destroyed philology and linguistics in the Soviet Union, denying as they did the established families of languages in favor of a ubiquitous and multiform evolution of four basic sounds. The new doctrine seemed Marxist because it related, or at least could relate, different families of languages to different stages of the material development of a people, but its implications proved so confusing and even dangerous that Stalin himself turned against the Marr school in 1950, much to the relief and benefit of Soviet scholarship.
Most areas of Soviet scholarship, however, profited much more by Stalin's death than by his dicta. From the spring of 1953, Soviet scholars enjoyed more contact with the outside world and somewhat greater freedom in their own work. In particular, they no longer had to praise Stalin at every turn, prove that most things were invented first by Russians, or deny Western influences in Russia - as they had had to do in the worst days of Zhdanov. Entire disciplines or sub-disciplines, such as cybernetics and certain kinds of economic analysis, were eventually permitted and even promoted. Yet, while some of the excesses of Stalinism were gone, compulsory Marxism-Leninism and partiinost remained. Soviet assertions that their scholars were free men retained a hollow - and indeed tragic - ring. Glasnost, to be sure, has represented a real breakthrough into honest scholarship, but it could not immediately eliminate all institutional, psychological, and material obstacles to it.
Literature in Soviet Russia in the twenties continued in certain ways the trends of the 'silver age,' in spite of the heavy losses of the revolutionary and civil war years and the large-scale emigration of intellectuals. Some poets went on publishing excellent poetry, and writers created numerous groups and movements.
The formalist critics rose and flourished. All that, of course, could not last under the new system. First, the R.A.P.P. - a Russian abbreviation for the Russian Association of Proletarian Writers - came to dominate the scene, preaching, somewhat along Pokrovsky's lines, the discarding of all culture except the proletarian. In 1932 the government disbanded the largely nihilistic R.A.P.P. and preceded to organize all the writers into the Union of Soviet Writers and to impose on them the new official doctrine that came to be known as 'socialist realism.' Guided by the correct principles, Soviet writers were to participate fully and prominently in the 'building of socialism' as, to quote Stalin, 'engineers of human souls.' 'Socialist realism' became synonymous with literature in the Soviet Union, other approaches being proscribed. Most of the prominent figures of the 'silver age' disappeared early in the Soviet period: Blok died in 1921, Briusov in 1924, Bely in 1934, Gumilev was shot as a counterrevolutionary in 1921, Esenin committed suicide in 1925, and Maiakovsky, whose futurist verses rang the praises of the revolution and whose 'Left March' had become almost its unofficial poetic manifesto, took his own life in 1930. The few outstanding figures who remained, such as Akhmatova and Pasternak, either fell into silence - at best writing for themselves and their friends - or concentrated on translating from foreign languages. Akhmatova was expelled from the Union of Soviet Writers by Zhdanov in 1946, following the publication of some poems where she had displayed an unsocialist loneliness among other vices, and Pasternak was ejected in 1958 after the appearance abroad of his celebrated novel,
Although the concept of socialist realism sponsored by Stalin and the Politburo was never made entirely clear, it referred ostensibly to a realistic depiction of life in its full revolutionary social dimension, in part in the tradition of Pushkin and Tolstoy and indeed of the main stream of modern Russian literature. But because the Party had its own view of life, based essentially on Marxist cliches misapplied to Russian reality, socialist realism turned into crude and lifeless propaganda. Writers had to depict the achievements of the five-year plans and other 'significant' subjects or at least write realistic historical novels. More important, they had to do it in a prescribed manner. Black was to be made black and white with no shades in between. The Soviet hero had to be essentially a paragon of virtue, with no fundamental inner conflicts and no psychological ambiguities. Instead of the grim world around them, authors were urged to see things as they should appear and will appear in the future. Pessimism was banned.
Not surprisingly, in terms of quality the results of 'socialist realism' have been appalling. After Gorky's death in 1936 - a death arranged by Stalin, according to some specialists - no writer of comparable stature rose in Soviet letters. A few gifted men, such as Alexis N. Tolstoy, 1883-1945, the author of popular historical and contemporary novels and Michael Sholokhov, 1905-, who wrote the novels
sacks in civil war and collectivization, managed to produce good works more or less in line with the requirements of the regime, although they too had to revise their writings from edition to edition to meet changing Party demands. Other talented writers, for instance, Iurii Olesha, failed on the whole to adjust to 'socialist realism.' More typical Soviet practitioners have turned out simple, topical, and at times interesting, but unmistakably third- rate, pieces. An example is Constantine Simonov, a writer of stories, novelist, playwright, and poet, as well as an editor and war correspondent, who drew international attention by his novel about the defense of Stalingrad,
The Soviet record in the arts paralleled that in literature. Again, the twenties, linked closely to the 'silver age' and to contemporary trends in the West, were an interesting and vital period. Notably, in architecture functionalism flourished, producing some remarkable buildings, while new and experimental approaches added vigor and excitement to other arts also. However, once 'socialist realism' established its hold on Soviet culture, arts in the Soviet Union acquired a most conservative and indeed antiquated character. Impressive in quantity, Soviet
realistic painting and sculpture are essentially worthless in quality, being in general poor imitations of a bygone style. While Soviet architecture has on the whole had more to offer, it too traveled the sad road from inspired and novel creations in the earlier period of Communist rule to the utterly tasteless and contrived Moscow skyscrapers of Stalin's declining years, exemplified by the much-publicized new Moscow University building. Although certain stirrings were detected after the late dictator's death, and indeed although many modern utilitarian buildings were erected, there was no basic change of orientation in Soviet arts. Music, it is true, was somewhat more fortunate throughout the period, both because of its greater distance from Marxist and 'realistic' injunctions - which nevertheless did not prevent the Party from attacking 'formalism' and modernism in music and from tyrannizing in that field - and, perhaps, because of the accident of talent. In any case, the one-time figure of the 'silver age' and emigre Serge Prokofiev, 1891-1953, the creator of such well-known pieces as the
Short on creativity and development, certain Soviet arts were long on execution and performance. Again, the high standards were continuations from tsarist days, aided by increased state subsidies and by the fact that schooling and culture spread to more people. Soviet musicians performed brilliantly on many instruments, both at international competitions of the thirties, and again in more recent years when the best among them, such as the