著者
奥 彩子
出版者
北海道大学スラブ研究センター
雑誌
スラヴ研究 (ISSN:05626579)
巻号頁・発行日
vol.50, pp.1-31, 2003

Hourglass (1972) is the last book of the autobiographical trilogy of Yugoslav writer Danilo Kiš (1935-1989). This novel is based on a real letter that Kiš's father wrote to his sister Olga on April 5th 1942. Kiš puts it in the last chapter of the novel as "Letter or Contents." Though the letter (which is full of complaints and grudges against relatives) illustrates the agony of the Jews in those times, for the son it is a precious "document" of his father who disappeared in Auschwitz. The novel Hourglass reconstructs the father's psychology and his acts, attempting to recreate his world. Examining the structure of the novel, its technical aspects and the hero, this paper focuses on how Hourglass fulfills the task of modern novels, which is, according to Milan Kundera, to present a new cognition of human existence. This paper starts by pointing out the differences between Halics and the other two books from the trilogy, Garden, Ashes (1965) and Early Sorrows (1969). The trilogy shares the same background -- Hungary and Vojvodina (a northern area in the former Yugoslavia) during World War II. In contrast to the first two books, where the main character is a boy named Andy, Hourglass has only one protagonist, E.S., who is that boy's father. The most important difference is the divergence of the narratives' viewpoint. In Hourglass, "objective narration" becomes an aim of the novel, as the narrator disappears. The paper further discusses some autobiographical facts about the author. The novel, which consists of 67 segments, is built upon four chapters "Travel Scenes" (20 segments), "Notes of a Madman" (34 segments), "Criminal Investigation" (9 segments), "A Witness Interrogated" (2 segments), as well as the two segments "Prologue" and "Letter or Contents." It is evident that this novel is a variation of a poetic form "Glosa," and that "Notes of a Madman" could be considered as a leitmotiv with its substitution of letters for chapters. Furthermore, by examining a chronology of "Letter or Contents" and the text, it turns out that all the events took place in the hero's consciousness during the single night of April 4th to April 5th, 1942. The number of the segments of text is equal to the Bible's 66 books, suggesting that the book could be considered as "a Holy Book". All the chapters could be read as if they had been written from the hero's viewpoint. In other words, the whole story is made up of E. S.'s experiences or delusions. Even the third person narration in "Prologue" and "Travel Scenes" expresses E. S.'s internal images. Furthermore, the paper emphasises that in Hourglass, the story is subdivided in order to reject the reader's empathy. This style could be described as "disnarrative." The paper also examines a number of techniques used for the segmentation: exaggeration of details, usage of images, enumeration, and recursive structure. The text of the "Novel in a Novel" suggests that the novel Hourglass is based upon an original recursive structure. The character of the hero is analyzed, especially from the perspective of his religion. The fact that he is a Jew is not presented at the beginning but emerges thoughout the story. E. S. is not an Orthodox Jew, nor has he completely assimilated into European society. In Hourglass, at the moment he reveals his Star of David, he accepts himself as a Jew, thus becoming subject to forced labour, only to face an even more horrible experience, the Massacre of Novi Sad. Under severe political and social pressure, through agony, hallucination, and a crisis of self-division, E. S. deepens his speculation concerning God, Humanity, and Nature. E. S.'s "real self" becomes a complete existence at the moment his own internal religion harmonizes with the appearance of God. In the last segment of the text, E. S. tries to accept his death with a calm equanimity, just as Noah accepted the destiny of the world and the human race. In the conclusion, the paper discusses Hourglass as the book of the world. Kiš describes his father's book Guidebook in his short autobiography as a "literal heritage," and in Garden, Ashes as "a Holy Book" or "Apocrypha." As a starting point when writing Hourglass, Kiš used the idea of a book as a metaphore for the world, which has a fertile tradition in European literature. To escape the deluge of the Pannonian Sea, E. S., as Noah himself, tries to load the ark with human beings, flora and fauna, all creatures and their experiences. In other words, at night, under the oil lamp, hearing the waves of history, with a pen, by writing letters, he tries to create a book or an ark, which carries the whole world. Hourglass is a true novel which is the reproduction of Noah's attempt to recreate the world and human beings, by the act of writing about one era and the world, through recording one man's entire experiences and emotions, without missing any details. Id est, Hourglass is the book of the world. For this recreation, Kiš concentrates on such structural aspects of the novel of such as the arrangement of chapters, disnarration, fragmentation of timeflow, etc. But the book could have never been written without the symbiosis of Kiš's and his father Eduard's character - E. S. Through this figure, Kiš finally reaches his aim - objective narration. Hourglass fulfills the task of modern novels, telling us that the book, as a metaphor for the world, even now can become an ark for the regenesis of all creatures, who resist death with all their might.
