The Icon and the Axe

by James Billington

  Fonvizin was a cosmopolitan eighteenth-century figure. His German ancestry is revealed in his name (derived from von Wiesen), and his plays betray the influence of the Danish social satirist, Ludvig Holberg (whose plays he read and translated from the German), and of the Italian commedia dell'arte (whose traditions were filtering in through the Italian personnel imported for the operatic theater). His real model was, however, France, and its pre-Revolutionary satirical theater in which-as he put it in a letter from Paris-"you forget that a comedy is being played and it seems that you are seeing direct history."64

  The Adolescent comes close to being "direct history" and thus anticipates much of nineteenth-century Russian literature. The play deals with the key problem of the Russian Enlightenment itself: the education of the aristocracy. Part of it depicts the conventional education for virtue and

  responsibility of an aristocratic couple preparing for marriage. But most of the play and all of its interest centers on the education of "the adolescent," a brutish, sixteen-year-old provincial aristocrat, Mitrofan, by an unforgettable galaxy of characters "in the village of the Prostakovs" (literally, "Simpletons"). Three fraudulent teachers, a worthless father, a pig-loving uncle, and a gross, doting mother, all hover around the sulking Mitrofan and contribute to his mis-education. Those who preach the gospel of aristocratic virtue are made to appear boring and faintly ludicrous in a world where unvarnished barbarism is still the norm.

  Thus, Fonvizin turns Catherine's world upside down in a way he never had as part of Panin's political opposition-and in a way he may not entirely have intended. Western education does not lead to the grail of enlightenment in adolescent Russia. At the end of the adventure, there is no "thorn-less rose that does not sting," but only a sea of brambles. The last line of the play is: "Here are the worthy fruits of an evil nature." Perhaps human nature is not perfectible after all. Perhaps there is no point in cultivating one's garden, as Voltaire advised, because nothing but poisoned fruit will grow.

  But such splenetic thoughts were to come later. Fonvizin's perspective is still one of life-affirming laughter. He shared the breadth of interests that was typical of the Russian Enlightenment, and the sense of confidence and pride that comes from being a privileged member of a rising power. For deeper disaffection one must look to three other figures who deliberately set out to find radically new answers to the problems of the day: Gregory Skovoroda, Alexander Radishchev, and Nicholas Novikov. They were probably the most brilliant men of the late eighteenth century in Russia; and the depth and variety of their searchings illustrate the true seriousness of the alienation of the intellectuals under Catherine. The only common feature of their divergent careers is the intensity with which they all rejected the dilettantism and imitativeness of court culture and the finality with which their own new ideas and activities were, in turn, rejected by Catherine.

  Skovoroda represented the most complete rejection of Catherine's ethos with his ascetic indifference to things of this world and his search for the hidden mysteries of "true wisdom." Of Cossack descent, Skovoroda studied at the Kiev Academy and attracted imperial attention in the 1740's as a vocalist in the baroque choirs of Kiev. A brilliant teacher at the Academy, he soon turned to seminary teaching and then left for a life of lonely wandering and reading, relieved only by endless philosophical dialogues and a few close friendships.

  He taught for brief periods in all of the great centers of theological education in eighteenth-century Russia: Kiev, St. Petersburg, Kharkov, and

  the Moscow Academy in the Monastery of St. Sergius. He concluded that happiness lay only in full inner knowledge of oneself, which in turn required a highly personal and mystical link with God. He wandered throughout Russia for most of his last thirty years, with no possessions except a knapsack containing a Hebrew Bible and books in many languages. He wrote haunting poems, letters, and philosophic dialogues rather in the style of Blake, rejecting the high culture of the Enlightenment for the "primordial world which delights my heart's abyss."65 Influenced by Stoicism and Neo-Platonism, he taught, in his Dialogue of the Archangel Michael with Satan, that there was a fundamental conflict between the spiritual and material worlds. Carnal lust and worldly ambition are the principal lures of the devil; he inveighed against the one in his Israelite Snake and the other in his Icon of Alcibiades. He died in 1794, leaving behind as his epitaph: "The world hunted me but it did not catch me."66

