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p Dear Sir,

_p The subject we shall be discussing is art. But in any exact inquiry, whatever its theme, it is essential to adhere to a strictly defined terminology. We must therefore say first of all what precise meaning we attach to the word art.  On the other hand it is unquestionable that any at all satisfactory definition of a subject can only be obtained as a result of investigation. It follows, then, that we have to define something which we are not yet in a position to define. How can this contradiction be re’solved? I think it can be resolved in this way: I shall take for the time being some provisional definition, and shall then amplify and correct it as the question becomes clearer in the course of the investigation.

p What definition shall I take to begin with?

p Lev Tolstoy in his What fs Art? cites many definitions of art which seem to him mutually contradictory, and he finds them all unsatisfactory. Actually, ^the definitions^he cites are by ho means as different from one another and by no means as erroneous as he thinks. But let us assume that all of them ireally are very bad, and let us see if we cannot accept his own definition of art.

_p “Art,” he says, "is a means of human intercourse.... The thing that distinguishes this means of intercourse from intercourse through words is that with the help of words one man communicates to another his thoughts (my italics); with the help of art, people communicate their emotions (my italics again).

p For the present I shall only make one observation.

_p In Count Tolstoy’s opinion, art expresses men’s emotions, and words their thoughts.  This is not true. Words serve men not only for the expression of their thoughts, but also of their emotions. Proof: poetry, whose medium is words.

p Count Tolstoy himself says:

p "To re-evoke in oneself an emotion once experienced and, having re-evoked it, to convey it through movement, line, colour, images expressed in words, in such a way that others may 264 experience the same emotion—therein lies the function of art."  [264•*  From this it is already apparent that words, as a means of human intercourse, cannot be regarded as something special and distinct from art.

p Nor is it true that art expresses only men’s emotions. No, it expresses both their emotions and their thoughts—expresses them, however, not abstractly, but in live images. And this i3 its chief distinguishing feature. In Count Tolstoy’s opinion, "art begins when a man, with a view to conveying to others an emotion he has experienced, re-evokes it in himself and expresses it in certain outward signs".  [264•**  I, however, think that art begins when a man re-evokes in himself emotions and thoughts which he has experienced under the influence of surrounding reality and expresses them in definite images. It goes without saying that in the vast majority of cases he does so with the object of conveying what he has rethought and refelt to other men. Art is a social phenomenon.

p These, for the present, are all the corrections I should like to make in the definition of art given by Count Tolstoy.

p But I would ask you, sir, to note also the following thought expressed by the author of War and Peace:

p “Always, in every period and in every human society, there is a religious consciousness, common to all the members of that society, of what is good and bad, and it is this religious consciousness that determines the value of the emotions conveyed by art."  [264•*** 

p Our inquiry should show, inter alia, how far this thought is correct. At any rate it deserves the greatest attention, because it brings us very close to the question of the role of art in the history of human development.

p Now that we have some preliminary definition of art, I must explain the standpoint from which I regard it.

_p I shall say at once and without any circumlocution that I look upon art, as upon all social phenomena, from the standpoint of the materialist conception of history.

p What is the materialist conception of history?

p In mathematics, as we know, there is a method known as the reductio ad absurdum, that is, a method of indirect proof. I shall here resort to a method which might be called indirect explanation. That is, I shall first explain what is the idealist conception of history, and shall then show wherein it differs from its opposite, the materialist conception of history.

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266 267

p The idealist conception of history, in its pure form, consists in the belief that the development of thought and knowledge is the final and ultimate cause of the movement of human history. This view fully predominated in the 18th century, whence it passed into the 19th century. It was still strongly adhered to by Saint-Simon and Auguste Gomte, although their views were in some respects the very opposite of the views held by the philosophers of the preceding century. Saint-Simon, for instance, asks how the social organisation of the Greeks arose.  [267•*  And he answers the question as follows: "With them, the religious system (le système religieux) served as the foundation of the political system.... The latter was patterned on the former.” In proof, he cites the fact that the Olympus of the Greeks was a "republican assembly”, and that the constitutions of all the Greek peoples, however much they may have differed from one another, had the common feature that they were all republican.  [267•**  Nor is this all. In Saint-Simon’s opinion, the religious system that underlay the political system of the Greeks itself stemmed from the totality of their scientific concepts, from their scientific world system. Thus the scientific concepts of the Greeks were the underlying foundation of their social life, and the development of these concepts was the mainspring of its historical development, the chief reason which determined the replacement in the course of history of one form of social life by another.

p Similarly, Auguste Gomte thought that "the entire social mechanism rests, in the final analysis, on opinions".  [267•***  This is a mere reiteration of the views of the Encyclopaedists, according to whom c’est 1’opinion qui gouverne le monde (it is opinion that governs the world).

p There is another variety of idealism, one which found its extreme expression in the absolute idealism of Hegel. How is the history of man’s development explained from his point of view? I shall illustrate this by an example. Hegel asks: what caused the fall of Greece? He gives many reasons; but the chief, in his view, is that Greece reflected only one stage in the development of the absolute idea, and had to fall when that stage was passed.

p Clearly, in the opinion of Hegel—who however knew that "Lacedaemon fell owing to property inequality"—social relations and the whole history of man’s development are determined in the end by the laws of logic, by the development of thought.

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p The materialist view of history is the diametrical opposite of this view. Whereas Saint-Simon, looking at history from the idealist standpoint, thought that the social relations of the Greeks were due to their religious opinions, I, a believer in the materialist view, would say that the republican Olympus of the Greeks was a reflection of their social system. And whereas SaintSimon, in answer to the question^of where the religious views of the Greeks came from replied that they stemmed from their scientific outlook on the world, I think that the scientific outlook of the Greeks was itself determined, in its historical development, by the development of the productive forces at the disposal of the Hellenic peoples.  [268•* 

p Such is my view of history in general. Is it correct? This is not the place to demonstrate its correctness. Here I would ask you to assume that it is correct and, with me, take it as the starting-point of our inquiry on art. Needless to say, this inquiry on the particular question of art will at the same time be a test of my general view of history. For indeed, if this general view is erroneous, we shall not, by taking it as our starting-point, get very far in explaining the evolution of art. But if we find that this evolution is better explained with its help than with the help of other views, we shall have a new and powerful argument in its favour.

p But here I foresee an objection. In his Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex Darwin, as we know, cites numerous facts showing that a fairly important role in the life of animals is played by the sense of beauty. These facts will be pointed to and the conclusion drawn that the origin of the sense of beauty must be explained biologically.  I shall be told that it is impermissible (“narrow”) to attribute the evolution of this sense in men solely to the economic form of their society. And inasmuch as Darwin’s view of the evolution of species is unquestionably a materialist view, I shall also be told that biological materialism provides excellent data for a criticism of one-sided historical (“economic”) materialism.

p I realise the weightiness of this objection and shall therefore discuss it. This will be the more useful since, in answering it, I shall at the same time be answering a whole number of similar objections that might be borrowed from the psychical life of animals.

