Literature and Censorship in the Time of Soviet Russia
In the realm of art, two questions were particularly uncertain: what is the artist’s place in this new world, and what is the purpose of the art he/she creates? In answering these questions, artists must first be divided into two distinct categories: true artists and practical artists. Practical artists were those who created but did so according to the restraints and wishes of the state, while true artists were understood as an opposing force to the authorities. In this new Soviet context, practical artists were increasingly taking precedence over true artists. Art was consequently becoming a didactic governmental tool rather than a creative expression. The artistic community no longer fulfilled its duty to create original, emotional, thought provoking works. This problem was only exacerbated when those who did attempt original work were immediately banned. True Soviet writers of the twenties (Yevgeny Zamyatin, Ilf and Petrov, Mikhail Bulgakov and Yuri Olesha) echoed these sentiments and expressed their disapproval through their respective works.
To fully understand the unique position of a Soviet writer, one must first examine what defines an artist. An artist, just by virtue of being such, establishes himself/herself as an individual. Literary works, then, are the personal assertions, beliefs and thoughts of that artist. When a work of art fails to be a genuine expression or statement, the creator ultimately fails at being an artist. This is the fate of Ryukhin in Master and Margarita. He realizes he has no personal conviction in anything he has ever written, and consequently realizes he is not a true artist (Bulgakov 60). This is similarly the case with the author of the “Gavriliad” in The Twelve Chairs. Nikifor Lapis does not create art. He merely tailors the same poem to fit the demands of a given occupation (Ilf and Petrov 274). It is through these two characters the reader is offered a critically satirical look at what characterized Soviet writers of the time. They did not concern themselves with individuality. Rather, they were focused on politically correct conformity. And therein lies the particular dilemma for Soviet writers. The society they found themselves in was based on a system of collectivism. Everything was viewed in a communal context. This was automatically problematic for the artists, who as stated, were individuals by definition. Therefore, artists had two choices available. They could revert to practical art (the art of the state) or risk everything from professional to bodily harm. It is this reversion to practical art that was so prominent and so criticized by artists such as Bulgakov, Ilf and Petrov.
Being a true artist under the oppressive Soviet regime was a dangerous position, which is why it is conceivable to sympathize with those artists who chose practicality over artistic integrity. However, one must recognize the many roles artists play within society. Only then does it become clear why it is so necessary for them to choose true art. The first major role of the artist is “historian.” Through their work, writers document historical events as well as opinions and sentiments of the time. Any art that is altered or influenced by the government ultimately serves as false testimony for future generations. Bulgakov was especially aware of this danger. He “died believing in the stubborn, indestructible power of art” (Lakshin 73). For this reason, he repeatedly reminds his readers that “manuscripts don’t burn” (Bulgakov 245) and “there is no death” (Bulgakov 279). These two mantras of Master and Margarita are a warning regarding the immortality of literature. Once something is written down, it no longer belongs to the artist alone. It has become public, and is consequently open to interpretation and scrutiny long after the author has passed. However, writers do not only work as chroniclers of history; they are also creators of that history. An artist systematically selects the details he/she wants to convey. The story will always be a lie of omission in this sense. “In art the world is inevitably seen through the eyes of some artist” (Proffer 353). It can be seen that artists are both historians (one who details the specific events of history) and Historians (one who interprets destiny, which ultimately determines those specific events of history) (Barratt 92). In both senses, it is essential artists be true to their own vision.
Artists play another societal role, which is closely linked to their responsibility as Historians. Artists deal in the abstract on a daily basis. Questions of destiny and life are essential to their trade. For this reason, artists play the role of those who raise questions and incite discussion. However, it is only the artist’s job to examine life. It is not within their duties to control it. The regimented society of Zamyatin’s We illustrates how attempting to control the uncontrollable elements of life is a dangerous endeavor. Zamyatin explains that “OneState mounted an attack on that other ruler of the world, Love. Finally, this element was also conquered, i.e., organized [and] mathematicizedâÂ?¦” (Zamyatin 22). OneState is Zamyatin’s representation of the extreme communist dystopia; it was his projection of what might happen if the individual was subjugated to the collective. In this society, everything was calculated, predictable and logical. Zamyatin feared the “extirpation of whim and unpredictability by a conformist welfare state based on logic and ‘enlightened self interest'” (Beaujour 141). In essence, he feared a situation where everything an artist stands for was systematically removed. In this dystopia, there was no questioning or examining of everyday mysteries (such as love). There was no discussion. Any dissent was swiftly dealt with by the Benefactor’s Machine, which was essentially unfeeling execution (Zamyatin 187). Zamyatin projects a bleak picture of a society with a noticeably absent artistic community (barring those poets writing for OneState). He believed the only way to avoid stagnation was through constant revolution, and it is in the constant questioning of artists where this complacency is avoided.
