The uprooted Russian comes crawling back as a child to Russia which, although not explicitly characterized as a mother, is nonetheless the Russian folk, the “narod” with its repeated, maternally suggestive root morpheme -rod-. In returning home the intelligent can experience union (“soedinenie”) with the “narod,” can actually be a Russian. The underlying fantasy that Dostoevsky caters to is masochistic submission to and merger with the pre-Oedipal mother.
It is right after this passage that the famous “Peasant Marei” episode is recorded. Marei is a member of the “narod,” a kind and gentle peasant that Dostoevsky vividly remembers from his childhood. Once, in late summer when he was nine years old, little Fedor was walking outdoors when, all of a sudden he heard a cry: “A wolf is coming!” Apparently this was just a hallucination, but the child was extremely frightened and ran for protection to a nearby peasant named Marei, who was plowing a field. Marei quite naturally comforted the boy, addressing him as “rodnyi” (“dear one”), caressing him, and urging him to cross himself. Dostoevsky remembers the peasant’s “almost feminine tenderness” and, more important, mentions his “motherly smile” (“materinskaia ulybka,” “materinski ulybaias’”) three times in the course of the narration.135 Two of Dostoevsky’s psychoanalytic critics have (independently) noted the similarity of the name Marei to the name of Dostoevsky’s mother, Mariia.136 Clearly, as psychoanalyst Louis Breger observes, Marei is a “loving mother.”
The memory of this encounter with a simple Russian peasant in an open field is very special for Dostoevsky. It is pressed into the service of a fantasy about an idealized Russian folk, a “narod” that is explicitly “maternal” even in the person of a male peasant, a peasant who willingly suffers deprivation (“he had no expectation, no notion of his own freedom”) and who himself repeatedly admonishes his little master to obey (“Christ be with you, cross yourself”; “Christ be with you, get moving now”).
Dostoevsky considers his maternal Marei to be the very highest example of moral perfection, the ideal representative of the collective “narod” before whom one must “bow down.” Psychoanalytically, Marei confirms the maternal essence of the object, the “narod,” before whom one must behave in masochistic fashion, and from whom one must acquire masochistic habits in order to become a true Russian matriot.137
The individual in traditional Russian culture is strongly inclined to submit to the collective. In effect: Doleo, ergo sumus. Such submission is yet another of the many forms of moral masochism which Russians may enact for themselves. Ordinarily, the deep structure of this posture is not available to consciousness. But, when we closely examine some specific imagery of the collective concocted by certain selected, highly creative individual Russians—Losev, Berdiaev, Blok, Dostoevsky—then the collective’s maternal face becomes visible.
TEN
Conclusion
At the beginning of this book I stated that, over the centuries, Russians have enacted for themselves a culture of moral masochism. By this I did not so much mean to characterize Russians as to offer a characteristic of many, perhaps most Russians. Perhaps masochism is even the essence of the Russian soul, but such a claim would really have to be the topic of another book. A psychological trait, not national character, has been my focus here.
There is much more that could be said about Russian masochism, of course. In some areas I have only scratched the surface. For example, I have said practically nothing about Russian apocalypticism, although this phenomenon bears remarkable resemblances to the discourse of impending doom which emanates from some masochistic patients on the couch.1 But the sheer quantity of evidence I have adduced should indicate that moral masochism has been and continues to be a force in Russia.
There are many other aspects of Russian culture that are worthy of psychoanalytic study. A whole book could be written about Russian xenophobia, for example (indeed, whole books could be written about the xenophobia of every existing ethnic group on our planet). The overall phenomenon of Russian nationalism, both in earlier periods and in the current period of post-Soviet disintegration, awaits detailed psychoanalytic study. Russian orality (from the famous vodka-fixation to the abundance of food-imagery in Russian literature) is another interesting psychological phenomenon that would bear investigation. A psychoanalysis of Russian Orthodox religiosity (apart from its masochism) would make a fascinating study. The psychodynamics of self-esteem in Russia have yet to be examined in any detail. And of course the psychoanalytic consequences of the enormous economic and sociopolitical changes that are going on in Russia right now deserve scrutiny.
There is so much more to the Russian soul than its masochistic aspect. Yet the masochism is there. It permeates that soul, that psyche, that culture—from the self-immolations of Old Believer communities to the self-sacrifices of the nineteenth-century intelligentsia; from the foolishness of holy fools to the antics of Ivan the fool; from the tolerance of spousal abuse to the acceptance of iron rule by the collective.
If I have tended to speak interchangeably of the culture of moral masochism on the one hand, and individual masochism on the other, if I have quoted Russian cultural practices as often as I have quoted individual Russians—it is because there is so much overlap between culture and the individual psyche (“dusha”). Every individual immersed in a culture carries that culture around in his or her own psyche. Psychoanalysis studies the individual, as I emphasized in the Introduction to this book. But the individual interiorizes a culture, so it is difficult to psychoanalyze an individual without also psychoanalyzing culture. Furthermore, culture cannot be enacted except by individuals. They may not be a sufficient condition, but they are a necessary condition for culture. Thus culture is as much in the individual psyche as the individual psyche is in culture.
Culture is not to be equated with the collective, however. In Russia the collective is a tyrant, and the individual typically gives in. Culture, on the other hand, is not a tyrant. Or rather, tyranny is only one of its many potential features. Among its other features is personal agency (“lichnost”’). A culture implies personal agents because it needs personal agents to bear and enact it.
In particular, a culture of moral masochism is borne and enacted by personal agents, because at the very heart of moral masochism is an agent acting—consciously or unconsciously—against his or her own personal interests. Even if the social environment is exceedingly rich in opportunities to suffer harm or humiliation, personal agents do not just disappear. Masochism does become more likely, but masochistic persons are there too. To assert that they are not would be to imply that the culture in question is perpetrated by something less than persons—some kind of automata, or “savages,” for example—and that position would be both inaccurate and racist.
Some years ago I came across a book titled Russians as People. The author, Wright Miller, had not written a bad book, actually. But his title did provoke me to think: What on earth might Russians be, if not people? The implications were unfortunate.
Masochists are people. It makes more logical and moral sense to recognize their masochism than to deny their personhood. Whether the masochism itself is “pathological,” or is a “disorder” that ought to be “cured”—is another question. My own inclination is to leave Russians be. I have no practical recommendations or prescriptions to make. Not all psychoanalysts are therapists, and besides, masochists are extraordinarily difficult to cure on the couch. A change in identity is required.