  Skovoroda called himself the Russian Socrates, and he was one of Russia's first original speculative philosophers. He shared, moreover, the Platonic qualities of dedication and perhaps also homosexuality. His songs of praise to "father freedom"67 reflect the anarchistic sentiments of his Cossack forebears. His mysticism and dualism made him feel more at home with religious sectarians than with the official Orthodox Church, which was particularly infused with scholasticism in the Latinized Ukraine. Skovoroda helped compose a declaration of faith for the "spirit wrestlers" and music for the psalm-singing ceremonies of the "milk drinkers."68

  Skovoroda never joined any sect, however, and is properly described as "a lonely mountain on the steppe."69 He foreshadowed the romantic, metaphysical Auswanderung of the Russian intelligentsia. For he was discontent not so much with the Russia of his day as with the entire earthly world. He was driven on by Faustian discontent with all formal and external knowledge. Favored with positions in all the leading theological centers, he never took holy orders, and he eventually left the Church altogether. He sought to teach religion through poetry and a symbolic study of the Bible. He described himself as "not a beggar but an elder"70 and became a kind of secular version of the medieval mendicant pilgrim.

  The sincerity and intensity of his quest-like that of many Russian thinkers to follow-commanded respect even among those unable to understand his ideas or language. In his native Ukraine he became a legendary figure, whose manuscripts were passed about like sacred writings and whose picture was often displayed as an icon. Not least among those who stood in awe of him was the tsarist government, which refused to permit any collected edition of his voluminous (and largely unpublished) works to appear until a century after his death. Even then, the edition was incom-

  plete and heavily censored; and subsequent editors have drawn only very selectively from this profound-and profoundly disturbing-thinker. Many of his writings he called "conversations," and they were apparently the outgrowth of his many oral disputations on metaphysical matters which helped launch the seemingly interminable discussion of cosmic questions by modern Russian thinkers. Skovoroda sought a kind of syncretic higher religion, the essence of which is revealed in this characteristic "conversation" between Man and Wisdom (MudrosO:

  Man: Tell me thy name, tell it thyself;

  For all our thoughts are corrupt without thee. Wisdom: I was called sophia by the Greeks in ancient days,

  And wisdom I am called by every Russian.

  But the Roman called me Minerva,

  And the good Christian gave me the name of Christ.71

  Radishchev's alienation from Catherine's Russia assumed the more familiar form of social and political criticism. The first of Russia's "repenting noblemen" to propose a thoroughgoing reform of Russia's aristocratic absolutism, Radishchev was a pure creation of Catherine's Enlightenment. While a boy of thirteen, he was chosen at Catherine's coronation to be one of forty members of her exclusive new corps of pages and was later one of twelve sent to study abroad at Leipzig. He returned to occupy a series of favored positions in the imperial service, culminating in the lucrative post of chief of customs in St. Petersburg.

  Almost from the beginning of his career, Radishchev sought to temper despotism with enlightenment. His early satirical writings were critical of the institution of serfdom; and he soon began arguing for some form of responsible popular sovereignty: particularly in the introduction to his translation of Mably's Reflections on Greek History in 1773, in his Ode to Liberty of 1781-3, in praise of the American Revolution, and in his essays on legislat
ion in the 1780's.

  His famous Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow, which he printed at his own expense in 1790, was the first in a long series of literary bombshells which the privileged aristocracy was to set off against the established order. Yet it was in many ways a typical product of Catherine's time: moralistic in tone and pretentious in style. Imitating Sterne and Volney, Radishchev couches his social criticism in the philosophic language of the European Enlightenment. Evil comes "from man himself, and often only from the fact that he has not yet seen surrounding places in the right light." Artificial divisions and restrictions rather than inherent limitations keep man from realizing his "inviolable worth."72

  Even his criticism of serfdom, which was the most novel and daring feature of the book, was in some ways only a kind of delayed response to the demand for social and economic criticism which Catherine herself had made to the Free Economic Society a few years before. The basis for Radishchev's objections to serfdom were, moreover, in conformity with those of Catherine's Enlightenment. His protest was based not on practical or even compassionate grounds but rather on the high philosophic plane that the system prevented serfs from using their own rational faculties to conceive of any alternative to their degrading lot.

