Revisiting Lukács’ theory of realism

While a particular strand of theories of realism in the 20th century has been focusing on the effect of reality as an artistic and ideological construct (Roman Jakobson, Roland Barthes), there has been a powerful counter-current that explores realism from the perspective of thinking about literature as a specific form of outlook, heeding its social situatedness and political mobilizations (Raymond Williams), sometimes attempting a synthesis between sophisticated post-Marxist approaches and lingering political engagement (Jameson, 2013). Often these re-writings of the theoretical frameworks that enable a historically-referenced and context-sensitive understanding of realism entail, implicitly or explicitly, the need to confront the foundational body of work on realism that Georg Lukács produced in the 1930s. The aim of this section is to revise the received opinion of Lukács’ theory of realism as a mere weapon in the political struggles of the 1930s. I will suggest that there was a deeper philosophical background to Lukács’ doctrine and that the concept of realism was shaped in the process of responding not only to Hegel’s concept of totality but also to the attempts of Lebensphilosophie (still a powerful presence in the works of the early Lukács, especially in Soul and Form) to reconcile form and life. In arguing the case for the inseparability of Lukács’ theory of realism from earlier philosophical debates, I will also analyze the status of his concepts of method and genre and will demonstrate the inherent instability of his claims that specific artistic forms can enjoy a privileged position in attaining a truthful representation of reality.

The process of polemicizing with Lukács’ theory of realism gathered pace in the mid- and late 1980s in a body of sharp, solid and informed criticism from scholars looking at what can be said to be, in Lukács’ own view, an exemplary case of realism: the novels of Balzac and Stendhal. ¹ This work drew on a variety of approaches. The first originates in Jakobson’s Formalist revision of realism (Jakobson, 1987) as no more than a system of artistic (linguistic) conventions designed to replace an earlier system of conventions that is no longer capable of providing the reader with fresh images of reality. At the heart of this theory one can distinguish the principle of ostranenie which recasts literary history into a never-ending string of fading realisms. A second major critical impulse came from Barthes’ astute analysis of the semiotic mechanisms underlying the production he terms reality effect (Barthes, 1968) Barthes takes up the Jakobsonian tradition of close attention to linguistic aspects of this mode of writing but goes further than Jakobson by considering its ideological implications.

While Barthes’s insights, in conjunction with careful employment of Wittgenstein’s criticism of the ostensive definition and Austin’s and Searle’s speech-act theory, dominated the critiques of realism in the 1980s, more recent discussion has already taken a slightly different turn. Crucial to this shift is the awareness that what can be described as a specific language game (a specific social use of language) is at the same time inextricably linked to what Wittgenstein calls specific forms of life shared by a given community (Wittgenstein, 1958: 226). In literary studies this opens up the perspective of interpreting and evaluating realism in more relativistic and flexible terms as a culturally and historically relevant phenomenon bound – as much as any other – to certain epistemological and ideological strategies. But it also promotes a view of realism which, in line with proposals coming from Habermas and Rorty, makes it a part of the controversies over the modes of exchange and consensus in society and this helps us reconceive it ‘not as a form or period that we rightly […] put behind us, but as a continuing social project’ (Robbins, 1993: 225).

Of all these approaches, mine is closest to the historicist orientation which places the doctrine of realism in the past and thinks of it as part of the past – not so much because it is flawed, but because it is the result of a unique constellation of concrete social and ideological factors. Following this approach, I shall try as far as possible to avoid evaluative statements and shall seek instead to analyze Lukács’ doctrine of realism historically, as a product of his desire to bring together the theory of the novel and social theory on the basis of philosophy-of-life and Hegelian-Marxist views.

My path to Lukács’ discourse on realism goes via a largely neglected essay, ‘On the Question of Satire’, which he wrote in 1932. Lukács argues in this essay that every piece of genuine literature is realistic in that it reflects the dialectic of appearance and essence: behind the surface of the immediate appearances of reality and its immediate reflection in human consciousness, the work of literature foregrounds the essence of phenomena. This tenet recurs in all this later work on realism as its most unquestionable and vital hallmark. A problem arises, however, when Lukács chooses to go a step further and raises the question of the specificity of satire. If the representation of the dialectic of essence and appearance is the feature of all (realistic) literature, what, then, is the distinctive feature of satire? Small wonder that in his consistently novel-centered theory, Lukács relies once again on the novel to perform the service of a foil. In the novel, he asserts, the dialectic does not even become explicit or visible but is instead made perceptible only by means of the system of mediations itself (Lukács, 1971: 91). Satire, on the other hand, deliberately excludes these mediations. It is said to accomplish an unmediated ‘sensuous embodiment’ of the contrast between essence and appearance (Lukács, 1971: 91) which volunteers to ignore all aspects of social genesis in favor of a more direct and undisguised attitude.