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_p First of all, let us try to define as accurately as possible the conclusion that should be drawn from the facts adduced by Darwin. And for this purpose, let us see what inference he draws from them himself.

p In Chapter II, Part I (Russian translation) of his book on the descent of man, wa read:

p “Sense of Beauty.—This sense has been declared to be peculiar to man. But when we behold a male bird elaborately displaying his graceful plumes or splendid colours before the female, whilst other birds, not thus decorated, make no such display, it is impossible to doubt that she admires the beauty of her male partner. As women everywhere deck themselves with these plumes, the beauty of such ornaments cannot be disputed. The nests of humming-birds, and the playing passages of bower-birds are tastefully ornamsnted with gaily coloured objects: and this shows that they have an idea of beauty. The same can be said about birds’ singing. The sweet strains poured forth by many male birds, •during the season of love, are certainly admired by the females. If female birds had bsen incapable of appreciating the beautiful colours, the ornaments, and voices of their male partners, all the labour and anxiety exhibited by the latter in displaying their charms before the females would have been thrown away; and this it is impossible to admit.

p “Why certain colours and certain sounds grouped in a certain •way should excite pleasure cannot, I presume, be explained any more than why certain flavours and scents are agreeable. It can, however, be said confidently that man and many of the lower animals are alike pleased by the same colours and the same sounds."  [269•* 

p Thus the facts given by Darwin indicate that the lower animals, like man, are capable of experiencing aesthetic pleasure, and that our aesthetic tastes sometimes coincide with those of the lower animals.  [269•**  But these facts do not explain the origin of these tastes. And if biology does not explain the origin of our aesthetic tastes, still less can it explain their historical development. But let Darwin speak again.

p “The taste for the beautiful,” he continues, "at least as far as female beauty is concerned, is not of a special nature in the human mind; for it differs widely in the different races of man, and is not quite the same even in the different nations of the 270 same race. Judging from the hideous ornaments, and the equallyhideous music admired by most savages, it might be urged that their aesthetic faculty was not so highly developed as in certain animals, for instance, as in birds."  [270•* 

p If the notion of the beautiful varies in the different nations of the same race, then obviously the reason for the variety is not tobe sought in biology. Darwin himself says that our search should be directed elsewhere. In the second English edition of his book, we find in the paragraph I have just quoted the following words which are not in the Russian translation of the first English edition, edited by I. M. Sechenov: "With cultivated men such, (i.e., aesthetic) sensations are however intimately associated with complex ideas and trains of thought."  [270•** 

p This is an extremely important statement. It refers us from biology to sociology, for it is evident that, in Darwin’s opinion, it is social causes that determine the fact that with cultivated men aesthetic sensations are associated with many complex ideas. But is Darwin right when he thinks that such association takes place only with cultivated men? No, he is not, and this can easily be seen. Let us take an example. It is known that the skins, claws and teeth of animals hold a very important place in the ornaments of primitive peoples. What is the reason? Is it the combinations of colour and line in these objects? No, the fact is that the savage decks himself, say, with the skin, claws and teeth of the tiger, or the skin and horns of the buffalo as a hint at his own agility and strength: he who has vanquished the agile one, is himself agile; he who has vanquished the strong, is himself strong. It is possible that superstition is also involved here. Schoolcraft tells us that the Red Indian tribes of western North America are extremely fond of ornaments made of the claws of the grizzly bear, the most ferocious beast of prey in those parts. The Indian warrior believes that the ferocity and courage of the grizzly bear are imparted to whoever decks himself with its claws. For him, as Schoolcraft observes, the claws are partly an ornament, partly an amulet.  [270•*** 

p In this case of course it is impossible to conceive that the skins, claws and teeth of animals pleased the Indians originally solely because of the combinations of colour and line characteristic of these objects.  [270•****  No, the contrary assumption is far more likely, 271 namely, that these objects were first worn solely as a badge of courage, agility and strength, and only later, and precisely because they were a badge of courage, agility and strength, did they begin to excite aesthetic sensations and acquire the character of oinaments. It follows, then, that "with the savage aesthetic sensations may not only be associated" with complex ideas, but may semetimes arise precisely under the influence of such ideas.

p Another example. It is known that the women of many African tribes wear iron rings on their arms and legs. Wives of rich men may sometimes be laden with thirty or forty pounds of such ornaments.  [271•* 

p This of course is most inconvenient, nevertheless these chains of slavery, as Schweinfurth calls them, are worn with pleasure. Why does the Negro woman take pleasure in wearing these heavy chains? Because, thanks to them, she seems beautiful to herself and to others. But why does she seem beautiful? This is the result of a fairly complex association of ideas. The passion for such ornaments is conceived by tribes which, in the words of Schweinfurth, are passing through the iron age, in other words, tribes with which iron is a precious metal. Precious things seem beautiful because they are associated with the idea of wealth. When a woman of the Dinka tribe puts on, say, twenty pounds of iron rings, she seems moie beautiful to herself and to others than she did when she wore only two pounds, that is, when ’she was poorer: Clearly, what counts.here is not the beauty of the rings, but the idea of wealth that is associated with them.

p A third example. The Eatokas in the upper reaches of thfr Zambezi consider a man ugly if his upper incisors have not been pulled out. Whence this strange conception of beauty? It arose from a fairly complex association of ideas. The Batokes pull out their upper incisors because they wish to resemble ruminant animals. To cur minds, a rather incomprehensible wish. But the Batokas are a pastoral tribe and almost worship their cows and oxen.  [271•**  Here again, that which is precious is beautiful, and. aesthetic concepts spring from ideas of quite a different order.

p Lastly, let us take an example given by Darwin himself, quoting Livingstone. The women of the Makololo tribe perforate the upper lip a.nd wear in the hole a large metal or bamboo ring; called a pelele.  When a chief of the tribe was asked why the women wear these rings, he, "evidently surprised at such a stupid question”, replied: "For beauty! They are the only beautiful things ’Women have. Men have beards, women have none. What kind of a person would she be without the pelele?" It is hard to say now 272 with certainty where the custom of wearing the pelele came from; but, obviously, its origin must be sought in some very complex association of ideas, and not in the laws of biology, with which, apparently, it has not the slightest (direct) connection.  [272•* 

p In view of these examples, I consider myself entitled to affirm that the sensations excited by certain combinations of colours or forms of objects are associated even in the mind of primitive man with very complex ideas, and many, at least, of these forms and combinations seem beautiful only thanks to such association.

p How is it evoked? And whence come the complex ideas which are associated with the sensations excited in us at the sight of certain objects? Evidently, these questions cannot be answered by the biologist; they can be answered only by the sociologist.  And if the materialist view of history is better adapted to facilitate a solution than any other; if we find that the aforesaid association and complex ideas are, in the final analysis, determined and shaped by the state of the productive forces of the given society and its economy, it will have to be admitted that Darwinism in no way contradicts the materialist view of history which I have tried to describe.

