Mikhail Lermontov - A Hero of Our Time

A Hero of Our Time by Mikhail Lermontov

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This novel is so good we really need to start with the translator's note.

First published in 1840, 'A Hero of Our Time' was translated to English by Nabokov in 1958, framing the experience wonderfully for the modern reader. We have been directed here by the highest of references and are being led through by his very capable hand, as if a master chef not only recommended a fine restaurant, but went with you and helped order and explain all the courses. One is thus pleasantly reassured before even beginning (good also, because the book starts slowly and gets better as it goes, to its spectacular finish).

From Nabokov one can learn a great deal about an artist's point of view, simply because he is so fearless in his evaluation of writing and literature. His opinion is simply his own, unswayed by convention or fad. "Though of tremendous and at times somewhat morbid interest to the sociologist" he begins before discussing the social significance of the protagonist, or "this is a ridiculous opinion, voiced by... Chekhov, and can only be held if and when a moral quality or social virtue is confused with literary art" when discussing the book's literary merit.

Nabokov's critical barometer is also appropriately sensitive - sometimes scathing (perhaps tinged with the occasional professional jealousy) - which makes for a good read: for instance when he describes a reference in the footnotes as "a vulgar novelette, ending in ridiculous melodrama, by the overrated French writer, Balzac".

Vanity plays a humorous role, as Nabokov spends an inordinate amount of time essentially apologizing for Lermontov's prose, much of which he attributes to the literary conventions of the age (11 cases of eavesdropping) and the rest to the author's personal inadequacies. "His similes and metaphors are utterly commonplace; his hackneyed epithets are only redeemed by occasionally being incorrectly used" or "thus in the course of [the book:] the faces of various people turn purple, red, rosy, orange, yellow, green and blue." Its really quite funny how Nabokov so carefully dissociates himself from the writing, all whilst underscoring the vital, painstaking importance of creating a translation faithful to the original text.

On to the novel itself. Morbid sociological interest aside, this novel fills in a critical gap in my understanding of Russian literature. The main character, Pechorin - well educated, handsome, strong in spirit, etc. - suffers a sort of existential ennui: he is bored with life and thus plays rather recklessly with his own fate, often at the expense of those (usually women) around him. He is the "Byronic hero", inspired by both Lord Byron's "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" and Pushkin's "Eugene Onegin". (The tradition continues: Coetzee's "Disgrace", which I read recently, places this same Bryonic hero in contemporary South Africa, with morally complex, sometimes shocking, results...).

There exists strong resemblance in character and personality of Pechorin to Turgenev's Bazarov in "Fathers and Sons", the 'nihilist' considered to be the first Bolshevik. In 1850 Turgenev wrote "Diary of a Superfluous Man" (next on my list) with a character similar to Lermontov's Pechorin; the connection is very direct and clear.

As I (and many others, I assume) have discussed elsewhere, we can then draw a line from Turgenev's Bazarov to Chernyshevsky's Rakhmetov in "What is to be Done?" (Chernyshevsky's narrative style, in which he toys with the reader regarding his own moral purpose and perspective, is very similar to Lermontov's) and then of course from Rakhmetov as the fictional character idealized by Vladimir Lenin. This complete path from the Byron-inspired Russian "Superfluous man" to the Russian nihilist to the idealized Bolshevik character (I suppose we shouldn't restrict to Bolshevism, but you get the idea) is one of great interest to me, essentially tying culturally-embedded heroes or idealized personality-types to eventual idealized sociopolitical personality-types. The extent to which these were or were not misunderstood is very significant to the course of human history.

Alright, surely that qualifies for morbid sociological interest. Sorry Nabokov.

Back to the story itself. In the beginning, one wonders just what is so special about it, and can't help agreeing with many of Nabokov's not so subtle points regarding the quality of Lermontov's prose. But it just gets better and better as one goes. The two final stories, "Princess Mary" and "The Fatalist" are both extraordinary - dramatically gripping and filled with interesting musings and insights. I'll conclude with one of them, to give you a sense of Pechorin's character and hopefully inspire you to read "A Hero of Our Time".

"The moon, full and red, like the glow of a conflagration, began to appear from behind the uneven line of roofs; the stars shone calmly upon the dark-blue vault, and it amused me to recall that, once upon a time, there were sages who thought that the heavenly bodies took part in our trivial conflicts for some piece of land or some imaginary rights. And what happened? These lampads, lit, in the opinion of these sages, merely to illumine their battles and festivals, were burning as brightly as ever, while their passions and hopes had long been extinguished with them, like a small fire lit on the edge of the forest by a carefree wayfarer! But on the other hand, what strength of will they derived from the certitude that the entire sky with its countless inhabitants was looking upon them with mute but permanent sympathy! Whereas we, their miserable descendants, who roam the earth without convictions or pride, without rapture or fear (except for that instinctive dread that compresses our hearts at the thought of the inevitable end), we are no longer capable of great sacrifice, neither for the good of mankind, nor even for our own happiness, because we know its impossibility, and pass with indifference from doubt to doubt, just as our ancestors rushed from one delusion to another. But we, however, do not have either their hopes or even that indefinite, albeit real, rapture that the soul encounters in any struggle with men or with fate."