The thrust of Lukács’ essay is the vindication of satire against the strong traditional opinion of it as a marginal episode in literary history. Hegel, who admittedly furnishes the whole conceptual framework of Lukács’ scrutiny (the opposition between mediated and unmediated representation of the contradiction of essence and appearance), is nonetheless charged with not being perceptive enough to recognize the vitality and continuing importance of satire throughout the history of mankind. At first sight, Lukács appears to vehemently revising Hegel’s argument of the satire as a genre. Leaning on Schiller, Lukács introduces the concept of ‘creative method’ which, like Schiller’s Empfindungweise, soars above genre to incorporate works of different kinds. Satire, Lukács generalizes, ‘is not a literary genre but a creative method’ which extends from short verse forms to ‘the big novel and comedy’ (Lukács, 1971: 107).

If we recall Lukács’ distinction between satire and the novel, we can see the contradictory nature of his propositions. When elevating satire to the status of method, Lukács calmly subsumes the novel under it as just one more example and possible field of application; but when he outlines the essence of satire, he contrasts it to the novel and creates the unmistakable impression that both satire and the novel are regarded as being on equal footing as literary genres. Thus, Lukács goes back to the Hegelian interpretation of satire that he was so anxious to supersede. Considerations of method are reduced here to a discussion of genre, and we need to ask what the reasons for this substitution might be. The first major reason may be seen in the instability of Lukács’ concept of method. Throughout his works he tends to endow this concept almost exclusively with characteristics pertaining to the worldview (Weltanschauung) of the author, from which he then derives the features that relate to form and technique. This approach is problematic in so far as it says a great deal about method in general, but almost nothing about artistic method as such.

Lukács’ category of artistic method seems more plausible and seamlessly attachable to his discussions of particular schools and movements. In his essay ‘The “Greatness of the Decline” of Expressionism’ (1933–34) ² there is a special section entitled ‘The Creative Method of Expressionism’, and elsewhere in his work (‘Narrate or Describe?’ [1936] and ‘On Zola’s One-Hundredth Birthday’ [1940], to quote just two of the numerous examples) he is concerned to adumbrate the specificity of naturalism. ³ These cases of expressionism and naturalism, both constructed by Lukács as inwardly unified entities, make for a partial concealment of the difficulty of explaining changes in style and form merely by resorting to sweeping historical shifts in mentality. When this trajectory is abandoned and attention turns to phenomena outside the convenient frame of a particular period, school or movement, as is the case with satire, Lukács’ discourse on method begins to appear inadequate and has to be restructured as a discourse on genre which allows for a more efficient equilibrium between aspects of worldview and artistic creativity.

This substitution, however, can also takes place for different reasons. Lukács’ understanding of method as the expression of world views or ideas, and this as a category superior to genre, carries the tacit assumption that it ought to be possible for each method to be transparently mirrored and adequately represented in a particular genre which realizes the full potential of this method. This is why, whenever Lukács’ own theorizing fails to demonstrate the exemplary realization of a method in a well-defined genre, this method loses its power as a system of representation and dissolves into a mere sum of possible generic realizations with neither center nor cohesion. The definition of satire as a method remains questionable precisely because it cannot be identified with a given period or school, nor with any particular genre. Deprived of those two props, Lukács’ Marxist historicism is forced to see method not solely as the product of historical development, but also as a universal mode of artistic perception.

It is, of course, very unlikely that any given method will have a single distinct genre allocated to it to serve as the perfect embodiment of its supposed essence. In the 1930s, naturalism and realism have to struggle in Lukács’ theory over the same genre: the novel is the battleground on which each of them strives to prove its right to represent reality. The goal of most of Lukács’ writing on the 1930s is to eliminate all possible tension between the novel and Realism, and to present them as inseparable and inherently connected, i.e. as an exemplification of the ideal epistemological condition of identity between method and genre.

Realism is bifurcated in Lukács’ writing between a perennial trend in literature (he frequently points to Homer, Dante and Shakespeare as true masters of realism), and a specific, historically determined mode of literary production. The latter view is by far the dominant one. It conceives of realism as the method of literary creation based on reflection of reality in its totality, typicality ⁴ and contradictoriness and occurring in high (industrial) capitalism. The elements of this formula were widely discussed throughout the 1960s and 1970s, and this dispenses me from rehearsing well-known arguments. Nevertheless, some comments are in order. Above all, there is a striking and crucial gap between Lukács’ concept of reflection, on the one hand, and the earlier Marxist notion of refraction as set forth in the writings of Voloshinov and Medvedev, on the other. Transferred into Lukács literary theory from Lenin’s Materialism and Empiriocriticsm, this concept suggests that literature can abide in direct contact with the world it represents.