  Appearing as it did without official approval in the first year of the French Revolution, Radishchev's book alarmed Catherine. She arrested him for treason and sentenced him to decapitation, which was commuted to exile in Siberia. In distant Tobol'sk he reaffirmed his faith in human dignity with verse written in the inelegant singsong style that was to become fashionable among the radical "civic" poets of the nineteenth century:

  I am what I have always been, and shall be evermore Neither cow, nor tree, nor slave, but a man.73

  When he returned from Siberia after Catherine's death, his last years were spent in drafting a republican constitution for Russia which he hoped young Alexander I would put into effect. Radishchev committed suicide in 1802, leaving behind unfulfilled hopes for social and political reform which continued to agitate the aristocracy throughout Alexander's reign. Interest in his ideas was revived again only during the reform period of Alexander II's reign, when Herzen brought out a new edition of his Journey in 1858, on the eve of peasant emancipation.

  Skovoroda and Radishchev stand at the headwaters of two mighty streams of thought that swept through modern Russian thought. Skovoroda was the precursor of Russia's alienated metaphysical poets, from Tiutchev to Pasternak, and of a host of brooding literary figures from Lermontov's Hero of our Time to Dostoevsky's Idiot. Skovoroda is the untitled outsider in aristocratic Russia, the homeless romantic, the passionate believer unable to live within the confines of any established system of belief. He stands suspended somewhere between sainthood and total egoism, relatively indifferent to the social and political evils of this world, thirsting rather for the hidden wellsprings and forbidden fruits of the richer world beyond.

  Radishchev was the privileged nobleman with a European education, conscious of the artificiality of his position; he was conscience-stricken by the suffering of others and anxious to create a better social order. His preoccupation with social problems foreshadows the civic poetry of the Decembrists and Nekrasov, the literary heroes of Turgenev, and even the

  search for family happiness and social adjustment from Eugene Onegin to Anna Karenina. At the same time, there is in Radishchev a heroic Pro-metheanism that anticipates the ecstatic, secular belief in the future of Lunacharsky and Trotsky. In his last book, On Man, His Mortality and Immortality, Radishchev rejects the prosaic materialism of the French Encyclopedists and sees man attaining perfection-even immortality- through heroic effort and a creative evolution that includes a regeneration (palingenesis) of the dead. His conviction was that "if people feared death less they would never become slaves of superstition. Truth would find for itself more zealous defenders."74

  Radishchev and Skovoroda were precursors rather than decisive influences in their own right; and it is dangerous to lift their ideas out of the complex context of their own life and times. Nevertheless, they stand as pioneers if not prophets: they were the first to set out on the argosy of alienation that would lead to revolution. Almost all Russian revolutionaries have seen in Radishchev the founding father of their tradition; and it has now been revealed that Skovoroda was one of the very few religious thinkers who was read and admired by Lenin himself. There are many memorials to Radishchev in the USSR, and Lenin planned also to erect a monument to Skovoroda.75

  Novikov and Masonry

  Far more influential than either Radishchev or Skovoroda in Catherine's time was Nicholas Novikov, who shared both the philanthropic reformism of the former and the religious anguish of the latter. Novikov was a serious thinker and, at the same time, a prodigious organizer who opened up new paths of practical activity for the aristocracy. A member of the exclusive Izmailovsky regiment and of Catherine's legislative commission, Novikov imitated Catherine in the sixties by founding his own weekly satirical journal, The Drone, named after the dull pedant in a play then popular at court. In this journal-and even more in its successors of the early seventies, The Painter and The Purse-Novikov voiced the increasing dissatisfaction of the native Russian nobility with Catherine's imitation of French ways and toleration of social injustice. Novikov's journals became the first organs of independent social criticism in Russian history. Like later "thick journals," each of these was shut down by imperial authority. Novikov then linked his publishing energies to two other institutions which

  were to play a key role in the cultural development of the alienated intellectuals: the university and the small discussion group, or "circle."

