COATS OF ARMS FOR THE CITIES OF YAROSLAVL, PERM, NOVGOROD
Coastal Brown Bears, Mother and Child
"MORNING IN A PINE FOREST," BY IVAN SHISHKIN (detail)
BEAR COAT OF ARMS FOR CITY OF YAROSLAVL, ON BASE OF STATUE OF THE FOUNDER OF THE CITY (1010 A.D.), YAROSLAV THE WISE
R. Bowie
June 4, 2008
This article
originally published in Johnson’s Russia List, #110, 2008
THE DANCING BEAR IN THE GRAND RUSSIAN ROUND AND ROUND
When we are speaking about the
future (in particular, about the Russian future), the one thing that we can be
certain of is that we certainly cannot be certain of anything.
In view of this, it is nothing less
than astounding that the majority of pundits who lucubrate about the prospects
for Russia in the next 10-50 years deal so superficially with the realities and
lessons of the Russian past. Those who do speak of the past often belabor
events of the 1990s, or limit themselves to discussion of the Soviet
Union (two tiny blips on the timeline of Russian history). Others
may treat in some depth historical parallels from the eighteenth or nineteenth
centuries, but practically no one touches upon that vast expanse of Russian
history and culture that forms the foundation upon which modern Russian
cultural mores, and, consequently, the contemporary Russian political and
economic system, rest.
Bear imagery has become prominent
recently with the inauguration of the new President, Medvedev, whose name is
derived from the Russian word for ‘bear.’ As one brief illustration, therefore,
of Russia’s lengthy cultural
heritage (and its consequences for contemporary Russia), let us now speak of the Bear.
Literature on the bear as a prehistoric image of reverence and awe throughout
much of the world is immense, so we must limit ourselves here to a few telling
details.
If you go back far enough in human
history you will find connections to the bear that are relevant to practically
everything in modern civilization. Here are some examples. The cities Bern (Switzerland)
and Berlin (Germany)
are just two of the multitude of place names in Europe and Asia
that are bear names. Bern
still maintains bear pits as tourist sites and an ancient clock tower that
features, among other things, a parade of bear figurines every hour on the
hour. The word “arctic” comes from the Greek word for bear (“arctos”). In
ancient Germany
military fraternities initiated a young man (to stifle his inhibitions against
killing) by forcing him to strip naked, don the skin of a flayed bear and “work
himself into a bestial rage: in other words, to go. . . BERSERK.[1]
Why the worldwide bear mania that so
inspired our ancestors? Why the obsession with the bear in folk practices that
are observed all the way across Northern Europe and Asia, all the way across
North America (in Native American mythology and folklore)? Maybe because, as
the prominent mythologist Joseph Campbell has suggested, the earliest object of
religion in the history of the world was the bear:
“in the high Alps, in the
neighborhood of St. Gallen, and again in Germany, some thirty miles northwest
of Nürnberg. . . a series of caves
containing the ceremonially arranged skulls of a number of cave bears have been
discovered from the period (it is almost incredible!) of Neanderthal Man.”[2]
In caves excavated in the Alps (dating not later than 75,000 B.C.) a number of
altars were discovered, “the earliest altars of any kind yet found, or known
anywhere in the world” (Campbell, P.M.,
p. 341). The focus of worship at these altars was bear skulls and leg bones. As
evidenced by the title of the book by Shepherd and Sanders (“The Sacred Paw”),
the leg bones of bears have continued to inspire awe in much of the world
(Native American culture, Eurasian culture, etc.) up almost to the present day.
Campbell
also discusses in detail (P.M., p. 334-39) the bear ritual of the Ainu
peoples, who live on the northern islands of Japan
(Hokkaido, Sakhalin,
and the Kuriles). This ritual involves capturing a baby bear, suckling it and
raising it, then sending it back to the other world in a ritual sacrifice. The
bear is assumed to be a divinity, and the sacrifice of the divinity is
accompanied by gestures honoring the beast, who was sent into the world for the
Ainus to hunt, and who, upon his arrival back in the other world, will speak
kindly to the other gods of the Ainus, who have “done him the honor” of
sacrificing him. As Campbell
explains here (and repeatedly in his books on world mythology), the main idea
is connected with the preeminent mythological obsession of the Stone Age, an
idea that no means disappeared with the dawning of modern civilization: the
eternal return of all events and all beings. In describing Neanderthal burials
(in fetal position, prepared for rebirth), he writes as follows:
“The mystery of death, then, had
been met and faced, both for the beasts killed in the hunt and for man. And the
answer found was one that has been giving comfort to those who wish comfort
ever since, namely: ‘Nothing dies; death and birth are but a threshold
crossing, back and forth, as it were, through a veil’” (P.M., p. 342).
