p In general Belinsky’s arguments against the supporters of pure .art are not very convincing. He tells them that although Shake.speare conveyed everything through poetry, what he conveyed does not belong to poetry alone. How are we to understand this? Is there a sphere that belongs exclusively to the domain of poetry? Its content is the same as the content of philosophy, and the only difference between the poet and the philosopher is that the one thinks in images and the other in syllogisms. Or is this not so? From what Belinsky says it emerges that it is in fact not so. But he repeats with great conviction the idea that the content of poetry is the same as that of philosophy in the very article which contains the comment on Shakespeare of interest to us. Obviously his argument here is simply inconsistent.

p He is also confused when he says that Faust reflected the whole social life and the whole philosophical movement in Germany during the author’s day. His opponents might have asked: what follows from this? Art is the expression of social life and philosophical thought for the simple reason that it cannot express anything else: its content is the same as that of philosophy. But this by no means disproves the theory that art should be an end in itself, and does not even bear a direct relation to this theory. The same may be said of Belinsky’s views on Greek art: of course it borrowed its ideas from religion and social life. But the question is how it regarded the matter of expressing these ideas in images which proceeded from the very nature of art. If it was an end in itself for Greek artists, their art was pure art, but if the expressing of ideas in images was for them merely a means of achieving some extraneous ends,—no matter what they may have been,—then it contradicted the ideal of art. Further. Referring to the fact that in modern art content generally outweighs form, Belinsky gives this idea of Hegel’s a different meaning from that which the German thinker gave it. For Hegel it simply meant that in Greek art beauty was the main element, whereas in modern art it frequently yields pride of place to other elements. This is a correct idea, and we shall return to it later. But it by no means follows from this that in modern society art played or should play a secondary role, that now it cannot be an end in itself.

p We repeat, Belinsky is confused in his reasoning. But in people of outstanding intellect even their mistakes are sometimes extremely instructive. Why was our critic mistaken here?

p The question as to whether art can be an end in itself has been answered in different ways at different historical periods. Let us take France, for example. Voltaire, Diderot and the so-called Encyclopaedists in general did not have the slightest doubt that art should serve “virtue”.  At the end of the eighteenth century the 206 view became widespread among progressive Frenchmen that art should serve "virtue and freedom". M. J. Chenier, who put on a production of the tragedy Charles IX ou I’Ecole des Rois in 1789, wanted the French theatre to instil in citizens aversion to superstition, hatred of oppressors, love of freedom, respect of the law, etc., etc.  [206•* 

p In the years that followed the theatre, like all French art in general, became a simple instrument for political propaganda. At the beginning of the nineteenth century emergent romanticism also pursued "socio-political aims" quite consciously. "L’histoire des hommes,” said Victor Hugo, "ne presente de poesie que jugee du haut des idees monarchiques et des croyances" (history is poetic only when we regard it from the height of monarchic ideas and beliefs). The journal La Muse Francaise rejoiced at the fact that literature, like politics and religion, had its creed (comme la politique et la religion, les lettres ont leur profession de foi). Around 1824, after the war with Spain, a marked change is seen in the attitude of the Romantics to the socio-political element in poetry. This element recedes into the background and art becomes “disinterested” (désintéressé). In the thirties a section of the Romantics headed by Theophile Gautier preached fervently thetheory of art for art’s sake. Theophile Gautier said that poetry should not try to “prove” anything or even “narrate” anything (elle ne prouve rien, ne raconte rien). For him all poetry was simply music and rhythm. After 1848 certain French writers, such as G. Flaubert, continued to adhere to the theory of art for art’s sake, while others, like A. Dumas fils, announced that these three words (1’art pour 1’art) did not have any meaning whatsoever and declared that literature should definitely have a social purpose. Who was right: M. J. Chenier or T. Gautier; G. Flaubert or Dumas fils? We believe that they were all right, because each of them was relatively right in his own way. Voltaire, Diderot, M. J. Chenier and the other literary representatives of the third estate, which was fighting against the aristocracy and the clergy, could not support pure art because for them to renounce socio-political propaganda through their more or less artistic works would have meant deliberately reducing the chances of success of their own cause. They were right as representatives of the third estate at a definite stage of its historical development. Hugo, who regarded as poetic only those historical events that marked the triumph of the monarchy and Catholicism, was at this period of his life a representative of the upper estates which were trying to restore the old regime. He was right in the sense that socio-political propaganda through poetry and art was very useful for the estates in question. But the ranks of the followers of French romanticism 207 were being increasingly swelled by the educated children of the bourgeoisie which, naturally, had quite different aspirations. Some of those who had previously extolled the old regime went over to the side of the bourgeoisie. As did Hugo, for example. In keeping with this the Romantic “creed” also changed. After 1830 some Romantics, rather than discussing the social role of art, began to express the somewhat vague ideals of the petty bourgeoisie, and others preached the theory of art for art’s sake, sometimes forgetting entirely about content for the sake of form. And they are all right in their way. The petty bourgeoisie remained dissatisfied: it was quite natural for it to express this dissatisfaction in literature. On the other hand, the supporters of pure art were also right. Their theories meant, firstly, a reaction against the sociopolitical tendencies of earlier romanticism, and, secondly, the lack of correspondence between the prose of a mercantile existence and the tempestuous striving of the young bourgeoisie excited by the noise of the struggle, that had not yet fully died down at that time, of the bourgeoisie for its emancipation. In many bourgeois families of that time a kind of struggle took place between “fathers” and “children”. The fathers said: sit in the shop and make money—that’s the way to get on. But the children replied: we want to study, to paint pictures like Delacroix, or write poetry like Victor Hugo. The fathers argued that art rarely enriched its votaries; the children objected that they wanted nothing, that art was higher than honours and riches, that it could and should be an end in itself. Now the French bourgeois in his very early years laughs at the Romantics’ childish contempt for money. Now he becomes adjusted to the prosaic conditions of his existence from the cradle, one might say. But previously this adjustment proceeded much more slowly. And it was then that the theory of art for art’s sake was created. In the period of its emergence it expressed merely the urge to serve art disinterestedly, i.e., the prevalence of spiritual interests over material ones in a certain stratum of the French bourgeoisie.