_p I cannot dwell at length here on the relation between Darwinism and this view. I shall however say a few more words on the subject.

p Consider the following lines:

p “It may be well first to premise that I do not wish to maintain that any strictly social animal, if its intellectual faculties were to become as active and as highly developed as in man, would acquire exactly the same moral sense as ours.

p “In the same manner as various animals have some sense of beauty, though they admire widely different objects, so they might have a sense of right and wrong, though led by it to follow widely different lines of conduct.

p “If, for instance, to take an extreme case, men were reared under precisely the same conditions as hive-bees, there can hardly be a doubt that our unmarried females would, like the worker-bees, think it a sacred duty to kill their brothers, and mothers would strive to kill their fertile daughters; and no one would think of interfering. Nevertheless, the bee, or any other social animal, would gain in our supposed case, as it appears to me, some feeling of right or wrong, or a conscience."  [272•** 

p What follows from these words? That man’s moral concepts are not absolute; that they change with changes in the conditions in which he lives.

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p But what creates these conditions? What causes them to change? Darwin says nothing whatever on this point, and if we affirm and demonstrate that they are created by the state of the productive forces and change in consequence of the development of these forces, far from coming into conflict with Darwin, we shall be supplementing what he says, clarifying what he has failed to clarify, and shall be doing so by applying to the study of social phenomena the same principle that rendered him such immense service in biology.

p Generally, it would be very strange to draw a contrast between Darwinism and the view of history I defend. Darwin’s field was entirely different. He examined the descent of man as a zoological species. The supporters of the materialist view seek to explain the historical life of this species. Their field of investigation begins precisely where that of the Darwinists ends. Their work cannot replace what the Darwinists provide and, similarly, the most brilliant discoveries of the Darwinists cannot replace their investigations; they can only prepare the ground for them, just as the physicist prepares the ground for the chemist without his work in any way obviating the necessity for chemical investigations as such.  [273•*  It all boils down to this. The Darwinian theory was, in its time, a big and necessary advance in the development of biological science, and fully satisfied the strictest demands that could then have been made by this science of its devotees. Can this be said of the materialist view of history? Can it be affirmed that it was in its time a big and inevitable advance in the develop- 274 ment of social science? And is it now capable of satisfying all the demands of this science? To this I reply: Yes, and yes again! And in these letters I hope to demonstrate, in part, that this confidence is not unfounded.

p But let us return to aesthetics. It is apparent from the words of Darwin I have quoted that he regarded the development of aesthetic taste from the same standpoint as the development of the moral sense. Men, and many animals, have a sense of the beautiful, that is, they have the faculty of experiencing a particular kind of pleasure (“aesthetic”) under the influence of certain objects or phenomena. But exactly which objects and phenomena afford them this pleasure depends on the conditions in which they grow up, live and function. It is because of human nature that man may have aesthetic tastes and concepts. It is the conditions surrounding him that determine the conversion of this possibility into a reality; they explain why a given social man (that is, a given society, a given people, or class) possesses particulal aesthetic tastes and concepts and not others.

p This is the ultimate conclusion that follows automatically from what Darwin says on the subject. And this conclusion, of course, none of the believers in the materialist view of history would contest. Quite the contrary, they would all see in it a new confirmation of this view. It has surely never occurred to any of them to deny any of the generally known properties of human nature, or to interpret it in any arbitrary manner. All they said was that, if human nature is unchangeable, it cannot explain the historical process, which represents an aggregation of constantly changing phenomena, but that if, with the course of historical development, it changes itself, then obviously there must be an external reason for its changes. It therefore follows that in either case the task of the historian and the sociologist consists in something far more than discussing the properties of human nature.

p Let us take such a property of human nature as the tendency to imitate. Tarde, who has written a very interesting essay on the laws of imitation,^^83^^ regards it as the soul of society as it were. As he defines it, every social group is an aggregation of beings who partly imitate one another at the present time, and partly imitated one and the same model in the past. That imitation has played a very big part in the history of all our ideas, tastes, fashions and customs is beyond the slightest doubt. Its immense importance was already emphasised by the materialists of the last century: man consists entirely of imitation, Helvetius said. But it is just as little to be doubted that Tarde based his investigation of the laws of imitation on a false premise.

p When the restoration of the Stuarts in Britain temporarily re-established the rule of the old nobility, the latter, far from betraying the slightest tendency to imitate the extreme represen- 275 tatives of the revolutionary petty bourgeoisie, the Puritans, evinced a very strong inclination for habits and tastes that were the very opposite of the Puritan rules of life. The strict morals of the Puritans gave way to the most incredible licentiousness. It became good form to like, and to do, the very things the Puritans forbade. The Puritans were very religious; high society at the time of the Restoration flaunted its impiety. The Puritans persecuted the theatre and literature; their downfall was the signal for a new and powerful infatuation for the theatre and literature. The Puritans wore short hair and condemned refinement in dress; after the Restoration, long wigs and luxurious costumes came into fashion. The Puritans forbade card games; after the Restoration, gambling became a passion, and so on and so forth.  [275•*  In a word, what operated here was not imitation, but contradiction, which evidently is likewise rooted in the properties of human nature. But why did this tendency to contradiction which is rooted in the properties of human nature manifest itself so powerfully in the relations between the bourgeoisie and the nobility in 17th-century Britain? Because it was a century of very acute struggle between the nobility and the bourgeoisie, or, more correctly, between the nobility and the "third estate" generally. We may consequently say that, though man undoubtedly has a strong tendency to imitation, it manifests itself only in definite social relations, for example, those which existed in France in the 17th century, when the bourgeoisie readily, though not very successfully, imitated the nobility: recall Moliere’s Le Bourgeois gentilhomme. In other social relations the tendency to imitation vanishes and gives place to its opposite, which for the present I shall call the tendency to contradiction.

p But no, I am putting it incorrectly. The tendency to imitation did not vanish among the Englishmen of the 17th century: it probably manifested itself with all its former power in the relations between members of one and the same class. Beljame says of English high society of that period: "these people were not even unbelievers; they denied religion a priori, so as not to be taken for Roundheads,^^84^^ and so as to spare themselves the trouble of thinking."  [275•**  Of these people it may be said without fear of error that they denied religion from imitation.  But in imitating more serious atheists, they were contradicting the Puritans. Imitation was thus a source of contradiction. But we know that if the weaker minds among the English nobles imitated the atheism of the stronger, this was because atheism was good form, and it became so only by virtue of contradiction, solely as a reaction to Puritanism—a reaction which in its turn was a result of the aforesaid class struggle. Hence, beneath 276 all this complex dialectic of mental phenomena lay facts of a social character. And this makes it clear to what extent, and in what sense, the conclusion I have drawn from some of Darwin’s statements is correct, the conclusion, namely, that it is because of human nature that man may have certain concepts (or tastes, or inclinations), but that the conversion of this possibility into a reality depends on the conditions surrounding him; it is because of these conditions that he has particular concepts (or inclinations, or tastes) and not others. If I am not mistaken, this is exactly what was said before me by a certain Russian partisan of the materialist view of history.^^85^^

p “Once the stomach has been supplied with a certain quantity of food, it sets about its work in accordance with the general laws of stomachic digestion. But can one, with the help of these laws, reply to the question of why savoury and nourishing food descends every day into your stomach, while in mine it is a rare visitor? Do these laws explain why some eat too much, while others starve? It would seem that the explanation must be sought in some other sphere, in the working of some other kind of laws. The same is the case with the mind of man. Once it has been placed in a definite situation, once the environment supplies it with certain impressions, it co-ordinates them according to certain general laws ( moreover here, too, the results are varied in the extreme by the variety of impressions received). But what places it in that situation? What determines the influx and the character of new impressions? That is the question which cannot be answered by any laws of thought.