  The university was, of course, Moscow University, which, prior to the arrival of Novikov and his circle in the late seventies, had been a moribund institution with a total enrollment of some one hundred students listening to uninspired lectures in Latin and German. When, however, the poet Kher-askov became curator of the university in 1778, it was rapidly transformed into a center of intellectual ferment. Novikov took over the Moscow University Press in 1779 and organized a public library connected with the university. From 1781 to 1784 he printed more books at the university press than had appeared in the entire previous twenty-four years of its existence, and within a decade the number of readers of the official University Gazette increased from six hundred to four thousand.76

  In 1783 he set up Russia's first two private printing presses, capitalizing one of them the following year as Russia's first joint-stock printing company. He also took the lead in organizing Russia's first private insurance company and, in 1787, a remarkable nationwide system for famine relief. His Morning Light, begun in the late seventies, was the first journal in Russian history to seek to impart a systematic knowledge of the great philosophers of classical antiquity, beginning with translations of Plato and Seneca. He edited a series of journals and collections in the eighties, ranging from children's books to voluminous documents on early Russian history. His "Library of Russian Antiquity" underwent two large editions during the eighties. Together with the History of Russia and Decline of Ancient Morals by his friend, Prince Shcherbatov, Novikov's works tended to glorify the moral fiber of old Muscovy, and implicitly challenged Catherine's cavalier dismissal of traditional elements in Russian life. The publication in the seventies and eighties of Chulkov's encyclopedic collections of Russian folk tales, songs, and popular legends pointed to a wealth of neglected native material for literary development: sources of popular wisdom neglected by the Voltairians of St. Petersburg. Even Ivan Boltin, an admirer of Voltaire and translator of Diderot, rose up to extol Russian tradition in his Notes on the History of Ancient and Modern Russia by Le Clerc in 1789: a vigorous refutation of the unflattering six-volume history of Russia published in 1782 by a Russophobic French surgeon.77

  The return of Moscow to intellectual prominence in the second half of Catherine's reign was closely connected with the upsurge of Great Russian nationalist feeling that follo
wed the first partition of Poland, the first Turkish war, the final crushing of Pugachev, and the subordination of the Zaporozhian Cossacks in the mid-seventies. Kheraskov was totally educated

  in Moscow and had always been a partisan of using Russian rather than foreign languages in Moscow University. Novikov was also less traveled and less versed in foreign languages than most other aristocrats. Aided by the presence of these two figures, Moscow became a center for the glorification of Russian antiquity and a cultural Mecca for those opposed to the Gallic cosmopolitanism of the capital. The intellectuals opposed to Catherine's Enlightenment had found a spiritual home.

  Moscow alone was powerful enough to resist the neo-classical culture that was being superimposed on Russian cities by Catherine. Catherine made many efforts to transform the city-even placing the European style of government buildings and reception rooms inside the Kremlin. But the former capital retained its exotic and chaotic character. Wooden buildings were still clustered around bulbous and tent-rooved churches; and the city still centered on its ancient Kremlin rather than its newer municipal buildings and open squares. A city of more than 400,000, Moscow was more than twice the size of St. Petersburg, and was perhaps the only city large enough to cherish the illusion of centralized control and a uniform national culture for the entire disparate empire. Foreigners generally found Moscow an uncongenial city. Falconet in the course of his long stay in Russia visited almost every city in Russia (including those in Siberia), but never Moscow. Only late in Catherine's reign did Moscow come to possess a theater comparable to that of St. Petersburg; but many performers preferred not to play before its spitting, belching, nut-cracking audiences. Sumarokov was not alone in his complaint: