Hearings regarding the communist infiltration of the motion picture industry. Hearings before the Committee on Un-American Activities, House of Representatives, Eightieth Congress, first session. Public law 601 (section 121, subsection Q (1947)

156 COMMUNISM IN MOTION PICTURE INDUSTRY Kenneth FenrinK. of Lilliain Smith, as it is of Van Tillbnrg Clark, of Howard Fast, of Ariiohl Manoff, of Michael r.lankfort. Books must he \A'eijihe(l like new coins — in terms of what they are. No other standai'd is valid. Writing' is a complex process, and the sources of creative inspiration, out of which an arti.st works, are exceed injily complex. Thei-e are many, many reasons why writers grow and .sometimes i-etrogress. The political convictions of a writer, or his lack of political convictions, may have something to do with his growth or creative decline, and certainly will if he writes highly ])<)liticalized novels (Koestler). But they don't always have to do with it (Marquand — Steinbeck), and any assumption that as a writer's polities do, so inevitably does his art go — forward or backward — is tlie assumption of naivete. I have discussed a number of the general evils which seem to me to flow from the vulgarization and one-sided application of the doctrine, "Art is a weapon." I'd like now to examine its specific elTect upon creative writing. A creative writer, accepting the esthetic standards I have described, alnn»st inevitably begins to narrow his approach to rhe rich o[)portunities of his art. He works intellectually in an atmosphere in which the critics, the audience, the friends he respects, while revering art, actually judge works <m the basis of their immediate political utility. It is, moreover, an urgent social atmosphere, one of constant political crises. Almost inevitably, the earnest writer, concerned about his fellow man, aware of the social crisis, begins to tbiidj of his work as oidy another form of leaflet writing. Perhaps he comes to no such conscious conclusions. But he does so in effect, and he begins to use his talent f<n an innnediate political end. If the end is good, it would be absurd to say that this may not be socially useful. It would also be hiiihly inaccurate to maintain that from an approach like this no art can result. On the other hand, I believe that the failure of much left-wing talent to mature is a comment on how restricting this canon is for the creator in practice. The reason for this does not come primarily from the fact that works written for the moment are of interest only for the moment. Sometimes, as I iK)inted out earlier, they prove to have enduring interest also. It goes deei)er — into the way a writer views bis task, into the way he views people and events. The opportunity of the artist is conditioned by the nature of art itself. We read textbooks for facts, theories, information. Bur we read novels, or go to the theater, for a different purpose. The artist, by the nature of his craft, is able to show us people in motion. This is why we revere good writers. They let us observe the individual richly — a complex creature of manifold dreams, desires, disappointments— in his relation to other individuals and to his society. The artist is most successful who most profoundly and accurately reveals his characters, with all their motivations clearly delineated. But the writer who works to serve an innnediate political pnrpo.se — whose desii'e it is to win friends for some political action or point of view — has set himself the task not primarily of revealing men and society as they are — the social novelist — but rather of winning a point — the political novelist. I am not saying that an artist should be without a point of view — does not inevitably guide his selection of materials, characters, etc. — or that any book, profoundly written, will be without political implications— the Brothers Karamazov. But there is a difference between possessing a philosophic point of view, which permeates one's work — the social novelist — and having a tactical ax to grind which usually requires the artificial manipulation of character and usually results in shallow writing — the political novelist or political propagandist working in the novel. One can gain a useful lesson by examining ".Vnd (}nit't Flows the Don." The central figure. Gregor. is a man who ends ui» as the political enemy of the Soviet revolution. I have always remembered a brilliant scene in the book: Gregor, who had fought with the Reds in the Civil War and then gone over to the Whites, returns to his village. He wants no more of fighting or politics. He asks only to live quietly as a farmer. But he is not allowed to remain at peace. Retribution, in the form of a Connnunist, catches up with him. The Communist comes to his house, listens to Gregor's earnest plea to be left alone and replies, with passion, "No, we will not leave y<m alone: we will hound you." One cannot read this scene without sympathizing with Gregor and yearning for the Connnunist to be more tolerant. Yet — one understands both men. Their characters, history and motivations have been clearly presented. The positi(m each takes is inevitable. The sympathetic insight into Gregor, the humanity of his ijresentation, does not, however, corrupt the historical point of view in the look. Rather, it deepens it.