p “Furthermore, imagine that a resilient ball falls from a high tower. Its movement takes place according to a universally known and very simple law of mechanics. But suddenly the ball strikes an inclined plane. Its movement is changed in accordance with another, also very simple and universally known mechanical law. As a result, we have a broken line of movement, of which one can and must say that it owes its origin to the joint action of the two laws which have been mentioned. But where did the inclined plane which the ball struck come from? This is not explained either by the first or the second law, or yet by their joint action. Exactly the same is the case with human thought. Whence came the circumstances thanks to which its movements were subjected to the combined action of such and such laws? This is not explained either by its individual laws or by their combined action."

p I am firmly convinced that the history of ideologies can be understood only by people who have thoroughly grasped this plain and simple truth.

_p Let us proceed. When speaking of imitation, I referred to the very opposite tendency, which I called the tendency to contradiction.

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p It must be examined more closely.

p We know how great a role is played in the expression of the emotions in man and animals by what Darwin calls the "principle of antithesis". "Certain states of the mind lead ... to certain habitual movements which were primarily, or may still be, of service; and we shall find that when a directly opposite state of mind is induced, there is a strong and involuntary tendency to the performance of movements of a directly opposite nature, though these have never been of any service."  [277•*  Darwin cites many examples which show very convincingly that the "principle oj antithesis" does indeed account for a great deal in the expression of the emotions. I ask, is not its action to be observed in the origin and development of customs.

p When a dog throws itself belly upwards at the feet of its master, its posture is as completely opposite as possible to any show of resistance and is an expression of complete submissiveness. Here the operation of the principle of antithesis is strikingly apparent. I think, however, that it is equally apparent in the following case reported by the traveller Burton. When Negroes of the Wanyamwezi tribe pass by a village inhabited by a hostile tribe, they do not carry arms so as to avoid provocation. But at home every one of them is always armed with at least a knobstick.  [277•**  If, as Darwin observes, the dog which throws itself on its back seems to be saying to a man, or a strange dog, "Behold, I am your slave!"—the Wanyamwezi Negro, in laying aside his weapons at a time when arming would appear essential, thereby intimates to his enemy: "Nothing is farther from my thought than self-defence; I fully trust in your magnanimity."

p The thought is the same in both cases—and so is its expression, that is, through an action that is the direct opposite of that which would have been inevitable if, instead of submissiveness, there had been hostile intent.

p We also find the principle of antithesis manifested with striking clarity in customs which serve for the expression of grief. David and Charles Livingstone relate that no Negro woman ever appears in public without wearing ornaments, except in times of mourning for the dead.  [277•*** 

p The coiffure of a Niam-Niam Negro is the object of great care and attention on the part of both himself and his wives, yet he will at once cuthis hair off in token of grief when anear relative dies.  [277•****  278 In Africa, according to Du Chaillu, many Negro peoples put on dirty clothing on the death of a man who held an important position in the tribe.  [278•*  Some of the natives of Borneo express their grief by laying aside the cotton sarong they ordinarily wear and putting on clothes of bark, which used to be worn formerly.  [278•**  With the same object, some of the Mongolian tribes turn their clothing inside out.  [278•***  In all these cases, emotion is expressed by actions which are the opposite of those that are considered natural, necessary, useful or pleasant in the normal course of life.

p In the normal course of life it is considered useful to replace dirty clothing by clean; but in time of mourning, by virtue of the principle of antithesis, clean clothing is changed for dirty clothing. The aforesaid inhabitants of Borneo found it gratifying to wear cotton clothes instead of clothes of bark; but the principle of antithesis induces them to wear bark clothing when they want to express grief. The Mongolians, like all other people, naturally wear their clothes the right way out, but for the very reason that this seems natural to them in the ordinary course of life, they turn them inside out when the ordinary course of life is disturbed by some mournful event. And here is an even more striking example. Schweinfurth says that many African Negroes express grief by putting a rope round their neck.  [278•****  Here grief is expressed by an emotion that is the very opposite of that suggested by the instinct of self-preservation. Very many examples of this kind could be cited.

p I am therefore convinced that a very substantial proportion of our customs owe their origin to the principle of antithesis.

p If my conviction is justified—and I believe it is fully justified—we may presume that the development of our aesthetic tastes is likewise, in part, prompted by its influence. Is this presumption corroborated by the facts? I think it is.

_p In Senegambia, wealthy Negro women wear shoes so small that they cannot accommodate the whole foot, by reason of which these ladies are distinguished by a very awkward gait. But this gait is considered extremely attractive.  [278•***** 

p How could it have come to be so regarded?

p In order to understand this, it must first be observed that such shoes are not worn by poor Negro women who have to work, and they have an ordinary gait. They cannot walk in the way the rich coquettes do because this would result in great loss of time; the 279 awkward gait of the wealthy women seems attractive precisely because they do not value time, being exempted from the necessity of working. In itself, this gait has no sense whatever; it acquires significance only by virtue of its contrast to the gait of the women burdened with work (and,hence, poor).

p Here the operation of the "principle of antithesis" is plain. But mark that it is induced by social causes, namely, the existence of property inequality among the Senegambian Negroes.

p Recalling what was said above about the morals of the British court nobility at the time of the Restoration, I hope you will readily agree that the tendency to contradiction they reveal represents a particular instance of the action of Darwin’s principle of antithesis in social psychology. But here another point should be observed.

p Such virtues as industriousness, patience, sobriety, thrift, strict domestic morals, etc., were very useful to the British bourgeoisie when it was seeking to win a more exalted position in society. But vices that were the opposite of the bourgeois virtues were useless, to say the least, to the British nobility in its struggle for survival against the bourgeoisie. They did not provide it with any new weapons in this struggle, and arose only as a psychological result. What was useful to the British nobility was not its inclination for vices that were the opposite of the bourgeois virtues, but rather the emotion that prompted this inclination, namely, hatred of a class whose complete triumph would signify the equally complete abolition of the privileges of the aristocracy. The inclination for vice was only a correlative variation (if I may here use a term borrowed from Darwin). Such correlative variations are quite common in social psychology. They must be taken into account. But it is just as necessary to bear in mind that they too, in the final analysis, are induced by social causes.