Rapture. Let this novel stir it within you.

What is To Be Done? In Literary and Historical Context

In the next few posts I intend to discuss the literary and historical context of Chernyshevsky's "What is to Be Done?" In order to do so I felt it handy to create the diagram below as a point of reference. I may - likely - will add to it, but first want to discuss each individual connection, starting with the relationship to Turgenev's Fathers and Sons. I find this relevant to the general understanding of the Russian Revolution, its relationship to some great works of Russian literature, as well as the various philosophical strains that evolved from the fundamental question it poses.

Without further ado, here's the chart (note I've avoided for a moment the progeny of Dostoyevsky because it gets too complicated too quickly. But I will discuss shortly - I'm sure you can't wait):

Russian Nihilism: Faith, Science, and the Bitter Atheist

Let us suppose that you believe in God, very deeply (if you do, this will obviously require less imagination then if you don't).

Let us suppose that you also believe in the Divine Right of Kings - that is - you believe (again, very deeply) that God has placed a single person to rule over your Land: an Emperor, holy and sacred. Your faith in this Emperor is no different than your faith in God; they are one and the same.

Whether you believe in God or not, this second item will likely require more imagination, as there aren't a whole lot of people left in the world who still believe in the Divine Right of Kings, and for good reason. It hasn't really worked out too well in the modern age.

Anyhow, there you are, happily feeling this way, when things take a turn for the worse: you and your family begin to suffer. There has always been suffering, so that's nothing new (not to make light of human suffering) but this time, when you attempt to figure out why this suffering has come to be, you and those around you cannot help but notice the Emperor and his policies seem to be causing all the trouble. Try as you may to lay blame elsewhere, the facts point back to that you have always held most sacred.

In other words, for the first time you find fault in your own unquestioned core beliefs.

In an instant, everything you ever believed in is a falsehood. For to call the Emperor into question is to call God into question - and ultimately to call belief itself into question. Suddenly one's entire world is unstable rather than sound. What is true? What is real? It is like a game of jenga (I know, bad analogy): pull one piece out and the whole thing topples.

Why? Because profound contradictions against an unquestioned world view create pressures so extreme that when core beliefs finally rupture, the result is not to crack but to shatter. Core belief is resilient; it holds on as long as it can, even in the face of absurdity, so when it finally goes, it goes in style. It bursts like a dam.

Van Gogh described himself as a "bitter atheist". I always loved this idea: a "bitter atheist" - someone who has been terribly disappointed, betrayed. Someone who once had a profound faith, and then lost it. A very, very different someone than the fellow who turned to atheism out of logic or reason or upbringing, without the accompanying companion of shattered faith (booooring!). Yes, a "bitter atheist" and an "atheist" are not the same thing at all. The former has more to paint about.

We live in a change state culture, that is, a culture where rapid and profound change is the norm, where each generation presents a disconcerting "gap" (not true of all cultures and societies), where each advent in technology presents new social challenges, and thus where, when things break, indeed they tend to shatter...

Leaving a lot of bitterness to go around, I suppose.

But I digress. Back to nihilism. Back to the poor soul who has just realized everything is a falsehood. Let's help this fellow out at once! Apparently he has a few questions...

Q: So, if I have recently learned that everything I believe in is not true, then how do I go about discovering what is true?

A: Well, you begin by clearing off the table:

• If everything I know is a lie, then nothing exists.

Q: Nothing? That's no fun. There must be something, right? Some truth? How do I find it?

A: Very, very carefully! Trusting nothing as given (throwing out every assumption you have ever known) you must observe the world around you and make note of everything you can see, touch, hear, smell, feel, etc., no matter how trivial. Later you will look at what you have observed and see if any patterns emerge. Then you will put these patterns to the test and discover if they reveal any truths. Thus:

• Nothing exists, except that which I can observe with my senses.

Q: A little less vague, please?

A: You will eventually refine this approach into a concrete method: you will create a hypothesis of what might potentially be true, then you will do your very best to prove it isn't, using your full powers of observation and reason. Thus:

• Nothing exists, except that which you can prove empirically to be.

Now that sounds familiar, doesn't it? Yes, that sounds like a scientist. And the method sounds like the scientific method. Because it is. From this idea - nothing exists except that which you can observe with the senses - modern science is born (or at least refined).


FATHERS AND SONS by Turgenev

Thank you, Russian nihilism. Now let us look at one of the greatest books ever written, Turgenev's Fathers and Sons, to illustrate this extraordinary paradigm shift in point of view.

In the white corner, we have Nikolai Petrovich. He is the father; he loves and admires nature, he believes deeply in the Tsar and God. Nature is divine and poetic to him.