Beginning with bears, therefore, we
have worked our way into the issue of the grand round and round, an issue that
obsesses (bedevils?) the modern Russian psyche, and an issue that
linear-oriented Western pundits blithesomely ignore. Before returning to this
issue, let’s take a look at the folklore of the bear on the Russian land. As
mentioned above, parts of northern Russia
lie right in the midst of that “circumpolar paleolithic cult of the bear”
mentioned by Campbell.
Although there is no definitive proof of this assertion, anthropologists often
assume that the bear was at one time a totem animal for the ancient Slavs. One
piece of evidence for this is toponymy: there are bear names (of rivers, hills,
islands, settlements, etc.) all over northern Russia. The coat of arms of the
cities of Great Novgorod, Yaroslavl’
and Perm all feature depictions of bears.[3] More
evidence is to be found in what are obvious naming taboos connected with the
bear. From time out of mind, all over the world, there has been a prohibition
against speaking the name of a god or other supernatural being. This often
includes the names of the dead, of witches, the Devil, etc., plus the names of
totem animals. In an article on naming taboos in the Standard Dictionary of
Folklore and Mythology, it is noted that “Ural-Altaic peoples of Siberia. . . never speak the name of the bear; they call
him Little Old Man, Grandfather, dear Uncle, or Wise One. . . North American
Kiowa Indians say that unless you are named for the bear you must not say
bear.”[4] The word “bruin” (“Brownie”), used for bear in
German (and sometimes in English) is another euphemism. Vladimir Dahl’s entry
on bears in his famous four-volume interpretive dictionary of Russian is full
of euphemisms used to name the bear: e.g., “kosolapyj” (“knock-kneed, clumsy”),
“mokhnatyj” (“shaggy”), “leshij” (“wood demon”), “lesnoj chert” (“devil of the
woods”). The bear is also given human names: Mishka (Mike), Mishuk (Mikey),
Mikhailo Ivanich Toptygin, which suggest the special affinity that Russians
have had for the bear and they way they have likened him to humans.[5]
Westerners dealing with Russians
often underestimate the role of superstition in Russian life. Naming taboos
still exist in Russia
today. Most Russians would cringe at the common American practice of naming
babies before birth. You let the evil spirits know the name of your unborn baby
and they may conjure with that name. Baby showers or gift-giving for unborn
babies are also rare in Russia.
They are simply too optimistic in spirit. You don’t want to appear happy or the
fates may quickly squelch your happiness. This is probably the reason why so
many Russians respond to the question, “Kak dela?” (“How are you?”) with a
shrug of the shoulders, a Russian scowl, and a neutral answer: “Normal’no”
(“Same old same old”). If you say (as Americans do), “I’m doing great!” then
some malicious something out there might decide to show you just how great you
are NOT doing.
Of particular interest is the modern Russian word for bear, medved’. Most Russian folklorists and
anthropologists have assumed that this too is a euphemism. It means,
essentially, “honey eater” and almost certainly derives from the reluctance of
ancient Slavs to pronounce the real name of the bear.[6] A check
of the words for bear in other Slavic languages confirms that the animal came
to be called “honey eater” in Protoslavic times (before the Slavic languages
became separated into their three modern branches). The Polish word, e.g., is
niedźwiedź and the Belorussian word is mjadzvedz’ (see Unbegaun, Russskie familii,
p. 248).
In their zealous efforts to stamp
out pagan beliefs, Russian Orthodox Church authorities fought to extirpate ancient
reverence for the bear. This fight, supported by civil authorities, went on for
centuries. The original bear trainers were, apparently, the skomorokhi (medieval
minstrels and clowns associated with pagan religions and with the licentiousness
carnival behavior that lies at the core of pagan mythological beliefs), and this
was all the more reason why any manifestations of the ancient reverence for the
bear should be suppressed.
