Table Of ContentMykola Khvylovy
The Cultural Renaissance
in Ukraine
Polemical Pamphlets, 1925-1926
Translated, Edited and Introduced by
Myroslav Shkandrij
Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies
University of Alberta
Edmonton 1986
THE CANADIAN LIBRARY IN UKRAINIAN STUDIES
A series of original works and reprints relating to Ukraine issued under the
editorial supervision of the Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies, University of
Alberta, Edmonton.
Editorial Board:
Bohdan Bociurkiw, Carleton University (Social Sciences)
Manoly R. Lupul, University of Alberta (Ukrainians in Canada)
Bohdan Rubchak, University of Illinois at Chicago Circle (Humanities)
Copyright ® 1986 Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies
University of Alberta
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
English translation copyright ® 1985 Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies
University of Alberta
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data
Khvyl’ovyi, Mykola, 1893-1933.
The cultural renaissance in Ukraine
(The Canadian library in Ukrainian studies)
Includes index.
ISBN 0-920862-42-X (bound).
1. Ukrainian literature—20th century—History and criticism—Addresses, essays,
lectures. I. Shkandrij, Myroslav, 1950- II. Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies.
III. Title. IV. Series.
PG3916.2.K49 1986 891.7’909’003 C86-091 158-6
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or
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recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
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Contents
Foreword ix
Preface xiii
Introduction 1
Glossary of Acronyms, Terms and Abbreviations 31
Mykola Khvylovy Polemical Pamphlets 37
Quo Vadis? 39
Thoughts Against The Current 95
Addendum The “Authormobile” of the Present Day 141
Apologists of Scribbling 169
Ukraine or Little Russia? 225
Notes 233
Index 257
Foreword
Must we take it for granted that literature and politics do not mix? While
it is true that on the whole literature thrives in the absence of political
constraints which always tend to crush, it is not necessarily true that
politically engage writers are bad writers. Brecht, Maiakovsky, Celine and
Orwell disprove that. Sometimes, politics may, indeed, fuel the creative
energy. While politics is rarely at the core of artistic experience, it may be
an inspiration or trigger. It is so especially in the case of a literature whose
development has long been impeded by political factors. The history of
European literature, Ireland and Ukraine, as well as some other countries,
provide examples of this phenomenon. Throughout the nineteenth century
both countries were politically and culturally oppressed. Their languages
and literatures became the first line of defence against national
annihilation. In Ireland, indeed, the battle for the Irish literary language
was lost, but a distinct Irish literature in English emerged which helped to
sustain the Irish identity. In Ukraine, where the Ukrainian literary lan-
guage was proscribed by the tsarist decrees of 1863 and 1876, the fight for
complete linguistic and cultural freedom was not won until 1917. After the
fall of the Ukrainian People’s Republic in 1919, the country came under
Soviet rule, but its cultural and linguistic freedom lingered during the
1920s. During the decade various artistic and literary trends emerged,
some clearly apolitical, while others claimed to speak in the name of
socialism and communism. During the literary debates, which culminated
in the so-called “Literary Discussion” (1925-8) the nature of Ukrainian
literature was thoroughly exposed. Here and there were young writers of
promise eager to gain readers, but also eager to assert some kind of
cultural orientation. Literary groups and organizations, promising guidance
in these matters, proliferated. Ideology and politics once more invaded
literature, not, as had happened earlier, in defence of linguistic rights, but,
X Cultural Renaissance in Ukraine
basking in the shimmering, though illusory, light of the Ukrainian Soviet
Socialist Republic, in postulating a programme for a new national
literature. No one would have listened, in those days to any advice in
favour of cultural laissez-faire. There was enough fervour left from the
revolution itself to demand for the new Soviet Ukrainian state at least
some clear cultural and literary guidelines. After all, under socialism, was
not everything to be planned for the better?
No one was more dedicated to the future of the young Ukrainian
literature than the communist Mykola Khvylovy. To him, this future
meant blending with the Utopian image of the “commune beyond the
hills.” There are, therefore, not only communist-nationalist elements in
Khvylovy’s outlook, but also the Utopian-universalist. The latter tendency
places him well within the tradition of the Ukrainian intelligentsia, a
tradition beginning in 1846, with the foundation in Kiev of the
Brotherhood of Sts. Cyril and Methodius. The Brotherhood’s Utopian
Christian ideals as well as their Slavic federalist strivings were transformed
by Khvylovy into communist internationalism and the primacy of Ukraine
among the formerly oppressed peoples.