著者
赤尾 光春
出版者
北海道大学スラブ研究センター
雑誌
スラヴ研究 (ISSN:05626579)
巻号頁・発行日
vol.50, pp.65-106, 2003

The breeze of liberalization, which began in the second half of the 1980s in the former Communist bloc countries, has brought about the rivival of Jewish pilgrimages to the gravesites of Hasidic leaders. The pilgrimage made by the Breslover Hasidim to Uman (Uman') stands out among others. The Breslover Hasidim are one of the Hasidic sects that regard Rabbi Nachman of Braslav (1772-1810) as its spiritual leader. Their pilgrimage to Uman on the Jewish New Year has an ongoing tradition of some two hundred years. Today this ordinary Ukrainian city has become one of the biggest pilgrimage centers outside Israel, attracting more than 10,000 Jewish pilgrims annually. This article deals with the spatial and ideological issues reflected in the historical process of the pilgrimage. After a brief survey of the general background of saints' sanctuaries in Jewish culture, ideological issues concerning of the pilgrimage inherent in the life and teaching of Rabbi Nachman, will be examined. In 1802 Rabbi Nachman settled in Bratslav, where he founded his Hasidic movement. After he became aware of his fatal illness, the forcus of his teaching shifted to the perpetuation of his spiritual heritage. This is expressed in his unusual concern for his burial place. Uman is located near his disciples' dwelling places. It was chosen for his burial for two ideological reasons. First, he considered it his last mission to lead the spiritual struggle against the Jewish enlighteners living there. The second reason is related to the rectification souls of the martyrs, who were brutally murdered in Uman in the notorious pogrom in 1786. Paradoxically, the town became the ideal place that attracted the complete devotion of this greatest tzaddik (righteous man) of his generation so conscious of his divine mission. Not only did Rabbi Nachman express a strong desire for his followers to visit his grave, but he also gave them clear instructions as to the procedure and the reward for their devotion. The ten chapters of Psalms called "Tikun ha-Klali" and "Kibuts" ("the Gathering"), which had initially developed separately, were later to be interwoven into the pilgrimage to Uman. The simplified form of prayer present in the former seems to have opened up the potential for a more voluntary mass pilgrimage. In the latter, by extending the universal Hasidic tradition after the master's death, the obligatory aspect of a sect's tradition was retained. The paradoxical nature of Nachman's choice of Uman can be grasped in a more meaningful way by examining his teaching on the Land of Israel. According to his theology, the holiness of Israel can be extended beyond its boundaries and the tzaddik's residential place is seen as the equivalent to Israel. Thus, he succeeded symbolically in turning this marginal place into a center equivalent in its holiness to the Holy Land. The following chapters will depict the history of the Kibuts, dividing it into three major historical periods: 1) the period of establishment (1811-1917); 2) the period of dispersion (1917-1985); and 3) the period of revival (1985-present). The charisma of Rabbi Nachman was so great that his Hasidim have never elected any successor as is the practice in other Hasidic dynasties. The pilgrimage to Uman has played an important role in the continuity and solidarity of the group. Initially, Rabbi Nathan, the favorite desciple of Nachman, played a crucial role in diffusing Nachman's teachings and institutionalizing the Kibuts. By the end of the 19th century, the teaching of Rabbi Nachman spread to Poland and the pilgrimage to Uman reached the peak of its popularity. The outbreak of World War I and the October Revolution with its aftermath made pilgrimage to Uman extremely difficult. The new socio-political conditions caused many a Hasidim abroad to give up any idea of a pilgrimage, while the new reality stimulated the Hasidim's imagination and generated a more adventurous spirit. On the other hand, the Hasidim who remained in the Soviet Union, preserved the Kibuts under incredibly difficult circumstances. In this way the Soviet reality generated various alternatives for the Hasidim both inside and outside the country without extinguishing their hopes completely. During the last decade, this period of revival has fundamentally changed the nature of the pilgrimage. No longer forbidden, the authorities have made the pilgrimage legal. Second, accessibility to Uman has transformed the pilgrimage into a quasi-tourist mass event. Finally, the scale and publicity of the revived pilgrimage has generated a "contested landscape" between the Jewish pilgrims and their local gentile hosts. Paradoxically enough, the unstable nature of the pilgrimage to Uman was revealed when the revived tradition seemed to have built a firm foundation for further development. Serious antagonism concerning the place of worship (Uman or Jerusalem?) developed between the central Ashkenazi Hasidim and a marginal group called the "Nachnachim." Although the focal point of their disagreement concerned whether or not the grave should be transferred to Jerusalem, this difference seems to concern their attitudes and sentiments toward the place of the burial and their struggle for control over the master's grave. While the former group has always considered Uman an unpararelled sacred place and has tried to preserve its old tradition, the latter group has attempted to popularize Nachman's cult in Israel. Although Uman has won the battle for its holiness, the dispute revealed the essential uncertainty of Jewish sacred places outside Israel. Uman is inseparably bound to the collective memory of the Breslover Hasidim and it has always been considered more of a sacred place than any other in Diaspora. However, this centrality of Uman as a sacred place is essentially ambiguous. These facts underscore the unstable relationship between Jewish people and their places of residence in Diaspora. Thus the phenomenon of the pilgrimage to Uman serves as a thought-provoking example, which makes us contemplate the unique spatial identities of Jewish people in general.