With his tendency to be both a
deeply religious Russian Orthodox believer and a scurrilous apostate
simultaneously, Ivan Groznyj (the Terrible--1533-1584) manifested ambivalent
attitudes toward the once sacred bear and the pagan bear handlers. Preparing
for his upcoming marriage to Marfa Sobakina in 1570, Groznyj sent an envoy to
the city of Great Novgorod, with an order to
have skomorokhi and performing bears sent to Moscow for the wedding celebrations
(Nekrylova, “Ursine Comedy,” p. 36). Bear baiting seems to have been a common
folk entertainment in the years of Ivan’s reign, which is also associated with
tales about how he and his equally sadistic son Ivan threw people into bear
pits, or sewed them up in bear skins and tossed them to the dogs.[7]
When a new religion attempts to
establish its beliefs and rituals, it tramples upon the most sacred symbols of
the religion that it supersedes. It is not surprising, therefore, that by the
nineteenth century the bear was denigrated and mocked, seen largely as a figure
of fun: (1) the embodiment of stupidity and clumsiness in the animal folk tales
(2) the entertainer who provoked laughter by his awkward imitations of human
behavior in the bear acts. More important, however, was that, despite centuries
of efforts to ban them, the bear acts were still going on in the late
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. They were a particularly popular part
of village entertainments and performances in urban marketplace squares,
especially at times of the year associated with important (originally pagan)
seasonal highlights: winter solstice, Maslenitsa (ancient pagan pre-Lenten
festival), summer solstice, etc.
Old ideas are slow to die out.
Russian and Soviet folklorists have established that at the end of the
nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries there remained vestiges of
the ancient reverence for the bear, which was still connected in the folk psyche
with the most salient elements of the pagan mentality: a striving to promote fertility,
health, and well-being through the repetitive enactment of rituals that were
often highly sexual and violent. Because of their association with bears the
handlers/impresarios in the folk bear performances acquired the reputation of
healers and witch doctors. Since it was still widely believed that the bear
could drive away evil spirits, the handler would often have his bear step over
a sick person or pregnant woman. In accord with the belief that the paw of the
bear was supposed to have magical powers, it was sometimes hung up in the peasant
household “ot domovogo” (to conciliate the often capricious “household imp”) or
put under the floor to encourage the fertility of the domestic animals.[8]
One final example of bear ritual
perhaps explains best of all why the bear was, and remained, a figure of
reverence for so long on the Russian land. P. V. Shein, a famous collector of
Russian and Belorussian folklore, published a description of the festive rite
known as “komoeditsa,” carried out under the direction of a priest Simeon
Nechaev in Belorus (1874). “This festival is always observed on the eve of the
Annunciation and is dedicated to honoring the bear. Special viands are prepared
on this day: the first course consists of dried turnips, as a way of
emphasizing that the bear is primarily herbivorous; the second course consists
of kisel’ (jelled oats), because the bear loves oats; the third course consists
of lumps of peas, which is why the festival was given the name “komoeditsa”
(“lump-eating day”). After consuming the meal, everyone—both young and old—lies
down, not sleeping, but in very slow movements rolling from side to side, as if
in an attempt to stimulate the [hibernating] bear to make similar movements.
The ceremony continues for about two hours; it is intended to facilitate the
bear’s awakening and arising from his winter den. . . The peasants are
convinced that on Annunciation Day the bear comes out of hibernation. He is to
be greeted with encouragement for his well being.”[9]
This final example brings us to a
still-relevant truth about Russian mentalities—a truth that Westerners who
study any aspect of Russia ignore at their own peril: this truth is that
Russians, as opposed to modern Westerners, are cyclical thinkers, not linear
thinkers. Primitive and Oriental mythology, still vibrant in the cultural mores
of modern Russia,
differ from Western mythology in several important ways. Here are the essential
parallels: (1) In the West—straight lines, progress (the apocalyptic view; we
are progressing toward some grand End, or at least toward some goal). In the
East--the circle; we are, essentially, doing the same thing over and over in
our lives, history repeats itself, and we’re not really getting anywhere (2) In
the West—free will, individualism, rationality; the assertive individual can
change his/her life, can alter for the better even the human condition on
earth. In the East—no free will, collectivism, irrationality; the individual
cannot really change anything; the broad masses have little choice but to go
with the eternal flow of ever-repetitive events (3) In the West—Nature is
darkness, alien to the principles of light and progress; death is an
abomination, something unacceptable (to be overcome, or, failing that, ignored
if at all possible). In the East—Nature, like all of life, is a blend of light
and darkness; Death is the complement of Life, not to be dreaded but accepted.