The nationalist message of Khvylovy’s pamphlets is clear. What no
Ukrainian intellectual before him could express with such clarity, he
managed to do with a single motto: Away from Moscow. Stalin could
never forgive him for this and Stalin’s successors saw to it that Khvylovy’s
name was expunged from the annals of Ukrainian literature. In itself,
chauvinist as this call may appear, it summed up the desire of Ukrainians
to be masters of their own country (Shevchenko’s insistence that “truth be
in one’s own home”), which is not unreasonable. And although this
independence was to apply primarily to culture, to a Marxist this also
entailed the substructure, the economic and political order. Both Khvylovy
and Stalin realized the audacity of this idea. Moreover, Khvylovy’s
nationalism went hand in hand with a pro-Western orientation and his
messianic belief in Ukraine’s mission in a future Asiatic Renaissance. To a
Muscovite cast of mind this bordered on sheer insanity, to a Ukrainian
intellectual it opened the doors to the outside world after centuries of
forced isolation. It is in this extraordinary mixture of Marxism,
nationalism, universalism and pro-Europeanism that the fascination of
Khvylovy’s writings lies. Borrowing from Marx, Spengler and Plekhanov
he articulated his beliefs boldly and iconoclastically with an unheard of,
truly romantic, linguistic virtuosity. Within the stale and placid backwater
that was Ukraine this tornado appeared.
Khvylovy demanded that in literature artistic quality alone, not
ideology, should be the yardstick of merit. This is reminiscent of the
Russian critic Voronsky, who, like Khvylovy, tried to combine this belief
with Marxism. Unlike, Voronsky, Khvylovy was the author of many
Foreword xi
excellent, completely apolitical, lyrical short stories and at least one
unfinished novel. Some Ukrainian critics maintain, indeed, that the
apolitical writer was greater than the author of the pamphlets. Yet in
Ukrainian intellectual history the pamphlets have left, despite the ban on
them in Ukraine, an indelible mark. Their impatience with native
Philistinism and red prosvita alone has earned them a permanent place of
honour. So has their thrust toward intellectual independence from dogma.
There is a touch of deep tragedy about Khvylovy’s pamphlets, and not
only because he deliberately took his own life in 1933 in protest against
communist policies in Ukraine. Khvylovy’s fiery words were delivered from
what he considered to be a position of strength. He spoke as a Ukrainian
communist, in a Ukrainian communist state. However, this position of
strength was illusory. Ukrainian communists in the 1920s thought they had
achieved power, but in fact they had none. Then, as now, ultimate power
rested in the hands of Moscow, where all the final decisions were made.
The slightest challenge to the central authority of the party was rejected;
open rebellion, like Khvylovy’s, was crushed. One can, of course,
commiserate with him, or be scornful of the naivete with which people like
Khvylovy behaved. Or one can, in Khvylovy’s own words, marvel at “the
madness of the brave.”
George S. N. Luckyj
University of Toronto, 1985
Preface
This publication would not have been possible without the financial sup-
port of the Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies and the generous
assistance of many individuals. In particular I would like to acknowledge
my debt to James Mace and Myroslav Yurkevich for their suggestions,
their comments on the translation and help with footnotes. A special debt
of gratitude is due to Hryhorii Kostiuk for his invaluable aid in decoding
many cryptic references in the text, and to George Luckyj, Manoly Lupul,
Bohdan Krawchenko and Natalka Chomiak for their encouragement and
advice.
Myroslav Shkandrij
University of Ottawa, 1985
Introduction
Mykola Khvylovy and the Literary
Discussion
Myroslav Shkandrij
“It is only by such external functions as the millions have in common, their
uniform and simultaneous movements, that the many can be united in a
higher unity: marching, keeping in step, shouting ‘hurrah1 in unison, festal
singing in chorus, united attacks on the enemy, these are the manifestations
of life which are to give birth to the new and superior type of humanity.
Everything that divides the many from each other, that fosters the illusion of
the individual importance of man, especially the ‘soul,1 hinders this higher
evolution, and must consequently be destroyed.*1
Rene Fiilop- Miller
“Cannons are not enough: you will never institute Socialism without music.”
Pavlo Tychyna
♦ ♦ ♦
The life of Mykola Khvylovy (1893-1933) coincides with the dramatic
growth of the national movement in Ukraine: its sudden appearance on the
political stage following the collapse of the Russian Empire in 1917, its
meteoric rise to power and defeat. It is only natural, therefore, that his
writings should reflect the passionate concern with political and cultural
questions, the impetuous hopes for national sovereignty, the agonizing
self-analysis and the despair that characterized literature of the period.