In contrast to the Bakhtin Circle’s notion of refraction that assigns literature a place among other ideologies, Lukács’ concept of reflection ignores the fact that literature is not the sole medium for conceptualizing reality, and he thereby secures for literature a primacy over potential rivals. Although Voloshinov’s notion of refraction conveys the same Romantic and Neo-Kantian (albeit couched in Marxist terms) enthusiasm about the uniqueness of literature as the principle refractor, it does so by stressing the fact that its representation always takes place in an active environment of other representations which can never be switched off and neutralized. ⁵ Lukács, on the contrary, even when he recognizes proximity and interaction (as in the case of literature and philosophy), still prefers to speak not so much of the impact of philosophy on literature but rather of the eventual superiority of the latter above the former. In discussing the work of Gottfried Keller he points out Feuerbach’s influence only to conclude that Keller ‘as a realist goes further and higher than his master’ (Lukács, 1964: 360). Heine’s poetry is interpreted as an attempt to overcome Hegel to whom, Lukács gladly admits, Heine owes so much (Lukács, 1964: 298–301).

Lest these examples appear perfunctory and isolated, I shall briefly analyze Lukács’ notorious formula of the ‘victory of realism’, which he applies in order to evaluate most of the work of Balzac, Stendhal, Keller, Tolstoy and many others. Borrowed from Engels, this formula ultimately implies the idea of literature superseding philosophy and other ideologies. Despite his (false) worldview, which is determined by his class position, the bourgeois writer is capable of rendering a true image of the world, if he chooses to rely on the method of realism. Literature celebrates a victory over all received ideas which attend the life and the activity of the writer. The method of realism ‘corrects’ the flows of all inherited or acquired views and ensures that they remain silenced in the work of art. Thus one ideology (literature) is promoted over other ideologies and is presented as a purifying retort in which undesirable components will disappear. Realist literature is celebrated as an active social force which produces the right picture in struggle with inherited or class-bound ideas.

We thus arrive at the main paradox of realism. On the one hand, it is but a reflection; on the other hand, it claims the power of production. It views other forms or ideological creation and other literary methods as inferior, but it nonetheless has to contest and fight them. Needless to say, the productive aspects of realism and its holistic approach rest on ideas originating in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit (Das Wahre ist das Ganze), ⁶ but also in a materialist interpretation of Lebensphilosophie (whose importance for the early Lukács we have already acknowledged at the beginning of this chapter). Life, Lukács’ doctrine of realism suggests, is always stronger than any idea that seeks to capture its essence. More importantly, life can rectify the ‘errors’ in the writer’s outlook. In this celebration of reality over ideas, we can hear the echo of a philosophy-of-life type of mistrust of any restrictive form of representation. If we recall the young Lukács’ hope that the forms of experiencing can coincide with the forms of aesthetic communication, we can understand his passion for realism as the passion for a form which cancels itself to give way to the vigor and richness of life. Realism provides the ideal situation in which the writer does not imitate reality (‘Narrate or Describe?’), but also does not depart from it. The realistic work of literature remains loyal to the versatility of life without abdicating its essence as work of art. Realism is about the reconciliation of culture and life through artistic forms which do not claim any significance of their won, but seem instead to surrender voluntarily their specificity as forms in the transparency of reflection. We thus see that, historically, Lukács’ doctrine of realism presents an attempt to solve the philosophy-of-life dilemma of life and form and the (neo)-Kantian contradiction of essence and appearance.

All this needs to be taken into account before we look at realism in the customary way as a political weapon of the Left in the 1930s. Lukács’ doctrine of realism, as we have already seen, has its roots in much earlier times and philosophical trends, and our interpretation has been trying to do justice to this fact. This, of course, has implications for how we see subsequent attempts to theorize realism: one always needs to bear in mind that such attempts are expressive of larger uncertainties as to what constitutes reality and the (aesthetic) conditions of its cognition and appropriation. In 1966, to give just one example, Peter Handke, in what is an open polemic with Sartre, flatly rejects the notion of ‘realistic’ and therefore also ‘engaged’ literature, calling all literature ‘romantic’, meaning by this that form always ‘estranges’ and ‘trumps’ (überspielt) the artist’s commitment to represent reality and directly engage with it (Handke, 1966: 45–50).