Furthermore, Death is not an end, but a new beginning in the eternally
repeating cycle: every exit is an entrance and every entrance an exit. The
ceremony of “komoeditsa” described above is exemplary, in that it reinforces and
promotes the beliefs in eternal return that so many other peasant rituals of
the solar calendar reinforced in Russia right up into the twentieth
century. Encourage the bear to come out of hibernation in the spring and renew
the cycle, and, by so doing, you also encourage the burgeoning of the spring
crops and the fertility of the cows and pigs upon whose prosperity the very
existence of the peasant depends. Even Christianity in agricultural Russia has the
same implications: Christ is ritually sacrificed once a year, and his
Resurrection on the third day renews the cycle, promotes the eternal round and
round of the agricultural season.
How did the modern West end up (at
least in the ideals that it professes to live by) on the linear path, while
modern Russia
(in the depth of its cultural mores and its mentality) remains committed to the
Eastern philosophy of the cycle? This is an issue that demands treatment in an
entire book, not in a short article. The usual answer is that Russia skipped the great
intellectual movements of Western civilization: the Renaissance, the Protestant
Reformation, etc., but the issue is more complex than that.[10]
At any rate, reformers (most
prominently, Peter the Great, Aleksandr II, Lenin, Gorbachev) have made
repetitive efforts to overcome the cyclical Russian mindset and force the
country onto a straight-line path. In other words, to undermine definitively
the venerable Russian tradition of GETTING NOWHERE and convince the Russian
people that it is worth trying to GET SOMEWHERE. These reformers have all
failed miserably. Now we are about to see (possibly) a new attempt on the part,
paradoxically, of a man whose very name embodies the principles of the round
and round: Medvedev.
The new President has been making
linear noises, assuring the Russian people that they can dispense with the
chaos of the round and round and live by a new set of rules (Western rules):
fixed and enforceable laws, the imperative to stamp out corruption, the
establishment of a true middle class and civil society. What the Bear President
professes to be seeking is DEMOCRACY, a word that is anathema from the point of
view of the grand eternal cycle. The last dance of the bear in Russian folk
life (if we don’t count the circus bears that are still around today) was that
of the trained bear who was still performing in villages and urban marketplace
squares in the early twentieth century. At the climactic moment of the
performance, controlled by his handler and trainer (he had a ring through his
nose and a lead attached to the ring), the bear got up on his back legs and did
a whirling dance round and round.[11]
So who is Dmitry Medvedev? Is he the
same old dancing bear, going round and round and getting nowhere, controlled by
his handler, another votary of the grand round and round of Eternal Mother
Russia (who is the handler? That’s obvious: VVP)? Or is he the bear who can
break the lead and set off on the linear path toward a brand new Russia? I don’t
know. That’s a matter for the political pundits to pontificate upon. One thing
is for certain: better men than Medvedev have already tried and failed to stop
the round and round of Russian history.
One last point. For over 230 years
the United States of America
has been committed to the great linear path. The United States believes in progress,
and all of its institutions (political, religious, etc.) are aimed at getting
somewhere. Both major parties, Democrats and Republicans, harp incessantly upon
the idea of changing things for the better. But if we look at history (present,
past and future) from a broad philosophical perspective, of course, we must
admit that the ideas of the Neolithic primitive planters (hardwired in the
modern Russian psyche) still have validity. Great political reformers (ideologues
in the worst sense of the word), who assume that political Utopia is possible and
that human cultural mores can be radically revamped, often end up changing
essentials very little, while managing to murder huge numbers of innocent
people. Examples of such reformers throughout history are rife, but here we
need mention only one: “Velikij Ilich” (Vladimir Lenin). Medvedev, on the
contrary, is not an ideologue, and let us hope that his efforts to push Russia onto a
straight-line path will not involve the excesses of leaders like Lenin and
Peter I.
Any linear path, ultimately however,
anticipates, certainly in terms of the mortal individual, and almost certainly
in the future of the entire human race, the Great End of the Line (Armageddon
or the Apocalypse). This does not mean, however, that we should encourage the
dancing bear to just keep whirling round and round. We must make the best of
what we have here in our transient existence. So, Da zdravstvuet Medvezhonok!
(Long live the Baby Bear!). In terms of the venerable old ways, his ascension
to power is an extremely good omen. The ancient superstitions assume that the
sacred bear encourages the progression of the solar cycle, promotes well-being
and fertility (something that Russia
is desperate for in light of its demographic crisis). But (to take the Western
perspective) it would also be nice it the baby bear could soon break the lead
of his handler, shake the whirling rhythms out of his head, and set off down
the linear road, traipsing along on his plantigrade way, following the sign
marked, “TO SOMEWHERE.”