While the government of We attempted to control emotion, artists find another role in serving as the perpetuators of emotional life. Throughout Olesha’s Envy, there is a discussion of whether emotions will have any place in the new Soviet society, or whether “the era of socialism will replace these earlier feelings with a new series of human soul-states” (Olesha 325). Through Nikolai Kavalerov, the reader is introduced to an artist who increasingly feels his emotional temperament has no place in that new society. Kavalerov experiences for Valia the very emotion OneState was attempting to control: love. This is arguably one of the strongest emotions, and it is certainly the object of much artistic attention. Kavalerov illustrates the differences between the Old World and the New World, the artist and the new man, when he describes how each one would write about love. He constructs a lyrical ode to Valia’s beauty including references to shadow and color. However, when he describes the new man’s style, it is strictly factual, almost list-like and written in markedly non-poetic language (Olesha 293). Kavalerov illustrates the artist’s fundamental role as the symbol of emotional life in an increasingly mechanized, rational world. We addresses the same issue of emotion within a society that does not tolerate such unpredictable variables. D-503 expresses the ideology of OneState mechanically and unthinkingly, “It’s clear that one shouldn’t love ‘just because’ but ‘because of'” (Zamyatin 27). Because reason is paramount, emotion is not allowed to work within humans as it naturally should. Instead, it needs a rational justification where one likely does not exist. Emotion is such a threat to OneState there is even an operation to surgically remove one’s imagination, so as to be “unclouded by the insanity of thought” (Zamyatin 81). If artists are to be understood as the articulators and perpetuators of emotion, it is no surprise that OneState (and therefore Soviet Russia) would do everything to silence and eradicate them from their society.
Continuing with the understanding that artists are the symbol of emotion, they have yet another corresponding role. They serve as the counter to pure rationality. In doing so, they also reveal the inherent lacking in a life (or society) governed by strict reason. D-503 recognizes this lacking when he comments on the X formed by I-330’s eyebrows. He experiences something he cannot express only in numbers (Zamyatin 8). He is also persistently haunted by the square root of -1 (Zamyatin 39). In both situations, he is distressed beyond any logical limits. D-503 lived a life based solely on the belief that math was an infallible system which would serve him through any situation. However, once something as abstract as emotions entered the scenario, his sole rationality and reason failed and ultimately abandoned him. We highlights that reason is not enough to define and understand the world, and it is true artists who provide that lacking component. Without their emotional insight, the narrator of Envy, Nikolai Kavalerov, would have all his fears realized. People would cease to be human, and would instead transform into cold, unfeeling machines. This is the express wish of the self-proclaimed “New Man” Volodia. Volodia serves as Kavalerov’s literary opposite. Kavalerov is representative of the Old World, while Volodia embodies the New World. Kavalerov is the artist that wishes to retain feeling and emotion. Volodia wants nothing more than to transcend his inefficient, irrational, human body and become a “wonderfully indifferent, proud machine” (Olesha 301). This idea is paralleled in We. After the operation that removes the individual of his/her imagination, the government promises that “you are perfect, you are the equal of the machineâÂ?¦” (Zamyatin 173). A state devoid of emotion is described as not only desirable but “perfect.” Artists serve as the constant reminder that a life of pure, cold logic is intrinsically lacking. Relinquishing emotion will certainly simplify one’s life, but it will not better it.
The preceding paragraphs have explained the many disparate roles artists play in a society. However, the second major question of Soviet writers has not yet been addressed: what is the purpose of the art they create? In response, the first major purpose is art’s ability to necessarily complicate life. Life can never be viewed as simply black and white. It is instead a series of gradations and unknowns. Art attempts to illuminate some of those nuances, or at the very least, bring the reader’s attention to their existence. For example, Olesha perceived reality as “the object of refined contemplation” (Beajour 133). This principle was featured heavily in his work Envy. The very concept of reality-the one thing ostensibly seen as a given-is called into question. Through this work, Olesha poses the question whether reality is truly objective or if it can be the creation of humanity. Art such as this does not allow the reader to idly accept anything. Instead, it forces a reevaluation of truth and fact. Everything that was once simple becomes complicated. The extremes of fact and fiction are no longer diametric opposites. The lines blur and distinctions fade. This is something like D-503 experiences when he asserts “there’s no real orderâÂ?¦there’ll always be dangerous rapids and pits and unknowns” (Zamyatin 128). He lives in a world made purposefully simple, and yet he still acknowledges the inevitable unknowns associated with life. The purpose of art in the Soviet context was especially centered on this necessary complication of life. The socialist dogma received by the nation was altogether black and white, and art of this time reminded the people there are certain elements that simply cannot be neatly explained. While art does not always answer the questions it poses, the reader is better for having considered the possibilities.