著者
秋月 俊幸
出版者
北海道大学
雑誌
スラヴ研究 (ISSN:05626579)
巻号頁・発行日
vol.19, pp.59-95, 1974
著者
菅野 開史朗
出版者
北海道大学スラブ研究センター
雑誌
スラヴ研究 (ISSN:05626579)
巻号頁・発行日
no.48, pp.139-166, 2001

В современном латышском литературном языке употребляется «пересказывате-льное наклонение» (латыш. atstāstījuma izteiksme), формы глагола, которые указывают на то, что говорящий только пересказывает информацию, которую он слышал от другого человека и не отвечает за ее достоверность. В статье мы рассматриваем употребление этого наклонения, анализируя примеры, взятые преимущественно из литературных произведений и их переводов с латышского на русский, с русского на латышский и с японского на латышский языки. В сопоставлении с латышским языком, пересматривается и косвенная речь русского языка, в котором нет такого наклонения, а также японского языка, в котором существуют несколько различных способов выражения пересказывания. Пересказывательное наклонение латышского языка представляет собой своео-бразное явление в группе индоевропейских языков. Говоря о происхождении пересказывательного наклонения, отмечается, что это языковое явление обусловлено контактом с балто-финскими языками. Пересказывательное наклонение имеет в латышском языке три времени: настоящее, будущее (I), прошедшее. Еще есть и перифрастическая форма будущего времению (II), которая весьма редко употребляется (в случае, когда некоторое действие следует за действием, выраженным глаголом в простом будущем времени). Вместо нее обычно употребляется простое будущее. Форма прошедшего времени тоже перифрастическая. Форма настоящего времени пересказывательного наклонения восходит к форме деепричастия настоящего времени, которое семантически соответствует деепричастию несовершенного вида, заканчивающемуся на -я в русском языке. Форма настоящего времени пересказывательного наклонения, как и форма деепричастия, образуется путем прибавления к основе настоящего времени изъявительного наклонения морфемы -ot. Форма будущего времени пересказывательного наклонения образуется от основы будущего времени, которая, как правило, совпадает с основой инфинитива, путем прибавления -šot. Форма на -šot не употребляется как деепричастие в современном языке, а только как форма пересказывательного наклонения. Формы настоящего и будущего времени пересказывательного наклонения не спрягаются. Перифрастическая форма прошедшего времени пересказывательного наклонения образуется путем присоединения к esot (наст. вр. пересказ. накл. глагола-связки būt) действительного причастия прошедшего времени спрягаемого глагола. Так же, как и формы настоящего и будущего времени, esot не склоняется, а действительное причастие прошедшего времени склоняется по родам и числам. В некоторых работах модальность, которую выражает пересказывательное наклонение, определяется как «предположение». Однако этого определения недостаточно, поскольку говорящий формой пересказывательного наклонения выражает, что у него нет свидетельства достоверности сообщаемой информации. Иначе говоря, пересказывательное наклонение выражает то, что говорящий находится вне сферы, где можно подтвердить достоверность или недостоверность содержания высказывания. Модальность пересказывательного наклонения наиболее ярко проявляется в сопоставлении форм настоящего времени пересказывательного наклонения с формами настоящего времени изъявительного наклонения. Когда в настоящем времени пересказывают речь постороннего (третьего лица), появляется основное объективное значение пересказывательного наклонения, т.е. «скепсис». В будущем времени различие между изъявительным и пересказывательным наклонениями более туманно. В сравнении с настоящим временем будущее время пересказывательного наклонения чаще употребляется вместе с формами изъявительного наклонения (во многих случаях можно заменить одно на другое). Употребление пересказывательного наклонения наиболее типично в придаточных предложениях, поскольку по модальности пересказывательное наклонение чаще всего соответствует косвенной речи. Здесь нужно напомнить, что в основе форм пересказывательного наклонения лежит деепричастие, что также в некотором роде обусловливает синтаксические свойства рассматриваемых форм. Так, подлежащее придаточного предложения может часто отсутствовать, если оно идентично подлежащему главного предложения. В грамматиках латышского языка обычно не приводится определенного списка глаголов, способных подчинять пересказывательное наклонение. Хотя, разумеется, пересказывательное наклонение преимущественно подчиняется «глаголам речи», встречаются и случаи подчинения исследуемых форм глаголами, выражающими (а) способы передачи устной речи (напр., teikt «сказать»); (б) восприятия устной речи (dzirdēt «слышать»); (в) передачи письменной речи (напр., rakstīt «писать, написать»); (г) восприятия письменной речи (напр., lasīt «читать»). Некоторые ученые подчеркивают, что и глаголы мысли подчиняют пересказывательное наклонение, однако, это бывает в относительно редких случаях: когда говорящий высказывает свою мысль на самом деле, а в литературных произведениях, когда автор «пересказывает» читателю речь действущих лиц. В русском