The Russian Soul Is a Tool for a Sociologist’s Work
RussiaProfile.Org, an online publication providing in-depth analysis of business, politics, current affairs and culture in Russia, has published an unusual Special Report on the mysterious "Russian soul". Fifteen articles by both Russian and foreign contributors examine this concept, which has been used by Russia watchers for some 150 years, from a contemporary perspective. The following article is part of this collection.
The concept of the elusive Russian soul emerged in France and elsewhere in Europe in the late 19th century, after local readers discovered what became known as the Russian psychological novel.
The frightening stereotypes of the Russian as a marauding Cossack, a menacingly grinning bear threatening Europe from the East, or of the Russian Tsar as the head of a police state, were replaced, for European readers, by the image of a new kind of hero: an intellectual, who, softly spoken and sensitive, oscillates between extremes while remaining incapable of decisive action.
The 1920s and 1950s saw yet more revelations about the elusive Russian soul. Klaus Mehnert’s 1958 book “Soviet Man and His World” for one made Western Germans realize that the Russians were, in fact, very like them: that they were not sinister cannibals seeking to impose communism on the rest of the world, but normal human beings, who lived by love and hope.
The impact of that first encounter with the Russian soul, however, proved the strongest and the most enduring. Protagonists in the Russian 19th-century novel tended to have somewhat amorphous personalities. They were often portrayed as irresponsible and psychologically immature characters who talked and worried a lot, and had difficulty defining their identity. This reflected the transitory nature of the post-reform period in the country, the erosion of its strict societal hierarchy and the lack of clear ethical values.
Such portrayals presented a striking contrast to the type common at the time in Western European literature, that of the urban bourgeoisie or aristocracy who, like Thomas Mann’s Buddenbrook family, were molded by years of protestant asceticism and rigorous self-discipline and came to embrace business integrity, a life lived by the law and being mindful of their neighbors’ interests as an integral part of public life.
The extraordinary gentleness, emotionality, spirituality and warmth of Russian literary characters proved highly appealing to Europe’s artistic elites (the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke’s fascination with Russia is just one example). Yet few Westerners seemed to realize that those qualities could be a reflection of archaic societal relations in a country at that time wholly dependent on arbitrary monarchic rule. Indeed, civil society did not exist in Russia then; members of the public could not have any personal influence on political decision-making and were expected to demonstrate their absolute loyalty to the sovereign. Something similar was also true in Germany, as Heinrich Heine remarked sarcastically in his “Winter’s Tale:” “German Soul, how proud is the flight Thou takest in nightly vision!”
As in many other instances of cultural borrowing, that myth about the Russian soul also caught on at home. Here in Russia it became a major ingredient in the construct of our national identity which the country’s intellectual elite, suffering from all the inferiority complexes typical of delayed democracies, was eager to propagate.
The West’s recognition of these personality traits as distinctly Russian paved the way for the consolidation of Russia’s culture, which had started to take shape as a counterweight to the West following the 1812 Napoleonic campaign. It was not until the early 20th century, when its achievements gained universal recognition, that it could be described as fully formed.
Only then did alternative views of Russia’s national identity begin to appear, including some controversial ones, such as Nikolai Berdyaev’s suggestion that it was fundamentally feminine.
Various motifs have since been added to the original concept, but its core has remained intact. In most generalizations, the Russian is normally represented as gentle, sensitive, empathic and passive, in contrast to the rational, pragmatic and pro-active Western Europeans.
This image of Russia and Russians was shattered by reality in 1917, as the Bolsheviks seized power in the country on the back of a military coup, sweeping away the old order and ushering in their new society, to which pity, doubt and empathy were alien concepts. The new rulers promoted their vision of the “new man,” who was not merely deprived of culture, but who actively and ruthlessly sought to destroy all that remained of the old world. Whereas the advent of that new breed of man, devoid of any respect for his roots, had been predicted by Dmitry Merezhkovsky and other émigré philosophers as the “second coming” of Ham, one of Noah’s sons in the Old Testament, whom those building communism took as a prototype for their future society. The rich array of images of “real people” and Soviet patriots depicted in books and films of those years did not just erase all trace of these musings on the Russian soul, but re-interpreted them as concepts fundamentally alien to human nature.
Yet that original concept of “the Russian soul” did re-emerge from oblivion in the 1970s, during Leonid Brezhnev’s stagnation, as did Russian nationalism, a certain fascination with the exotic, and the desire to delve into the past in the hope of re-discovering the nation’s true identity, erased by years of communist indoctrination, all to compensate for the overwhelming sense of hopelessness and national inadequacy.
To social scientists, the concept of personality traits common to a particular nation is a subject for research, not polemics. Their ambition is not to discover whether it has any foundation in real life or how well it is defined, but what kind of function it plays in society, which societal groups consider it significant, and so on. It is, indeed, instrumental in interpreting a whole number of phenomena, a sort of mirror for those who seek to see their psychological image. Which is why all the qualities are defined here in positive terms. Thus, the Russians are represented as open-hearted, kindly and hospitable, peaceful and patient, non-pragmatic, generous, and happy to help others, and with a largesse of spirit that cannot be squeezed into the narrow framework of definitions based on logic.
One interesting feature of such constructs is that they tend to transform negative characteristics into virtues. For example, material poverty may be presented as an aspiration for spiritual growth through austerity, while a lack of friendliness toward people on the street may serve to emphasize the importance of genuine and profound human relations as opposed to superficial politesse.
In this case, only a sociological analysis can demonstrate that the straightforward nature of the Russian people actually stems from an underdeveloped structure of society and a repressive, rigidly hierarchical government, while their openness to the outside world belies a culture of dependency, a tendency to blindly copy foreign (Western) achievements and a lack of respect for homegrown talent.
According to the expert community, alcohol abuse and crime rate figures in Russia are presently far higher than in Western nations. Surveys show that some 75 percent of the country’s population define themselves as Orthodox Christians, yet fewer than 40 percent believe in God and a mere two to three percent are regular church-goers. Researchers say that today’s Russian society is highly disorganized and suffers from a high level of aggression.
The Russian soul as a construct is a flattering one, hence its longevity. This country is by no means the only one to cherish such adolescent illusions about its self-identity. Germany, Poland and Spain had similar illusions at some point in their history. But they have all matured quite rapidly to be able to face up to reality as adults. In Russia, alarmingly, that process of transition to adulthood has been ongoing for decades, and seems unlikely to reach completion any time soon.
Comment by Lev Gudkov, a prominent sociologist and the director of Yuri Levada’s Analytical Center
Special to Russia Profile