[1] Bruce Chatwin, Songlines (Vintage Classics, 1987), p. 219. For
Indo-European roots of the word ‘bear’ and the
profusion of words derived from these roots, see Paul Shephard and Barry
Sanders, The Sacred Paw: the Bear in
Nature, Myth, and Literature (NY: Viking Penguin, 1985), introduction, p.
xvi. The Shephard and Sanders book is an excellent compendium of bear lore
worldwide.
[2] Joseph Campbell, The Masks of God: Primitive Mythology (NY:
Viking Press, 1979, revised edition 1969), p. 339. The period during which
Neanderthal Man lived is assumed to have begun about 200,000 years ago and
ended about 75,000 years ago. Some scientists project a much later date for his
demise (between 25,000 and 20,000 B.C.) See p. 340-41. On p. 340 Campbell presents a map showing the most prominent areas
of Europe, Asia, and North America where the
bear cult was ascendant in prehistoric times (“the vestiges of a circumpolar
paleolithic cult of the bear”). These include parts of today’s northern Russia and show the influence of the bear
stretching southward, into modern Novgorod
Province and Belorus.
[3] See the chapter entitled “Medvezh’ja komedija” (“Ursine Comedy”) in the
book by A.F. Nekrylova, Russkie narodnye gorodskie prazdniki, uveselenija i
zrelishcha (konets XVIII-nachalo XX veka) [Russian Folk Urban Festivals,
Merry-Making, and Spectacles (at the End of the 19th and Beginning
of the 20th Centuries] (Iskusstvo Publishers: Leningrad, 1984),
p. 37-39.
[4] Maria Leach, editor, Standard Dictionary of Folklore, Mythology and
Legend (Harper and Row, one-vol. edition, 1984), p. 782-83.
[5] Vladimir Dal’ dictionary, II, 311. According to Boris Unbegaun, the
surname Toptygin comes, originally, from the nickname “tjazhelostup” (“clumsy
stepper, lummox”). B.O. Unbegaun, Russkie familii, translation from
English edited by B.A. Uspenskij (Moskva: Progress, 1989), p. 123.
[6] On the “honey eater” meaning see an informative letter by Elena Carducci
to the journal Russian Life (May/June, 2008, p. 5). Ms. Carducci cites
three Russian etymological dictionaries in support of her interpretation. The
issue of Russian Life for March/April, 2008, contains an interesting
compilation of Russian expressions relating to the bear (under “Survival
Russian,” by Mikhail Ivanov, p. 29), but perpetuates the erroneous folk
etymology (medved’ as “knower of the honey”), later corrected by Ms. Carducci.
[7] Isabel de Madariaga, Ivan the Terrible (New
Haven and London:
Yale University Press, 2005), p. 295, 358.
[8] Nekrylova, “Ursine Comedy,” p. 37-38. See also V.P. Anikin, Russkaja
narodnaja skazka [The Russian Folk Tale] (Moskva, Prosveshchenie, 1977), p.
44-45.
[9] Shein quoted in Anikin, The Russian Folk Tale, p. 45. Note the
involvement of an Orthodox priest and the connection of this pagan festival
with the Christian Annunciation Day. This is one of multiple examples of the
existence of syncretism (“dvoeverie” or “double belief”) in Russia.
Paganism coexisted for centuries with Christianity; they still coexist, so some
extent, to this very day.
[10] The literature on the Stone Age mythology and folklore that forms the
foundation of modern Russian cultural mores is vast. On primitive mythology of
the eternal round and round, the best books are by Joseph Campbell (especially
his four volume series titled The Masks of God). Equally important are
the many works by Mircea Eliade (for example, his The Myth of Eternal Return).
Seminal works relating to the influence of primitive plant mythology on Russian
culture are, e.g., V. Ja. Propp’s Russkie agrarnye prazdniki [Russian
Agrarian Festivals] (Leningrad University, 1963) and Mikhail Bakhtin’s Rabelais
and His World [original Russian title is Tvorchestvo Fransua Rable],
translated into English by H. Iswolsky (Indiana University Press, 1984).
[11] For a detailed description of the marketplace bear performances of the
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see Nekrylova, “Ursine Comedy,” p.
38-53.
"BEAR ON BASS," STATUE ON BOL'SHAJA PETERBURGSKAJA STREET, GREAT NOVGOROD, PICTURES TAKEN MAY, 2005
Postscript: Interesting book review on dancing bears in European history, on retired dancing bears in the former countries of the Soviet bloc, on how those bears have forgotten how to hibernate, and forgotten how to live independent lives now that their dancing days are done; also on how former denizens of the Communist world have also forgotten all these things.
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