For the Good of the Cause (12 page)

And so, it’s a failure … But is there a single artist, and especially an artist who is still trying to find his way, who is immune to failure?

Of course not.

And maybe it would not be worth talking about this failure of Solzhenitsyn’s if the shortcomings of this story did not have much in common with what the critics noted in, for example,
Matryona’s Home
. I refer to his attempts to resolve the most complex intellectual and moral problems, to pass judgments on people and their actions, without reference to actual, living relationships; he operates in abstract categories which are not invested with a concrete social content. In
Matryona’s Home
it was the “righteous woman” without whom neither the village nor the town nor “our whole land” was supposed to be worth anything. In this story it is the “little” people who have racked their brains in fruitless efforts to answer a scholastic question, posed without reference to space or time: What is “right”?

It might seem that
For the Good of the Cause
is the most topical of Solzhenitsyn’s stories. But if you think it over and ignore such completely extraneous features as the sailboats and palmtrees on the shirts, the short crew cuts, and the “supermodern” views of the young people on literature—if all this is thrown out—then the writer’s views of life and his attitude toward it will be seen to have remained just as un-modern, and in many respects as archaic, as they were in
Matryona’s Home
. We have not found the “new,” truly modern Solzhenitsyn here.

And yet we are undoubtedly in the presence of a writer of great and honest quality who is uniquely sensitive to any manifestation of evil or untruth or injustice. This is a great force, but only when it is combined with a knowledge and deep understanding of the laws governing the movement of the real world and an ability to see clearly the direction of that movement.

I think and I believe that our encounter with the “new” Solzhenitsyn is still to come.

YURI BARABASH

IS THE CRITIC RIGHT?

It so happened that I read Yuri Barabash’s review of Solzhenitsyn’s
For the Good of the Cause
before reading the story itself. As a result, I approached the story with an unconscious prejudice, having been put on my guard by the serious criticism contained in what seemed a convincing review—all the more so since it was written in a tone of quiet good will that inspired confidence. However, Solzhenitsyn made me change my mind, convinced me of the rightness of his case, and, moreover, made me take up my pen and enter into a polemical debate, despite my lack of experience as a critic.

As far as I understand Barabash, his main objection to the story is this: that the author, and, consequently, the reader, cannot pass judgment on the justice or injustice of the handing over of the school’s new premises to the scientific research institute without knowing how urgent is the need for this institute, whether it would be possible to do it without violating the interests of the school, and so forth—that is, without knowing the actual circumstances in the light of which such, questions have to be decided…

The demand that we should be kept informed of the real circumstances is a perfectly legitimate one. Indeed, just put yourself in the place of Fyodor Mikheyevich, the principal of the school and the person most deeply interested in the new premises; in Fyodor Mikheyevich’s place every one of us would probably approve of the impending action if its necessity were explained to us honestly and straightforwardly—that is, if I, as principal of the school, had been informed of the circumstances that would permit me to judge whether such a decision was “for the good of the cause” or not. And here I have in mind the national cause, the cause for which one can readily sacrifice one’s own interest.

It is possible theoretically to imagine a matter of such importance to the state: a research institute has to be situated in a specific town, and moreover at once, and no other premises are available, nobody else can be moved out, and so forth. After weighing all these circumstances, even Fyodor Mikheyevich, even Lidia Georgievna, yes, even the young people themselves that is, people who are aware of other considerations, unknown in all their complexity “at the highest level”—would have resolved the problem correctly and given up their building to the research institute.

But therein lies the trouble: No one explains all the circumstances to Fyodor Mikheyevich and no one draws him into the whole affair. Nobody bothers about him: they just tell him that’s how it has to be “For the good of the cause.”

If we think of it not as a theoretical but as a real situation, then I admit that it is rather difficult to imagine that today such an emergency could arise-the need to accommodate a
new
( ! ) research institute in a school building not designed for it, and where the premises have to be altered at about half the cost of the whole building. We know that the setting up of a new research institute is not usually decided so simply or so quickly. The fuss being made about the new building and Khabalygin’s behavior put us on our guard from the very beginning.

However, anything is possible, and the critic is justified in demanding evidence, for the commission’s decision might indeed serve the good of the cause! But let us look and see whether the author really does not give us a chance of drawing our own conclusions on the justice or injustice of the whole business.

In actual fact, Grachikov, the Secretary of the Town Committee, had long known that they were planning to open a research institute. There had been talk about it early in the spring, but the decision had been delayed.

It was held up, and therefore Grachikov quite properly drew the conclusion that there was no need for such haste and that it was prompted by anything but considerations of state. In any case, Grachikov knows more about this research institute than we do or the principal, and when, in reply to the principal’s question, “Honestly, Ivan, don’t you think it’s stupid? I don’t mean just for the school, but from the point of view of the state, isn’t it plain stupid?” Grachikov replies: “Yes, it’s stupid,” I certainly don’t see before me, to quote Barabash, “an impulsive person, surrendering easily to fleeting emotions, and making rash, irresponsible decisions.”

On the contrary, I see Grachikov quite differently: calm and immovable when he knows what has to be done and what should not be done. That is what he was like during the War when he stopped the General’s car at the bridge, and that is what he is like now in Knorozov’s office. Yes, he does indeed set off to see Knorozov immediately and without hesitation (as Barabash notes with some disapproval), but he does so because he believes the transfer of the school building to be wrong.

What is the main argument that Knorozov offers him? “We’ve never had, and we still don’t have, a single research institute here. And it wasn’t so easy for us to get it. We had to jump at it before the Ministry changed its mind. This puts us into a different class like Gorki or Sverdlovsk.”