языке, в котором нет пересказывательного наклонения, в аналогичных случаях употребляется изъявительное наклонение в косвенной речи. Исходя из этого, можно сделать вывод, что по модальности изъявительное и пересказывательное наклонение очень близки. В лингвистических исследованиях, посвященных латышскому языку, одной из центральных тем является разъяснение схемы противопоставления изъявительного и пересказывательного наклонений. Кроме типического придаточного предложения с союзом ka («что»), пересказывательное наклонение может употребляться и в придаточных предложениях с другими союзами, например, в вопросительном предложении - с союзом vai («ли») или с вопросительными союзами. Наиболее сложным случаем является предложение с lai («чтобы»): после lai может стоять и изъявительное, и пересказывательное, и сослагательное наклонения. Если глаголы речи имеют форму, которая не обозначает выполнения речевого акта (напр., повелительное наклонение, сослагательное наклонение, выражение долженствования, будущее время), употребляется не пересказывательное, а изъявительное наклонение. Употребление пересказывательного наклонения распространяется и на простые предложения. Есть два случая такого употребления. 1) Главное предложение опущено, а кто и при каких обстоятельствах совершил речевой акт уже известно по контексту. 2) Полностью независимым предложением пользуются для пересказывания «слухов». В русскоязычных грамматиках латышского языка объясняют, что такое предложение на русский язык переводится как сложное предложение «говорят, что…» или как простое предложение с вводными словами «мол», «де», «дескать», «якобы» и т.п. Например, в русском переводе Блауманиса даже употребляется вводное слово «говорят». Интересно, что переводчик так перевел, чтобы не изменять структуру. В японском языке одна из конструкций для выражения пересказывания - конструкция на [-то иу] («говорят, что»), в которой глагол [иу] в следствие грамматикализации уже не спрягается. Модальность пересказывательного наклонения может расширяться в зависимости от степени нейтральности отношения к достоверности. Так, например, когда содержание пересказываемого относится к самому говорящему или к слушающему, к объективному скепсису прибавляются различные оттенки: уверенность, сомнение, недоверие и т.п. Это означает, что расширенная модальность пересказывательного наклонения может приближаться или соприкасаться и с сослагательным наклонением. Прошедшее время пересказывательного наклонения соответствует сложному настоящему, простому прошедшему и сложному прошедшему временам изъявительного наклонения. Поскольку в латышском языке нет согласования времен, прошедшее время пересказывательного наклонения означает действие, которое уже произошло к моменту пересказываемой речи. В сравнении с настоящим и будущим временами для прошедшего времени пересказывательного наклонения характерно то, что иногда опускается связка esot, т.е. употребляется только действительное причастие прошедшего времени («нарративное прошедшее»). В этом случае различие между изъявительным и пересказательным наклонениями по форме может исчезать. Действительное причастие прошедшего времени первоначально носило такую же модальность, что и теперь пересказывательное наклонение. В общем, эта модальность сохранилась у рассматриваемой формы действительного причастия, однако имеет уже народнопоэтический оттенок. Форма пересказывательного наклонения на -ot, будучи сравнительно новым явлением, еще не замещает самостоятельную форму действительного причастия прошедшего времени в чистом виде. Таким образом, грамматикализация пересказывательного наклонения в настоящем и будущем временах уже завершилась, а в прошедшем времени еще идет. Хотя пересказывательное наклонение на -ot и не объясняется «развитием модального значения у перфекта (Серебренников)», относительно характера действительного причастия здесь можно увидеть некоторую параллель между латышским и русским (балто-славянскими, а возможно и индоевропейскими) языками. В этих языках наблдается тенденция ношения определенной модальности. Интересно, что в болгарском языке пересказывательное наклонение образуется с помощью -л, а в русском языке с формой на -л образуется форма сослагательного наклонения. Так или иначе, говоря о прошедшем времени, можно сказать, что отсутствие согласования времен можно объясняться формальным происхождением, а именно бывшим причастием на -л, сохранившим придаточный характер. Несмотря на то, что грамматикализация пересказывательного наклонения в прошедшем времени еще не завершилась, мы признаем эти формы самостоятельным наклонением, поскольку синхронически они имеют собственную форму будущего, и требуют структуры, отличной от структуры предложения с деепричастием на -ot. Говоря о косвеюннюой речи, нам бы также хотелось упомянуть и так называемую «несобственно-прямую речь». Точка зрения, что явление смешения прямой и косвенной речи в русском языке основывается на отсутствии особой формы косвенной речи, как нам кажется, не очень убедительна, поскольку даже в латышском языке, в котором есть специальная форма косвенной речи, наблюдается то явление.
著者
地田 徹朗
出版者
北海道大学スラブ研究センター
雑誌
スラヴ研究 (ISSN:05626579)
巻号頁・発行日
vol.56, pp.1-36, 2009

This article investigates three grandiose canal construction projects in Turkmenistan during the post-war Stalin period and their relationship with the Aral Sea problem. These three projects are the "Karakum Canal," the "Major (Glavnyi) Turkmen Canal" and the "Diversion of Siberian Rivers" projects. In order to illustrate these projects' logical structures and their mutual contrarieties, made by central authorities, republican leaders, scientists in the center and technical experts in the construction field, the author approaches these projects from three points of view: 1. political history (both central and republican), 2. history of science and technology (geography, hydrology and hydraulic engineering) and 3. regional studies (Central Asia, especially Turkmenistan). It is not this article's purpose to "attribute" the Aral Sea problem to the USSR's water policy's negative impacts. Rather, the author tries to "depoliticize" these topics. The go signal for the "Karakum Canal" project was given by a resolution of the Soviet Union's Council of Ministers (CM) on 21 July 1947 (that is, before the beginning of "Stalin's Nature Transformation Plan," which started in 1948), although its initial concept dates back to the beginning of the twentieth century (G. Sazonov's idea). The First Project Document, edited by A. Boltenkov, hydraulic engineer in the Turkmen SSR, was approved on 25 January 1947 at the USSR Gosplan's Scientific-Technical Expert Commission, which described the Karakum canal as contributing to expeditiously expanding the irrigated lands for cotton production in the southeastern Turkmenistan oasis along the Murgab and Tedzhen rivers. This document referred only to the "future prospect" of this canal's elongation to Ashgabat and further. Turkmenistan (not "Turkmen") specialists actively participated in the preliminary work of drafting the document. Turkmen leaders called for the early realization of this "quick-impact" project, but the central Gosplan authorities denounced their requests, accusing them of holding up another construction project of the Tedzhen reservoir, which would eventually be completed in 1950, when the "Great Communist Construction" slogan and the start of the "Major Turkmen Canal" project were announced. As a result, the Karakum Canal project fell back to the second plan, whose beginning the Turkmens had to await until 1954, that is, the next year after Stalin's death. The prototype of the "Major Turkmen Canal" project dates back to 1893, when imperial army officer A. I. Glukhovskoi presented his original plan to route some volume of Amu-Darya's water to the Caspian Sea through the Uzboi riverbed's remnants, although an idea of this kind also existed during Peter the Great's reign. The resolution of the USSR's CM on this project was adopted on 11 September 1950 "without" the Project Document, as part of "Stalin's Nature Transformation Plan" and the "Great Communist Construction" projects (which included the famous "Volga-Don Canal"). The former "Plan," the core concept of the construction of "communism" itself (as well as the "Great Communist Construction") in the post-war period, became the theoretical background of this large-scale canal project, which had to be finished by 1957, and as a result of which 1,300,000 ha of newly irrigated land (mainly around the Amu-Darya delta and southwestern Turkmenistan) and 7 million ha of new pasture land (in the Karakum desert) should have been cultivated by the final stage. Both Moscow-Leningrad based geographers (I. P. Gerasimov, V. A. Obruchev, V. V. Tsinzerling, etc.) and on-site hydraulic engineers (V. S. Eristov, chief engineer of the Construction Administration "Sredazgidrostroi," etc.) enthusiastically supported this project, despite some clashes of viewpoints about the "canal route." The former favored the Western-Uzboi route, but the latter proposed the southbound route, going through the Karakum desert via an artificial canal. The latter variant was adopted at last. Turkmen authorities also assisted with this project, but their role was limited to providing indirect supports for constructors. This project ended abruptly on 25 March 1953 at the initiative of L. P. Beria immediately upon Stalin's death. The discussion about the "Diversion of Siberian Rivers" project also began in connection with the above-mentioned "Nature Transformation Plan." This project's antecedent is also very old, going back to Y. Demchenko's idea in 1871, which the Imperial Geographical Society's members laughingly dismissed at that time. The idea came back to life in the 1920s after the Bolshevik Revolution, and M. M. Davydov, hydraulic engineer of the Hydroelectric Power Station Designating Institute "Gidroenergoproekt," published his plan in 1949, which proposed the large-scale diversion and multipurpose use (that is, not only for agricultural development and climatic change, but for river transportation and hydroelectric power generation) of the Obi and Yenisei waters in Western Siberia and Central Asia. Davydov clearly claimed that this canal would "liquidate deserts" in Central Asia. In 1950, the other variant of this project by hydraulic engineer A. A. Shul'ga, showed that this canal increased vapor circulation in the atmosphere by around 12-20%, which created additional water flow in rivers in the respective regions. These plans were not approved at that time, but became the basis of further full-fledged examination from the 1960s onward. Finally, scholars' outlooks on the future Aral Sea problem were examined in the context of grandiose canal construction projects. First of all, the "nature transformists" had reached a consensus that plain water should be used for irrigation as much as possible, rather than being fed uselessly into the saline Aral Sea. Accordingly, hydrologists figured out how many meters the Aral Sea would fall as a result of the construction of two grandiose canals in Turkmenistan. The Karakum Canal up to the Tedzhen oasis would have lowered the Aral Sea by about 2.5 meters, according to the Project Document. Leningrad-based hydrologist B. D. Zaikov estimated that the Aral Sea would have fallen by about 11.7 meters if the Major Turkmen Canal had taken 600 cubic meters per second, although this fall would have been fastest during the first 20 years, slowing considerably thereafter. In sum, about a 14.2 meter drawdown was foreseen during the two canals' planning stages. Knowing well these predictions, some Soviet geographers (B. A. Fedorovich, N. N. Mikhailov, etc.) already had related the canal projects in the Aral Sea basin with the diversion of Siberian water to Central Asia as a prescription for the Aral Sea's shrinkage. It is well-known that the Aral Sea started to scale down after 1960 in conjunction with sluicing water into the Karakum canal, but Central Asian authorities were not frustrated until the Aral Sea problem reached a critical stage, because the diversion of a great amount of Siberian water held great promise for them. Central authorities around Stalin upheld the "Nature Transformation Plan" and the "Great Communist Construction" as an ideologically true national credo, which should have contributed to the post-war rebuilding and communist construction. Turkmenistan's leaders were inclined more to the economically "quick-impact" Karakum Canal project than to the more "ideological" Major Turkmen Canal project, regardless of their acceptance of the latter project itself. Fervently supporting the "Nature Transformation Plan," geographers and on-site hydraulic engineers tried to vindicate their own viewpoints on the Major Turkmen Canal, which could be described as a leadership struggle around this project. Some hydraulic engineers attempted to ride the wind, propounding the grandiose "Diversion of Siberian Rivers" project in the context of the "Nature Transformation Plan." As such, various actors' various motives were intricately intertwined with these grandiose canal construction projects, forming a specific historical stage emblematic of the post-war Stalin period.
著者
乗松 亨平
出版者
北海道大学スラブ研究センター
雑誌
スラヴ研究 (ISSN:05626579)
巻号頁・発行日
vol.59, pp.1-23, 2012-06-15

This paper examines Yuri Lotman's analysis of the theatrical culture of the Russian nobles from the eighteenth century to the beginning of the nineteenth century as an implicit response to late Soviet society and as a speculation on how to establish an autonomous "private" sphere, independent of the "official" sphere that penetrated almost the entire society. Soviet semiotics began simultaneously with the blossoming of information science in the "Thaw" period. Semiotics was considered to be an "honest," "sincere," and "universal" science, free from the ideological "dogma" of Stalinism. Having failed to find a way into mainstream Soviet academia, the school of semiotics took refuge in Tartu, Estonia, a "marginal" place in the USSR. Lotman has often represented mainstream academia as the morally corrupt "other," dominated by ideology, but, in fact, the moral values that sustained the Tartu School were largely shared by this "other" in officialdom. As recent studies on late Soviet society demonstrate, the "official" vocabulary was so prevalent in the "Stagnation" period that there was practically no alternative to it. According to Alexei Yurchak, the creation of the "private" sphere was made possible only by a "performative" reinterpretation of "official" formulas. Lotman argues that the everyday behavior of the Russian nobles was "played" like a theatrical role, taken from the example of art (mainly literary) works. He differentiates theatrical culture into two periods: the pre-Romantic era when people played various roles, shifting from one "mask" to another, and the Romantic era when people identified themselves with only one role, considering all aspects of their everyday life as a "stage." The Decembrists, highly evaluated by Lotman, developed this Romantic approach by "sincerely" playing the sole "simple" role that was called one's own "self." Lotman maintains, in agreement with Yurchak to some extent, that the Decembrists incorporated existing norms into their roles/selves. This idea of the "simple" role is described in detail in Lotman's biography of Pushkin, whose life is traced as a passage from pre-Romanticism to Romanticism to Realism or the stage of the "simple" role. At the transition from Romanticism to Realism, Pushkin attempted to shape the "simple" role from the "play of styles." These vague images of the "simple" role become clearer and more concrete in Pushkin's later years: in his endeavor to build an independent "home," the poet expected his family to share his ideal of a "simple" people (narod). This notion of the private "home" is reminiscent of Lotman's view of his school, which was sustained by certain moral values in the prevailing mood of the Thaw period. Although criticized by reviewers for overemphasizing Pushkin's conscious construction of his life through acting roles, Lotman applies the same idea to the biography of Karamzin. This book scarcely ascribes Karamzin's "life-construction" to the theatrical culture of the nobility but instead explains it as a part of the legacy of medieval Christianity handed down to modern Russian literature. In this tradition, a text can appeal to readers only when its author lives a life relevant to the text. It is true that phenomena similar to "life-construction" are found in various periods of Russian literature, such as the Symbolists' "life-creation," Nikolai Evreinov's "theater in life" and Nikolai Chuzhak's "life-building," but as the latter's close relationship with the thesis of Socialist Realism shows, the active orientation to change life according to textual ideas can have a suppressive effect. This dilemma of active "life-construction" is embodied in the two-fold image of the "simple" role: recreation of existing norms or styles, and devotion to the moral values of the narod. They respectively correspond to Isaiah Berlin's notions of negative freedom (from restraint) and positive freedom (to self-determination). Lotman has repeatedly discussed play and contingency (especially latterly), which enable one to have plural options and therefore freedom of choice (negative freedom). In choosing one option, one then needs certain values that justify one's decision. Particular values help one to be an autonomous subject (positive freedom), just as the Tartu School was sustained by such moral values as "sincerity" and "universality." On the other hand, Berlin points out that positive freedom would lead to the imposition of one's values on others. This pitfall of positive freedom that parallels the possible suppressive effect of "life-construction" is all the more serious for Lotman for the fact that his school's moral values are shared with the "official" sphere. Aware of these dangers, Lotman nevertheless considers it vital to establish autonomy by employing positive freedom for securing plural options in late Soviet society.
