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is frequently compatible with political conservatism, that not only is
there no direct relation between progressiveness in
art
and conservatism
in politics but that they are indeed "incommensurable in the two
spheres." What is important is the artist's sincerity and fidelity to his
vision of life, which sufficiently account for his enlightening influence on
his age. There is, however, a complication in the idea of "compatibility,"
as exemplified in the case of novelists like Balzac and Dostoevsky. Not
a few works of art display an internal antagonism between their material
and spiritual qualities or an antithesis between their latent and mani–
fest content: hence the contradiction which is sometimes to be observed
between a writer's proclaimed ideology and the inner meaning of his
imaginative creations. For instance, the first generation of French
romantic writers were to begin with legitimists and clericalists while at
the same time assaulting with might and main the conservative classical
tradition in literature, which was then defended mainly by the liberals;
a more modem instance are certain poets of traditionalist bias in whom
a genuine aesthetic liberalism and openness toward the future goes hand
in hand with historical reaction. Neither in art nor in life is there a
pre-established harmony guaranteeing the even and unified development
of all the elements that combine to form objects of value. Advance in
one sphere is often paid for by regression in another.
The literature of the modem period is particularly exposed, I would
say, to inner antagonisms and contradictions. Critics who are perturbed
by these contradictions, preferring the writers they deal with to be
of one mind, are prone to expend much ingenious cerebration in in–
venting unified creative personalities where none perhaps exist. They
would do better to try getting at a writer's truth by fathoming the
depth and intensity of the contradiction of which he is the carrier and
which more often than not proves to be the wayward secret of his
power over us. Fortunately, literature is not a function of criticism,
no matter how methodologically refined or overbearingly intent on moral
suasion.
It
makes its own arrangements with life, and its victories and
defeats are also its own.
Philip Rahv
the hans hofmann school of fine art
52 west 8th street
new york city
phone gramercy 7-3491
morning • afternoon • evening