In the red corner, we have Bazarov. He is a nihilist: nothing exists to him except that which he can observe with his senses. Therefore, he recognizes no authority. He does not believe in God or Tsar; he generally has disdain and contempt for any institution supporting what he cannot logically prove to exist.

In the middle we have Arkady, Nikolai Petrovich's son. Arkady looks up to Bazarov, but also admires his father, setting up a wonderful moral dilemma and tug of war. To illustrate, while Nikolai Petrovich cites verse (essentially divine, c'mon its Pushkin), Bazarov has little regard for his sentimental, romanticized view of nature...

"Yes, this is spring in all its glory," said Nikolai Petrovich. "Though I agree with Pushkin - do you remember those lines in Eugene Onegin?

To me how sad thy coming is,
O spring, O spring, sweet time of love!
What-"

"Arkady!" shoted Bazarov from the tarantass. "Send over a match will you, I've nothing to light my pipe with."

Meanwhile, Pavel Petrovich, Nikolai Petrovich's aristocratic brother, is far less tolerant of Bazarov than Nikolai Petrovich himself:

"What is Bazarov?" Arkady smiled. "Would you like me to tell you, uncle, what he is exactly?"
"Please do, nephew."
"He is a nihilist!"
"A what?" asked Nikolai Petrovich, while his brother lifted his knife in the air with a small piece of butter on the tip and remained motionless.
"He is a nihilist," repeated Arkady.
"A nihilist," said Nikolai Petrovich. "That comes from the latin nihil-nothing, I imagine; the term must signify a man who... who recognizes nothing?"
"Say-who respects nothing," put in Pavel Petrovich, and set to work with the butter again.
"Who looks at everything critically," observed Arkady.
"Isn't that exactly the same thing?" asked Pavel Petrovich.
"No, its not the same thing. A nihilist is a person who does not take any principle for granted, however much that principle may be revered."
"Well, and is that a good thing?" interrupted Pavel Petrovich.
"It depends on the individual, my dear uncle. It's good in some cases and very bad in others."
"Indeed. Well, I can see this is not our cup of tea. We of the older generation think that without principles (Pavel Petrovich pronounced the word as if it were French, whereas Arkady put the stress on the first syllable) - without principles taken as you say on trust one cannot move an inch or draw a single breath. Vous avez change tout cela, may God grant you health and a general's rank, but we shall be content to look on and admire Messieurs les... what was it?"
"Nihilists," said Arkady, speaking very distinctly.

Later on:

"What have you got there, leeches?" asked Pavel Petrovich.
"No, frogs."
"Do you eat them or breed them?"
"They're for experiments," Bazarov replied indifferently, and went into the house.
"So he's going to cut them up," observed Pavel Petrovich. "He has no faith in principles, only in frogs."

Pavel Petrovich has little regard for Bazarov:

"What a calamity it is to have spent five years in the country like this, far from mighty intellects! One becomes a complete fool. You struggle not to forget what you have learned - and then one fine day it turns out to be all rubbish, and they tell you that sensible men no longer have anything to do with such nonsense, and that you, if you please, are an antiquated old fogey. What is to be done? Obviously the younger generation are more intelligent than we are."

And Bazarov has little regard for Pavel Petrovich:

"Do you think I'm going to pander to these provincial aristocrats! Why, its all personal vanity with them, the habit of being top dog and showing off... But enough of him! I've found a rare specimen of water-beetle, Dytiscus marginatus - do you know it? I'll show you."

Note that Fathers and Sons was first published in 1861, while Darwin's On the Origin of Species was first published in 1859, roughly the same time and intellectual milieu. Thus the natural extension of "nothing exists except what can be observed by the senses" is essentially equal to "look at this very interesting idea I have just observed with the senses!"

Perhaps this explains the often visceral juxtaposition between faith and science. A shame, really, because when you compare Nikolai Petrovich's divine love for nature with Bazarov's emprical/revolutionary love for nature, the bottom line is they both love nature! Whether one recites Pushkin or the other mumbles in Latin makes very little difference, one could argue.

A false dichotomy. But a dichotomy nevertheless, and one worth examining in more detail.

Considering that we are living in the "period after the fallen Emperor in which the principles of nihilism have supplanted principles of the divine, to varying and unsettling degrees", it seems to me we should spend some time looking at the Russian revolution, at Chernyshevsky's "What is to be Done?" and some other items, from a new, modern angle (not a Marxist one), in order to see if we can make some sense out of what is happening today. I'll do that in my next few posts.

Of course, there may be no relevance to this at all... And most people find looking back at history so incredibly dull, anyhow. For them I leave this description of Nikolai Petrovich's servant:

Everything about him, from the single turquoise ear-ring to the dyed pomaded hair and his mincing gait, proclaimed him to be a man of the advanced modern generation.

1850s, baby. Now that's punk rock.