著者
斎藤 祥平
出版者
北海道大学スラブ研究センター
雑誌
スラヴ研究 (ISSN:05626579)
巻号頁・発行日
no.58, pp.229-252[含 英語文要旨], 2011

Eurasianism was a movement created by a group of Russian émigré linguists, ethnologists, geographers, and historians in the 1920s and 1930s. Although the Eurasianists possessed no political power, their ideas have had a significant influence on a wide range of intellectuals, even to this day. The most famous member of the movement was N. S. Trubetskoy (1890-1938), a renowned linguist. While scholars have examined the political implications of Eurasianism in the context of the 1920s, this essay shifts the emphasis to the academic and theoretical development of Eurasianism from the late 1920s into the 1930s. The examination of this new turn that the Eurasianists went though during this period reveals new aspects of their movement. Trubetzkoy's linguistic ideas made a major contribution to determining the direction of Eurasianism. My approach to Trubetzkoy's Eurasianism with much attention paid to his non-political aspects could solve the question of why his social thought was called "Eurasianism" and not "Russianism." This essay shows that Trubetzkoy suggested Eurasianism as an alternative ideology to Bolshevism, an alternative racial theory to Nazi racism, and an alternative name for the USSR. Trubetzkoy did not support the Bolsheviks during his lifetime. He rather sought to promote an alternative view to Bolshevik policy in many respects. His struggle with Bolshevism led him to forge the idea of Eurasianism. As far as national policy in the Soviet Union was concerned, Trubetzkoy recognized both the applicability and the limits of Eurasianism vis-à-vis the Soviet Union. He claimed that the Soviet assimilation policy was the opposite of national diversity, assuming that every national culture was equally valuable in its uniqueness. Strictly speaking, he disagreed with Soviet national policy, contending that an alternative ideology to Marxism was necessary. Trubetzkoy considered it possible to bring a variety of nations together with their every uniqueness preserved. Accentuating cooperation among various races, Trubetzkoy's Eurasianism worked as a challenge to Social Darwinism. He was against the concept of the "the struggle for survival," as he found himself "socially and racially weak" as a Russian émigré in Western Europe. Social Darwinism was a theory of "the strong" at that time. In fact, in his letters to R. Jakobson, Trubetzkoy mentioned the racial discrimination he confronted in daily life. These letters and his article "On Racism" (1935) revealed that Trubetzkoy and his colleagues were already under pressure from the Nazis at that time. In this article, he criticized the Nazi's Indo-Europeancentrism and racial determinism. In this essay, I attempt to define Eurasianism in the 1930s as an endeavor to create an ideal type of "Eurasia" replacing Bolshevism. The linguists Trubetzkoy and R. Jakobson and geographer P. Savitsky used a multi-disciplinary approach, applying concepts deriving from Neo-Lamarckian evolutionism to their social ideas concerning Eurasianism. This methodology stemmed from Trubetzkoy's article "The Tower of Babel and the Confusion of Tongues" (1923). Later, in his article "On the Indo-European Problem" (1937), his linguistic ideas clashed with the Nazi's racial and pseudo-linguistic theory that involved the concept of a "Proto-Indo-European language." In the 1920s and 1930s, Eurasianism developed as a reaction against European intellectual trends, including Social Darwinism. Trubetzkoy's Eurasianism stood between the communism of the USSR and the fascism of Nazi Germany, not only politically but also academically and ideologically.