Another major purpose of art in this time period was to create “real” art as opposed to “useful” art. Useful art was the product of practical artists, while real art was the endeavors of true artists. The description of art found in We illuminates this difference well. “Poetry today is not some impudent nightingale’s piping-poetry is government service, poetry is usefulness” (Zamyatin 67). This passage predicts the fate of literature in Soviet Russia roughly ten years after We’s completion when art became more about didacticism than creativity. To ensure publication, authors would have to deliberately appease the censors with little regard for their own message or opinion. Ilf and Petrov are a classic example of the skillful maneuvering and the delicate balance of give and take that was necessary for publication. Their novel The Twelve Chairs passed through censorship and allowed a great deal of satire on their present culture. However, the ending seems more than a little contrived. Having the former aristocrat kill his friend and partner, and the jewels be used to pay for a workers club did not seem to fit the tone or content of the novel up to that point. Ilf and Petrov illustrate that censorship reached a point where “useful” art had to be tolerated in order to create any sense of “real” art. Bulgakov serves as the opposite end of this spectrum. His work Master and Margarita was uncompromisingly real art. “It is clear that he intended it to be his last will and testament, the piece by which he would be remembered” (Weeks 4). Bulgakov was not about to make any compromises or changes to this story. And for that reason, he knew publication was not an option-probably not even in his lifetime. With censorship no longer an issue, he wanted to accurately portray Soviet life (including mass interrogations and informers) as well as satirize Moscow of the thirties. Unfortunately, because of the circumstances surrounding most of these writers, the purpose of art as a creative enterprise became secondary to art as a useful tool.
Art serves another purpose, but in this socialist and collective framework, it is particularly unexpected. Art grants the author a sort of personal immortality. As already established, true artists are individuals, and it is through their work that they (not the culture, not the ideology, not even their own ideas) live on. Within the collective society of We, one poet can no longer complacently remain a part of the whole. He declares he is “a geniusâÂ?¦above the law” (Zamyatin 43). When he dared to write poetry not sanctioned by OneState, he was eliminated. He died for his art like so many poets and authors of 1930’s Russia. In exchange for their mortal death, these artists received immortal fame. They “wanted to remain true to themselves and their idealsâÂ?¦and they had to pay for it with their lives, but thereby assured their cause immortal glory” (Lakshin 81).
These two questions-what is the artist’s place and what is the purpose of art-have innumerable answers and interpretations. Only a few select reactions have been offered. But there is one last equally ambivalent question regarding the artist. This question concerns the obligation of the artist in an oppressive situation such as Soviet Russia in the twenties and thirties. Is it the duty of the artist in that situation to create truthful works and to tell the story with no regard for consequences? It can be determined through Bulgakov’s work that he would respond it is the duty of that artist. The Master renounces his manuscript, and proclaims it is hateful to him because of the suffering it has caused him (Bulgakov 249). Because the Master does not stand by his artistic creation, and because he bends to the pressure of external consequences, he does not earn the light-only peace (Bulgakov 305). Both Ivan Bezdomny and the Master are authors of “the historical Jesus and both ‘suffer because they have failed to stand up for the truth, as they know it'” (Barratt 91). In this way, they both violate one of Bulgakov’s mantras throughout Master and Margarita: cowardice as the greatest human vice (Bulgakov 260). It is this violation that can be seen as the cause of their suffering. One can deduce Zamyatin would agree with Bulgakov in answering this question. Zamyatin speaks of the “madman who dared aim his poem at OneState” (Zamyatin 112). However, he does not speak of him as foolish. Instead, he mentions him with reverence and respect. He is fighting an unjust system through his literary works and most importantly, possibly inciting dissent or change.
Questions concerning art have always and will always permeate any society. Art is simply too integral a part of culture to be dismissed. However, these questions become particularly telling and important when the society being addressed is somehow in opposition to those artists and their creative output. When the relationship is understood as “artist versus the state,” (as during the purges) some of the most interesting, genuine and heartbreaking literature is produced.