2 Cultural Renaissance in Ukraine
In the years leading up to the Revolution of 1917 two issues dominated
the thinking of Ukrainian intellectuals. One was the loss of sovereignty and
collapse of national identity over the previous century. During the period of
national autonomy in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Ukraine
arguably had a higher level of literacy, a better educational system and a
stronger sense of national purpose than under Russian rule in the
nineteenth. The repressive edicts of tsarism had proscribed publishing,
performing, translating and even printing the words to songs in the
Ukrainian language. Understandably, the Ukrainian intelligentsia was
obsessively concerned with questions of education, literacy, language and
history—with the entire question of national consciousness. The second
issue to occupy their attention was the distorted social structure of
Ukraine. The people were predominantly peasant. The urban environment
was thoroughly Russified and the small indigenous intelligentsia—the
carrier of Ukrainian cultural values—had to struggle to assert itself. As for
the old Ukrainian gentry, it had over the years denationalized and thrown
in its lot with the Poles or the Russians.
Still the depth and power of the national movement seems to have taken
most observers by surprise, when between 1917 and 1920 thousands of
nationally-conscious Ukrainians threw themselves into the struggle to
maintain an independent state. Furthermore, during this period the
potential development of Ukrainian civilization was glimpsed by many
more individuals as they witnessed the establishment of centres for the
performing and visual arts, academies, institutes, publishing houses, the
creation of newspapers, journals and literary groups.
The short-lived national revolution, however, suffered a crushing defeat
and the Bolsheviks were able to consolidate their hold on the country in
1920. In the course of these events, the Ukrainian political forces became
polarized and a small Ukrainian left emerged (which included Khvylovy).
It supported the concept of an autonomous but Soviet Ukraine. Although
the Bolsheviks were able to win over some of the best cadres of the
radicalizing Ukrainian Socialist parties, they, nevertheless, took power in
Ukraine with the opprobrium of an alien, invasionary force, and for years
the country remained a hotbed of discontent and revolt.
The Communist Party (Bolshevik) of Ukraine (CP(B)U) was itself split
into two groups: the Russian cadre with a base in the Russified working
class and the Ukrainian cadre that had come over to the side of the
Bolsheviks during the Revolution and Civil War. This Ukrainian element,
the “organic” Ukrainian intellectuals and activists, who wielded authority
among the Ukrainian masses and who considered themselves the legitimate
representatives of the Ukrainian population, began a struggle to continue
the process of self-determination set in motion during the Revolution and
the years of independence. Their leadership— Mykola Skrypnyk,
Introduction 3
Oleksander Shumsky, My kola Khvylovy and others—supported
far-reaching concessions to national aspirations.
Among the demands of this group, which is generally referred to as the
“national Communist current,” were: the control of certain government
bodies (economic, political, educational, etc.), the Ukrainization of the
party, government, press and civil life in general, the promotion of
Ukrainians to positions of leadership and the creation of a modern
Ukrainian culture.
To exacerbate the already formidable problems facing the Bolsheviks in
Ukraine, their policy during early years was an almost unmitigated
disaster. On the economic front they were reduced to requisitioning grain
from the villages; on the political front, the Russian administrators and
military, desensitized by years of Civil War, took every opportunity to
punish a defeated peasantry and an outlawed national movement; and on
the cultural front, the theory of “the struggle between two cultures” was
proclaimed, a move that in effect sanctioned an unabated wave of Russian
chauvinism.
Only in April 1923, when the Bolsheviks realized that if they wanted
peace in Ukraine they would have to make concessions to national
aspirations, was a policy of Ukrainization finally announced. It took yet
another two years of internal wrangling and the slow retreat of the
Russian cadre from its anti-Ukrainian positions before the path was
cleared for any real progress on this question.
To an outsider, the situation in Ukraine in May 1925 may have looked
auspicious foj the development of Ukrainian culture. In that month, Lazar
Kaganovich, the new First Secretary of the CP(B)U, initiated a committed
and energetic policy of Ukrainization: time limits were set for the complete
transition to the Ukrainian language of the civil service; the percentage of
Ukrainians within the party began to rise; 1 and a re-emigration of
intellectuals, formerly associated with the defeated governments of the
Central Rada and Directory, commenced. However, although the
Ukrainization policy scored successes in such areas as the spread of
literacy, the establishment of an educational system, and the creation of a
network of publications,2 it was far less successful in dominating the key
sectors of the new Ukrainian Republic’s life. From 1925 to 1927, the
Soviet Ukrainian press constantly lamented the slow pace of Ukrainization
in the government bureaucracy, the party, the trade union apparatus and
heavy industry.3
Beneath the surface the much heralded and apparently healthy cultural
revolution was floundering. Even in the sphere of press and
publications—an obvious litmus test of the policy’s success—the Russian
language continued to dominate in the mid-twenties. By the end of 1925,
Visty VUTsVK (News of the All-Ukrainian Central Executive