p We know from the history of English literature how strongly the aesthetic concepts of the upper class were affected by the psychological operation of the principle of antithesis to which I have referred, and which was evoked by the class struggle. British aristocrats who lived in France during their exile became acquainted with French literature and the French theatre, which were an exemplary and unique product of a refined aristocratic society, and therefore were far more in harmony with their own aristocratic inclinations than the English theatre and English literature of Elizabethan times. After the Restoration, the English stage and English literature fell under the domination of French taste. Shakespeare was scorned in the same way as he was subsequently scorned, when they came to know him, by the French, who adhered to the Classical tradition—that is, as a "drunken savage". His Romeo and Juliet was considered “bad”, and his Midsummer Night’s Dream, ridiculous and insipid”; his Henry VIII was "a simple thing”, his 280 Othello, "a mean thing".  [280•*  This attitude did not fully disappear even in the following century. Hume thought that Shakespeare’s dramatic genius was commonly overrated for the same reason that, deformed and disproportionate bodies give the impression of being very large. He accused the great dramatist of "total ignorance of all theatrical art and conduct”. Pope regretted that Shakespeare wrote "for the people" and managed to get along without "the protection of his prince and the encouragement of the court”. Even the celebrated Garrick, an ardent admirer of Shakespeare, strove to ennoble his “idol”. In his performances of Hamlet he omitted the gravediggers’ scene as being too coarse. Pie supplied King Lear with a happy ending. But the democratic section of the English theatre-going public continued to cherish the warmest regard for Shakespeare. Garrick was aware that in adapting his plays, he was incurring the risk of evoking the stormy protest of this section of the public. His French friends, in their letters, complimented him for the “courage” with which he faced this danger: "car je connais la populace anglaise,” one of them added.  [280•** 

p The laxity of aristocratic morals in the second half of the 17th century was, as we know, reflected on the English stage, where it assumed truly incredible proportions. Nearly all the comedies written in England between 1660 and 1690 were almost without exception what Eduard Engel calls pornographic.  [280•***  In view of this, it might be said a priori that sooner or later, in accordance with the principle of antithesis, a type of dramatic works was bound to appear in England whose chief purpose would be to depict and extol the domestic virtues and middle-class purity of morals. And in due course this type really was produced by the intellectual representatives of the English bourgeoisie. But I shall have to speak of this type of dramatic works later, when I discuss the French "tearful comedy".

p As far as I know, the importance of the principle of antithesis in the history of aesthetic concepts was noted most keenly and denned most cleverly by Hippolite Taine.  [280•**** 

_p In his witty and interesting Voyage aux Pyrenees, he describes a conversation he had with a "table companion”, Monsieur Paul 281 who, to all appearances, expresses the views of the author himself: "You are going to Versailles,” Monsieur Paul says, "and you cry

p out against 17th-century taste__ But cease for a moment to judge

p from your needs and habits of today.... We are right when we admire wild scenery, just as they were right when they were bored by such landscapes. Nothing was more ugly in the 17th century than real mountains.  [281•*  They evoked in them many unpleasant ideas. People who had just emerged from an era of civil war and semibarbarism were reminded by them of hunger, of long journeys on horseback in rain and snow, of inferior black bread mixed with chaff, of filthy, vermin-ridden hostelries. They were tired of barbarism, as we are tired of civilisation__These ... mountains give us a respite from our sidewalks, our offices and our shops. Wild scenery pleases us only for this reason. And if it were not for this reason, it would be just as repulsive to us as it was to Madame de Maintenon."  [281•** 

p A wild landscape pleases us because of its contrast to the urban scenes of which we are tired.Urban scenes and formal gardens pleased 17th-century people because of their contrast to wild places. Here the operation of the "principle of antithesis" is unquestionable. But just because it is unquestionable it is a clear illustration of the way psychological laws may serve as a key to the history of ideology in general, and to the history of art in particular.

p The principle of antithesis played the same role in the psychology of the people of the 17th century as it plays in the psychology of our contemporaries. Why, then, are our aesthetic tastes the opposite of those of 17th-century people?

p Because we live in an entirely different situation. We are thus brought back to our familiar conclusion, namely, that it is because of man’s psychological nature that he may have aesthetic concepts, and that Darwin’s principle of antithesis (Hegel’s “contradiction”) plays an extremely important and hitherto insufficiently appreciated role in the mechanism of these concepts. But why a particular social man has particular tastes and not others, why certain objects and not others afford him pleasure, depends on the surrounding conditions. The example given by Taine also provides a good indication of the character of these conditions; it shows that they are social conditions which, in their aggregate, are determined—I put it vaguely for the time being—by the development of human culture.  [281•*** 

282

p Here I foresee an objection on your part. You will say: "Let us grant that the example given by Taine does point to social conditions as the cause which brings the basic laws of our psychology into operation; let us grant that the examples you yourself gave point to the same thing. But is it not possible to cite examples that prove something quite different? Are we not familiar with examples which show that the laws of our psychology begin to operate under the influence of surrounding nature"?"

p Of course we are, I answer; and even the example given by Taine relates to our attitude towards impressions produced on us by nature.  But the whole point is that the influence exerted upon us by these impressions changes as our attitude towards nature changes, and the latter is determined by the development of our (that is, social) culture.

p The example given by Taine refers to landscape.  Mark, sir, that landscape has not by any means occupied a constant place in the history of painting. Michelangelo and his contemporaries ignored it. It began to flourish in Italy only at the very end of the Renaissance, at the moment of its decline.

p Nor did it have an independent significance for the French artists of the 17th, and even the 18th centuries. The situation changed abruptly in the 19th century, when landscape began to be valued for its own sake, and young artists—Flers, Cabat, Theodore Rousseau—sought in the lap of nature, in the environs of Paris, in Fontainebleau and Melun, inspiration the possibility of which was not even suspected by artists of the time of Le Brun or Boucher. Why? Because social relations in France had changed, and this 283 was followed by a change in the psychology of the French. Thus in different periods of social development man receives different impressions from nature because he looks at it from different viewpoints.

p The operation of the general laws of man’s psychical nature does not cease, of course, in any of these periods. But as in the various periods, owing to the different social relations, the material that enters man’s head is not alike, it is not surprising that the end results are not alike either.

p One more example. Some writers have expressed the thought that everything in a man’s external appearance that resembles the features of lower animals seems to us ugly. This is true of civilised peoples, though even with them there are quite a number of exceptions: a "leonine head" does not seem unsightly to any of us. But notwithstanding such exceptions, it may be affirmed that when man comes to realise that he is an incomparably higher being than any of his kindred in the animal world, he fears to resemble them and even endeavours to underline, to exaggerate the dissimilarity.  [283•* 

p But this assertion is not true of primitive peoples. We know that some of them pull out their upper incisors in order to resemble ruminant animals, others file them in order to resemble beasts of prey, still others plait their hair into the shape of horns, and so on almost ad infinitum.  [283•** 

284

_p Often this tendency to imitate animals is connected with the religious beliefs of primitive peoples.  [284•* 

p But that does not alter things in the least.

