considered that the intelligentsia accumu
lated a 'capital' of knowledge and education, and predicted that 'as
long as the working class is condemned to ignorance, the intelligent
sia will rule through workers' deputies'. 9 Such self-criticism was not
uncommon among the Russian intelligentsia, and gave rise to an
anti-intellectualism known as makhaevshchina, about which more
was to be learned under Stalinism.
The October Revolution was welcomed by only a small section of
the intelligentsia. As the Soviet historian Fedyukin puts it, 'many
members of the intelligentsia were gripped with a deep pessimism,
taking the collapse of the rule of the bourgeoisie, a class which they
considered to be the only bearer of culture, as the death of culture in
general'.10 But while there were strikes amongst teachers and doc
tors, there were few stoppages in the artistic world. Even those
theatres that had cancelled performances in the immediate aftermath
of October, soon resumed their normal programmes. A more typical
response was to carryon regardless of the new state authorities and
to ignore their official representatives. Artists, especially in Petro
grad, were bent on autonomy: theatres formerly financed by the state
now sought self-management. Lunacharsky, as Commissar for Edu
cation and the Arts, described these aspirations as 'syndicalist' and
proposed instead to constitute a state Soviet on artistic affairs, whose
membership would be drawn jointly from representatives of the arts
and from the Soviets of workers, soldiers and peasants' deputies. 11 It
was rejected unanimously, with even Lunacharsky's intermediary
Punin voting against it. A further approach to propose cooperation
between Lunacharsky's Commissariat and the Union of Artists on
the protection of art treasures - as uncontroversial a proposal as