p But after the bourgeoisie there came the working class. The defence of its interests was taken up by Saint-Simon, Fourier, and after them other writers who belonged to various schools but to the same trend. The people of this trend invited art to serve progress, to help improve the lot of the toiling masses. The theory of art for art’s sake then acquired a new meaning: it began to express a reaction against the new, progressive aspirations in France. This new meaning had already been fairly clearly revealed in the preface to Mademoiselle de Maupin, although the French protectors of that time, frightened by the pseudo-revolutionary appearance of Theophile Gautier’s literary devices, did not appreciate this service of his to the French bourgeoisie. When Alexandre Dumas fils rebelled against the formula 1’art pour 1’art, he did so 208 in Hie interests of the "old society" which, he said, was collapsing on all sides. Of course, literary vulgarities such as his Fils natural, Pere prodigue, etc., did not do much to strengthen the bourgeois order. But nevertheless Dumas fils was right. After 1848 bourgeois society really did need patching and propping up, and the theory of art for art’s sake did not suit this condition; what this society needed was an apologia in poetry and prose on the theatre stage and on the artist’s canvas. If Flaubert did not share this view, it was only because he showed too little concern for the interests of the bourgeoisie.

In Russia also the theory of pure art did not always mean the same thing. In Pushkin’s lifetime, after the hopes of our intelligentsia of the twenties had been dashed, it expressed the striving of our finest minds to escape from oppressive reality into the only sphere accessible to them at the time, the sphere of higher interests. But when Belinsky revolted against it orally and in his writings, it began to mean something quite different. The toiling masses, the peasant serfs, did not exist for Pushkin as a writer. During Pushkin’s day they were not and could not be discussed in literature. But in the forties the Naturalist school "inundated literature with peasants”. When the opponents of this school advanced against it the theory of pure art, they turned this theory into an instrument of struggle against the liberatory aspirations of the time. Pushkin’s authority and his wonderful poetry were a real godsend for them in this struggle. When, in the name of the Belvedere idol, they directed contemptuous grimaces at pots and pans, this merely expressed their fear that the growing social interest in the position of the peasant would have an adverse effect on the contents of their own pots and pans. This new meaning of our theory of art for art’s sake was very well understood by Belinsky and the enlighteners of the sixties. That was why they attacked it so violently. And they were perfectly right to attack it. But they did not notice that it had a quite different meaning in Pushkin, and they blamed him for the sins of others. This was a mistake. And it was an inevitable mistake. It was caused by their inability to adopt the historical viewpoint in the dispute with their opponents. But in those days there was no time to discuss history; what was needed then was to defend the progressive aspirations and ensure the satisfaction of the social requirements at all costs. Our enlighteners, like the French Enlighteners of the eighteenth century, fought with the weapon of “reason” and "common sense”, i.e., in other words, they based themselves on entirely abstract notions. The abstract viewpoint is the distinguishing feature of all periods of enlightenment with which we are familiar.