p For if primitive man had looked on lower animals with our eyes, they would probably have found no place in his religious ideas. He looks at them differently. Why differently? Because he stands on a different level of culture. Hence, if in one case man strives to resemble lower animals and in another to differentiate himself from them, this depends on the state of his culture, that is, again on those social conditions to which I have referred. Here, however, I can express myself more precisely: I would say that it depends on the degree of development of his product ive forces, on his mode of production. And in order not to be accused of exaggeration and “one-sidedness”, I shall let von den Steinen, the learned German traveller I have already quoted, speak for me. "We shall only then understand these people,” he says of the Brazilian Indians, "when we regard them as the product of the hunter’s way of life. The most important part of their experience is associated with the animal world, and it was on the basis of this experience that their outlook was formed. Correspondingly, their art motifs, too, are borrowed with tedious uniformity from the animal world. It may be said that all their wonderfully rich art is rooted in their life as hunters."  [284•** 

p Chernyshevsky once wrote, in his dissertation on The Aesthetic Relation of Art to Reality: "What pleases us in plants is their freshness of colour and luxuriant abundance of form, for they reveal a life full of strength and freshness. A withering plant is unpleasant; so is a plant which has little vital sap.” Chernyshevsky’s dissertation is an extremely interesting and unique example of the application of the general principles of Feuerbachian materialism to aesthetic problems.

p But history was always a weak point with this materialism, and this is clearly to be seen in the lines I have just quoted: "What pleases us in plants__"

p Who is meant by “MS”? The tastes of men vary extremely, as Chernyshevsky himself pointed out many a time in this same work. We know that primitive tribes—the Bushmen and Australians, for example—never adorn themselves with flowers although they live in countries where flowers abound. It is said that the Tasmanians were an exception in this respect, but it is no longer possible to verify the truth of this statement: the Tasmanians are 285 extinct. At any rate, it is very well known that the ornamental art of primitive—more exactly, hunting— peoples borrows its motifs from the animal world, and that plants have no place in it. And modern science attributes this, too, to nothing but I he state of the productive forces.

p “The ornamental motifs borrowed by hunting tribes from nature,” says Ernst Grosse, "consist exclusively of animal and human forms. Thus they select those things which are to them of greatest practical interest. The primitive hunter leaves the gathering of plants, which is also of course necessary for him, to his womenfolk, as an inferior occupation, and shows no interest in it whatever. This explains why we do not find in his ornaments even a trace of the plant motifs which are so richly developed in the decorative art of civilised peoples. Actually, the transition from animal to plant ornaments is symbolical of a great advance in the history of civilisation—the transition from hunting to agriculture."  [285•* 

p If all this is true, we can now modify as follows the conclusion we drew from Darwin’s words: it is the psychological nature of the primitive hunter which determines that he may have aesthetic tastes and concepts generally, but it is the state of his productive forces, his hunter’s mode of life, which leads to his acquiring particular aesthetic tastes and concepts, and not others. This conclusion, while throwing vivid light on the art of the hunting tribes, is at the same time another argument in favour of the materialist view of history.

p (With civilised peoples the technique of production exercises a direct influence on art far more rarely. This fact, which would seem to testify against the materialist view of history, actually provides brilliant confirmation of it. But we shall leave this point for another occasion.)  [285•** 

p I shall now pass to another psychological law which has also played a big role in the history of art and which has likewise not received the attention it deserves.

p Burton says of certain African Negroes he knew that they had a poorly developed sense of music, but were nevertheless astonishingly sensitive to rhythm: "the fisherman will accompany his paddle, the porter his trudge, and the housewife her task of rubbing down grain, with song".  [285•***  Casalis says the same thing of the Kaffirs of the Basuto tribe, whom he studied very thoroughly. ”The women of this tribe wear metal rings on their arms which jangle at every movement. They not infrequently gather together to grind their corn on the handmills, and accompany the measured movement of the arms with a chant which strictly corresponds to 286 the rhythmical sound emitted by the bracelets."  [286•*  The men of this tribe, Casalis says, when they are at work softening hides, "at every movement utter a strange sound, whose significance I was unable to elucidate".  [286•**  What this tribe likes particularly in music is rhythm, and they enjoy most those songs in which it is most strongly marked.  [286•***  In their dances the Basutos beat time with their hands and feet, intensifying the sound thus produced with the help of rattles hung around their bodies.  [286•****  The Brazilian Indians likewise reveal a strong sense of rhythm in their music, but are very weak in melody and apparently have not the slightest idea of harmony.  [286•*****  The same must be said of the Australian aborigines.  [286•******  In a word, rhythm has a colossal significance with all primitive peoples. Sensitivity to rhythm, and musical ability generally, seem to constitute one of the principal properties of the psycho-physiological nature of man. And not only of man. Darwin says that the ability at least to perceive if not to enjoy musical time and rhythm is apparently common to all animals and is undoubtedly connected with the physiological nature of their nervous system.  [286•*******  In view of this, it might be presumed that the manifestation of this ability, which man shares with other animals, is not connected with the conditions of his social life in general, or with the state of his productive forces in particular. But although this presumption may appear very natural at a first glance, it will not stand the criticism of facts. Science has shown that such a connection does exist. And mark, sir, that science has done so in the person of a most distinguished economist—Karl Biicher.

p As is apparent from the facts I have quoted, it is because of man’s ability to perceive and enjoy rhythm that the primitive producer readily conforms in the course of his work to a definite time, and accompanies his bodily movements with measured sounds of the voice or the rhythmical clang of objects suspended from his person. But what determines the time observed by the primitive producer? Why do his bodily movements in the process of production conform to a particular measure, and not another? This depends on the technological character of the given production process, on the technique of the given form of production. With prim- 287 itive tribes each kind of work has its own chant, whose tune is precisely adapted to the rhythm of the body movements characteristic of that kind of work.  [287•*  With the development of the productive forces the importance of rhythmic activity in the production process diminishes, but even with civilised peoples—the German peasants, for example—each season of the year, according to Biicher, has its own work sounds, and each kind of work its own music.  [287•** 

p It should also be observed that, depending on how the work is done—whether by one producer or by a body—songs arise either for one singer or for a whole choir, and the latter kind are likewise divided into several categories. And in all cases, the rhythm of the song is strictly determined by the rhythm of the production process. Nor is this all. The technological character of the process has a decisive influence also on the content of the song accompanying the work. A study of the interconnection between work, music and poetry leads Biicher to the conclusion that "in the early stage of their development work, music and poetry were intimately connected with one another, but the basic element in this trinity was work, the other elements having only a subordinate significance".  [287•*** 

p Since the sounds which accompany many production processes have a musical effect in themselves, and since, moreover, the chief thing in music for primitive peoples is rhythm, it is not difficult to understand how their simple musical productions were elaborated from the sounds resulting from the impact of the instruments of labour on their object.  This was done by accentuating these sounds, by introducing a certain variety into their rhythm, and generally by adapting them to express human emotions.  [287•****  But for this, it was first necessary to modify the instruments of labour, which in this way became transformed into musical instruments.