So this, it turns out, is the crux of the matter! It’s not a question of urgency or planning, but of the most parochial, selfish interests imaginable. This means that there was no imperative necessity for putting the research institute into that town. This means it could have been set up in another town without any material or moral harm to the state. This means that the Ministry could still change its mind, and that it was urgent only for Knorozov, and not in the interests of science. It is quite likely that the research institute (although this is really irrelevant to this situation) is also under cruel pressure, that it must be opened as soon as possible, and the need for it may be extremely great, yet Knorozov got the institute, and with great difficulty, for himself, into “his” town…

These are the circumstances and the motivations that entitle us to weigh and pass judgment on the rightness of Grachikov’s and Fyodor Mikheyevich’s attitude and the good of their cause—which turns out to be the great, true cause—as well as on the “rightness” of the petty, selfish cause of Knorozov.

Grachikov and Fyodor Mikheyevich go to see Knorozov, hoping for a reasonable solution of the conflict. One cannot demand that they should explain to the students what has happened before having had this conversation.
After
their talk with Knorozov, how could they explain it, when neither of them agreed with his decision and thought it wrong?

Incidentally, I must admit that in the passage where Grachikov and Fyodor Mikheyevich are returning from their interview with Knorozov, I find Grachikov’s comforting words somewhat jarring, and on this point I cannot refrain from agreeing with Barabash: The weakness and helplessness of the champion of justice are upsetting. But I ask myself: Do I have the right to address this reproach to the author? Maybe it is Grachikov himself who evokes this irritation. Where is it said that we are faced with a model of the new type of leader? And why must we go along with Barabash and believe that Solzhenitsyn is here contrasting Grachikov with Knorozov saying: Here is a leader of the
new
type, and here is the
old
type of leader. Such contrasts are possible only in that artificially constructed, unreal world which Barabash criticizes.

All the same it is difficult for me to be entirely on Solzhenitsyn’s side in this. Grachikov’s consoling remarks contain an element of untruth. He wants to inspire Fyodor Mikheyevich with some hope—but hope of what? Of a compromise?

Is it that Grachikov considers any further struggle useless? Where does this submissiveness come from, and why does he abandon his principles, after such determined, even desperate, actions? At this point in the story I simply do not have sufficient material to understand what is taking place in this man’s mind or to follow the emotional aspect of his behavior. I fear that there is some sort of gap here, and as a reader, I found myself unable to bridge it. It is true that Grachikov tries to fathom Khabalygin. He is convinced that Khabalygin must be driven out of the Party, and it is evident that he will continue to fight him. But even in this one senses a sort of evasion, a sort of failure to develop Grachikov’s character completely.

The story cannot be discussed without considering the moral issue involved. The students have been cheated. They have not only had their building taken away; their enthusiasm, their faith, and their dreams have been shattered. This is what Lidia Georgievna reacts to so sharply and so painfully and what Grachikov gives little thought to, since he is to a certain extent satisfied at least to have managed to hold on to part of the site.

But this compromise is purely administrative and cannot resolve the moral conflict. In any case, what
could
compensate for the moral loss inflicted on the young minds? Working only “for the good of the cause” and not for the good of people as well is contrary to the principles of Communist ethics. In Knorozov’s ossified mind these two concepts are completely and utterly dissociated. For him the concept of the “cause” does not include the interests of the individual, the interests of the people—and by that is meant not just people in general, but real people with real desires and sorrows.

So the question of right and wrong is certainly not posed abstractly in the story, outside time and space. The democratization of our life has been marked in recent years by efforts to do everything possible to widen participation in the administration, in supervisory work, and likewise in Party and Soviet work. There are people who are upset by this democratization. Why? How do they act, what are their tactics, their methods, what is their philosophy? This is the object of Solzhenitsyn’s interest.

Seriously and courageously he poses a moral and social problem: What does “for the good of the cause” mean? He raises this problem to the level of the high moral demands of a Communist society. He fights passionately for faith in the people who are furthering that cause and who alone have the right to judge what is useful to the cause and what is not. He exposes those who, while using the interests of the state as a cover, look after their own little affairs at the expense of the state. He demands justice, and how can one call his approach “scholastic” when he is trying to defend justice and further it? Only a story filled with the joy and the pain that come from real knowledge of life can excite and move us in this way.

It would be ridiculous for me to claim that all my judgments are unassailable. Like any other work of an, this story examines life in all its complexity and contradictions. And various interpretations and objections may arise. But they must at least deal with what is actually in the story.

DMITRI GRANIN

BEHIND THE TIMES

… Yes, all sorts of things happen in real life. I myself know of a school that was “moved out” of premises belonging to it. But in that case it was quite obvious that the motives for the decision really were unjust. It happened near Leningrad and it became known immediately—as it was bound to, for today that sort of thing gets out right away. Such actions invariably run into firm opposition on the part of the general public. All the forces of our democratic system at once come into play, and people start banging on every door in their efforts to see justice done. Can that atmosphere of passivity and helplessness described by Solzhenitsyn exist today in any community? I don’t think so. At least not in any of the educational communities with whose life I am acquainted. That is why it is difficult to sense in Solzhenitsyn’s story any feeling for the life of today. It seems rather to evoke echoes of life the day before yesterday … It is not inertia or passivity that is characteristic of Soviet man; nor are these features typical of our public life. Genuine justice, fought for and won by·the Parry and our whole people—and not “abstract” justice—runs through our life today and is triumphant!

A writer who takes it upon himself to deal with an important contemporary theme cannot fail to take all this into account.

R. N. SELIVERSTOV

THE EDITORS SPEAK

(Seliverstov’s article was accompanied by a statement from the editors of
Literaturnaya Gazeta
.)