p The first to undergo such transformation must have been instruments with which the producer simply struck the object of his labour. We know that the drum is extremely widespread among primitive peoples, and is still the only musical instrument of some of them. String instruments originally belonged to the same category, for the primitive musicians play upon them by striking the strings. Wind instruments hold a minor place with them: the most frequent to be met with is the flute, which is often played as an accompaniment of work performed in common, in order to lend 288 it a rhythmic regularity.  [288•*  I cannot discuss here in detail Biicher’s views concerning the origin of poetry; it will be more convenient to do so in a subsequent letter.^^86^^ I shall only say briefly that Biicher is convinced that it originated from energetic rhythmical movements of the body, especially tho movements which we call work, and that this is true not only of poetical form, but also of content.  [288•** 

p If Biicher’s remarkable conclusions are correct, then we are entitled to say that man’s nature (the physiological nature of his nervous system) gave him the ability to perceive musical rhythm and to enjoy it, while his technique of production determined the subsequent development of this ability.

p The close connection between the state of the productive forces of the so-called primitive peoples and their art had been recognised by investigators long ago. But as the vast majority of them adhered to an idealist standpoint, they, as it were, recognised this connection despite themselves and explained it incorrectly. For example, the well-known historian of art, Wilhelm Liibke, says that the art productions of primitive peoples bear the stamp of natural necessity, whereas those of the civilised nations are infused with intellectual consciousness. This differentiation rests on nothing but idealist prejudice. In reality, the art of civilised peoples is no less under the sway of necessity than primitive art. The only difference is that with civilised peoples the direct dependence of art on technology and mode of production disappears. I know, of course, that this is a very big difference. But I also know that it is determined by nothing else than the development of the social productive forces, which leads to the division of social labour among different classes. Far from refuting the materialist view of the history of art, it provides convincing evidence in its favour.

p I shall also point to the "law of symmetry”. Its importance is great and unquestionable. In what is it rooted? Probably in the structure of man’s own body, likewise the bodies of animals: only the bodies of cripples and deformed persons are unsymmetrical, and they must always have produced an unpleasant impression on physically normal people. Hence, the ability to enjoy symmetry was likewise imparted to us by nature. But we cannot say how far this ability would have developed if it had not been strengthened and fostered by the very mode of life of the primitive peoples. We know that primitive man was principally a hunter. One effect of this mode of life, as we have already learned, is that motifs borrowed from the animal world predominate in his ornamental art. And this induces the primitive artist—already from a 289 very early age—to pay attentive heed to the law of symmetry.  [289•* 

p That man’s sense of symmetry is trained precisely on these models, is to be seen from the fact that savages (and not only savages) have a preference in their ornamental art for horizontal, rather than vertical symmetry  [289•** : glance at the figure of the first man or animal you meet (not deformed, of course), and you will see that its symmetry is of the former, not the latter type. It should also be borne in mind that weapons and utensils often required a symmetrical shape because of their very character and purpose. Lastly, as Grosse quite rightly observes, if the Australian savage, when ornamenting his shield, is just as cognizant of the importance of symmetry as were the highly civilised builders of the Parthenon, then it is obvious that the sense of symmetry cannot in itself explain the history of art, and that we must say in this case as in all others: it is nature that imparts an ability to man. but the exercise and practical application of this ability is determined by the development of his culture.

p Here again I deliberately employ a vague expression: culture.  You will, on reading it, exclaim with heat: "Nobody has ever denied this! All we say is that the development of culture is not determined solely by the development of the productive forces, by economics!"

p Alas, I am only too well acquainted with this kind of objection. And I confess that I have never been able to understand why even intelligent people fail to observe the frightful logical blunder that lies at the bottom of it.

p For indeed you, sir, would like the development of culture to be determined by other “factors” as well. 1 ask: is art one of them? You will, of course, say that it is, whereupon we get the following situation: the development of human culture is determined, among other things, by the development of art. and the development of art is determined by the development of human culture. And you will be constrained to say the same thing of all the other “factors”: economics, civil law, political institutions, morals, etc. What follows? Why, this: the development of human culture is determined by the operation of all the foregoing factors, and the development of all the foregoing factors is determined by the development of 290 culture. This is the old logical fallacy for which our forebears had so strong a propensity:—What does the earth rest on? On whales. And the whales? On water. The water? On the earth. And the earth? On whales—and so on in the same astonishing rotation.

p You will agree that one must try, after all, to reason a little more seriously when investigating serious problems of social development.

p I am deeply convinced that criticism (more exactly, scientific theory of aesthetics) can now advance only if it rests on the materialist conception of history. I also think that in its past development, too, criticism acquired a firmer basis, the nearer its exponents approached to the view of history I advocate. In illustration, I shall point to the evolution of criticism in France.

p There its evolution was closely linked with the development of historical thought generally. As I have already said, the 18 thcentury Enlighteners looked upon history from an idealist standpoint. They saw in the accumulation and dissemination of knowledge the chief and most profound cause of man’s historical progress. But if the advance of science and the development of human thought generally really are the chief and paramount cause of historical progress, it is natural to ask: what determines the progress of thought itself? From the 18th-century point of view, only one answer was possible: the nature of man, the immanent laws governing the development of his thought. But if man’s nature determines the whole development of his thought, then it is obvious that it also determines the development of literature and art. Hence, man’s nature—and it alone—can, and should furnish the key to the development of literature and art in the civilised world.

p Because of the properties of human nature, men pass through various ages: childhood, youth, adulthood, etc. Literature and art. in their development, pass through the same ages.

p “Was there ever a people that was not first a poet and then a thinker?" Grimm asks in his Correspondance littéraire,^^88^^ wishing to say thereby that the heyday of poetry coincides with the childhood and youth of peoples, and the progress of philosophy with their adulthood. This 18th-century view was inherited by the 19th century. We even meet with it in the celebrated book of Madame de Stael, De la litterature consideree dans ses rapports avec les institutions societies, where at the same time there are quite substantial rudiments of an entirely different view. "Examining the three different periods in Greek literature.” Madame de Stael says, "we observe a natural movement of the human mind. Homer is characteristic of the first period; in the age of Pericles, we remark the rapid progress of drama, eloquence and morals and the beginnings of philosophy; in the time of Alexander, a more profound study of the philosophical sciences became the principal occupation of men distinguished in literature. Of course, a definite degree of 291 development of the human mind is required to attain the highest peaks of poetry; nevertheless this branch of literature is bound to lose some of its brilliance when the progress of civilisation and philosophy corrects some of the errors of the imagination."  [291•* 

p This means that if a nation has emerged from its youth, its poetry is bound in one degree or another to pass into decline.

p Madame de Stael knew that the modern nations, despite all their intellectual achievements, had not produced a single poetical work that could be ranked above the Iliad or the Odyssey.  This fact threatened to shake her confidence in the constant and progressive perfection of mankind, and she was therefore unwilling todiscard the theory of the various ages she had inherited from the 18th century, with the help of which the difficulty in question could be easily resolved.

p For as we see, from the standpoint of this theory the decline of poetry was a symptom of the intellectual adulthood of the civilised nations of the modern world. But when Madame de Stael abandons these similes as she passes to the history of the literature of modern nations, she is able to look at it from an entirely different standpoint. Particularly interesting in this respect are the chapters in her book which discuss French literature. "French gaiety and French taste have become proverbial in all the European countries,” she observes in one of these chapters. "This taste and this gaiety were commonly attributed to the national character; but what is the character of a nation if not a result of the institutions and conditions which have influenced its prosperity, its interests and its customs? In these past ten years, even at the calmest moments of the revolution, the most piquant contrasts failed to prompt a single epigram or a single witticism.Many of the men who acquired great influence on the destiny of France possessed neither elegance of expression nor brilliance of mind; it may even be that their influence was in part due to their moroseness, taciturnity and cold ferocity."  [291•**  Whom these lines are hinting at, and how far the hint accords with the facts, is not of importance to us here. The only thing we have to note is that, in Madame de StaeTs opinion, national character is a product of historical conditions. But what is national character, if not human nature as manifested in the spiritual characteristics of the given nation?

p And if the nature of any nation is a product of its historical development, then obviously it could not have been the prime mover of this development. From which it follows that literature, being a reflection of a nation’s spiritual character, is a product of the same historical conditions that begot the national character. Hence, it is not human nature, nor the character of the given 292 nation, but its history and its social system that explain its literature. It is from this standpoint that Madame de Stael considers the literature of France. The chapter she devotes to 17 thcentury French literature is an extremely interesting attempt to explain its predominating character by the social and political relations prevailing in France at the time, and by the psychology of the French nobility, regarded from the standpoint of its attitude to the monarchical power.

p Here we find some very subtle observations on the psychology of the ruling class of that period, and some very penetrating ideas concerning the future of French literature."With a new political order in France, no matter what form it may take,” Madame de Stael says, "we shall see nothing like it (the literature of the 17th century), and this will be a good proof that the so-called French wit and French elegance were only a direct and necessary product of the monarchical institutions and customs which had existed in France for many centuries.”  [292•*  This new opinion, which holds that literature is a product of the social system, gradually became the predominant opinion in European criticism in the 19th century.

p In France, it was reiterated by Guizot in his literary essays.  [292•**  It was also expressed by Sainte-Beuve who, it is true, accepted it only 293 with reservations. Lastly, it was fully and brilliantly reflected in the works of Taine.

p Taine was firmly convinced that "every change in the situation of people leads to a change in their mentality".

p But it is the mentality of any given society that explains its literature and its art. for "the productions of the human spirit, like the productions of living nature, are only explicable in relation to their environment”. Hence, in order to understand the history of the art and literature of any country, one must study the changes that have taken place in the situation of its inhabitants. This is an undoubted truth. And one has only to read his Philosophic de I’art, Histoire de la litterature anglaise or Voyage en Italie to find many a vivid and talented illustration of this truth. Nevertheless, like Madame de Stael and other of his predecessors, Taine adhered to the idealist view of history, and this prevented him from drawing from the unquestionable truth that he so vividly and so talentedly illustrated, all the benefit that might be drawn from it by an historian of literature and art.

p Since the idealist regards the advance of the human mind as the ultimate cause of historical progress, it follows from what Taine says that the mentality of people is determined by their situation, and that their situation is determined by their mentality. This led to a number of contradictions and difficulties, which Taine, like the 18th-century philosophers, resolved by appealing to human nature, which with him took the form of race.  What doors he sought to open with this key may be clearly seen from the following example. We know that the Renaissance began earlier in Italy than anywhere else, and that Italy, generally, was the first country to end the mediaeval way of life. What caused this change in the situation of the Italians?—The properties of the Italian race, Taine replies.  [293•*  I leave it to you to judge how satisfactory this explanation is and shall pass to another example. In the Sciara Palace in Rome, Taine sees a landscape by Poussin, and he observes in this connection that the Italians, because of the specific qualities of their race, have a peculiar notion of landscape; to them, it is nothing but a villa, only a villa of enlarged 294 dimensions, whereas the German race loves nature for its own sake.  [294•*  Yet in another place Taine himself says in reference to Poussin’s landscapes: "To really appreciate them, one must be a lover of (Classical) tragedy, Classical poetry, of ornate etiquette and signoral or monarchical grandeur. Such sentiments are infinitely remote from those of our contemporaries."  [294•**  But_ why are the sentiments of our contemporaries so unlike those of the people who loved ornate etiquette, Classical tragedy and Alexandrine verse? Is it because the Frenchmen of the time of Le Roi Soleil, say, were people of a different race than the Frenchmen of the 19th century? A strange question! Did not Taine himself emphatically and insistently reiterate that the mentality of people changes when their situation changes? We have not forgotten this, and repeat after him: the situation of the people of our time is extremely unlike that of the people of the 17th century, and therefore their sentiments are very different from those of the contemporaries of Boileau and Racine.It remains to learn why the situation has changed, that is, why the ancien regime has given place to the present bourgeois order, and why the Bourse now rules in the country where Louis XIV could say almost without exaggeration "L’etat c’est moi”. And this question is answered quite satisfactorily by the economic history of the country.

p You are aware, sir, that Taine’s opinions were contested by writers of very different views. I do not know what you think of their contentions, but I would say that none of Taine’s critics succeeded in shaking the thesis which is the sum and substance of nearly everything that is true in his theory of aesthetics, namely, that art is the product of man’s mentality, and that man’s mentality changes with his situation. And similarly, none of them detected the fundamental contradiction whichrendered any further fruitful development of Taine’s views impossible; none of them observed that, according to his view of history, man’s mentality is determined by his situation, yet is itself the ultimate cause of that situation. Why did none of them observe this? Because their own views of history were permeated by this same contradiction. But what is this contradiction? Of what elements is it composed? It is composed of two elements, one of which is called the idealist and the other the materialist view of history. When Taine said that people’s mentality changes with a change in their situation, he was a materialist; but when this selfsame Taine said that the situation of people is determined by their mentality, he was repeating the idealist view of the 18th century. It need scarcely be added that it was not this latter view that suggested the best of his opinions on the history of literature and art.

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p What conclusion is to be drawn from this? It is that the contradiction which ruled out any fruitful development of the intelligent and profound views of the French art critics could have been avoided only by a man who said: The art of any people is determined by its mentality; its mentality is a product of its situation, and its situation is determined in the final analysis by the state of its productive forces and its relations of production. But a man who had said this would have been enunciating the materialist view of history....

But I see that it is high time to close. Well, until the next letter! Forgive me if I have chanced to annoy you by the “narrowness” of my views. Next time I shall deal with the art of primitive peoples, and I hope to show that my views are not at all as narrow as you thought, and probably still think.