著者
東田 範子
出版者
北海道大学スラブ研究センター
雑誌
スラヴ研究 (ISSN:05626579)
巻号頁・発行日
no.46, pp.1-32, 1999

Since the time of the Russian Empire, Kazak(Qazaq) music had been described as "folk music" by scholars and musicians, and under Soviet rule, it was to be developed to create a part of the Kazak national culture. The author describes the process of the formation of Kazak national music and its systematization in the first half of the Soviet period. To understand the changes in Kazak musical culture in the Soviet period, it is important to survey the course of Russian nationalism in the 19th century; which served as a model for the formation of Kazak national music. In Russia, Iike in other countries on the periphery of Europe, there had been interest in folk culture since the middle of the 18th century; and folk songs and music were transcribed in musical notation and arranged by composers and scholars. So-called Russian nationalist school w as established in the history of European music, and composers did not simply quote Russian folk music in their works with European harmonization. At that time, it became a common practice for composers to publish "collected folk songs" -- a term which was applied to their own arrangements of songs with piano accompaniment. The worth of folk songs was appreciated only when they were given arrangements or harmonization, thus transformed by composers into works of art. Folk music was always subsidiary to "art music" or "universal music" -- i.e., European Classical Music. Another source of material to be transformed into works of art in Russia was the musical traditions of foreign peoples. Their motifs were inlaid in many works by Russian composers, and they evoked not only exotic but also imperialistic and patriotic feelings for Russia. The music of foreign peoples was also considered as "folk music," whether it be their ritual music or court music. On the other hand, Russian folk music was transformed in the process of staging it. In the 1880s, V. V. Andreev "improved" Russian folk musical instruments, giving them frets and adding strings to permit the playing of more "complicated" European works. He made instruments of different sizes and registers, and these were organized into the orchestra of Russian folk musical instruments. This orchestra became instantly popular, and stimulated formation of similar ensembles. The collection of folk music and its publication was of interest not only to musicians but to Russian ethnographers. Ethnographic research institutions formed special commissions for folk music research, which included composers, musicologists, and music critics, as well as ethnographers. They undertook the systematic collection and study of Russian and foreign music, and published the results. Kazak music was also transcribed in this tradition. Beginning in the first half of the 19th century; it was recorded in linear notation. Many of the transcribers of Kazak music were professional or semi-professional musicians or ethnographers well-grounded in music, and some of them did arrangements in the manner of the Russian composers. Meanwhile, Kazaks did not write their own music into notation until 1931. Since they had transmitted tr mheiusical heritage in an entirely oral-aural w ay, the idea of visual recording of music was unfamiliar for them. It is natural that they might have come into contact with Russian music and with European music through the Russians, as a result of their long history as neighbors. A few Kazaks at that time actually read and wrote European notation. But most people simply received the music by ear, not by a European notation system, and they never attempted transcription of Kazak music. Unlike Kazak literature, which was transformed eclectically to meet the demands of the coming new age, such transformation of Kazak music was not possible without transcription. In early Soviet ideology, the culture of the Kazaks was seen not as "national culture," but as "folk culture." Folk culture was to be collected and recorded to educate and enlighten the people. They were expected to gradually adopt "universal culture," supplemented with their own folk elements. In 1920, when the Kirgiz [Kazak] ASSR was established, the government decided to undertake the collection of Kazak folk music as a state project. As the key person responsible for this task, the government appointed A. V. Zataevich, who had come from Russia. Since he once wished to be a professional composer, Zataevich had been interested in Kazak music before his offircial appointment, and he had himself already begun transcription and arrangements of the music. His personal purpose was to create new art music by using the motifs and melodies of Kazak music in his works as was done by the Russian composers whom he admired. Thus the aims of the government and those of Zataevich diverged, but they were basically in agreement on the ultimate purpose of contributing to "universal art music" -- one by educating Kazak people, and the other by trying to bring new possibilities to art music. Another program pursued by the government and Zataevich was the "improvement" of Kazak musical instruments and the organization of ensembles according to the Russian model. Improvement meant increasing the volume of the sound of instruments for performance on stage, increasing the number of frets and strings, and so on. This program was initiated after 1928, and took shape in the 1930s. After the concept of the socialistic realism was formulated in the 1930s, folk culture was required to be "national in the form and socialistic in the content" through "development" in a Soviet socialistic way. In Kazak music, this development was to be realized through professionalization and popularization. Now Kazak musicians had to become "professional" by being educated in public institutions which were opened in rapid succession, and by playing the improved Kazak instruments in orchestras using notation. Education in institutions was conducted only by these "professional" musicians, and the traditional form of Kazak musical culture was designated as amateurism. It was only "professional folk music" that could become "Soviet-Kazak national music." The first institution of higher musical education in Kazak SSR was the Musical-Dramatic Training College, founded in 1932. The government appointed A. Jŭbanov to direct this College. Jŭbanov was the first Kazak that learned European music in Russia (Leningrad), and he was an expert in Kazak musical culture, as well. In the College, he played a leading role in the transcription and arrangement of Kazak music, in the reconstruction of Kazak musical instruments, and in musical education. He and colleagues transcribed a large number of Kazak songs and melodies into staff notation. They were arranged to create "art music", and to provide a repertoire for the Orchestra of Kazak Folk Musical Instruments which was established in 1934. Kazak instruments were "improved" by Russian masters who had previously worked with orchestras and ensembles of Russian folk musical instruments. The Orchestra of Kazak Folk Musical Instruments began to use a notation system for performing arranged European Classical pieces, but there were great difficulties for Kazak musicians both in the polyphonic performance style of the orchestra and in using the linear notation system. In this way, the professionalism of Kazak folk music was developed despite various difficulties. Furthermore, this professionalism was supported by musicological research. Jŭbanov began to write the biographies of past Kazak musicians, and formulated the concept of "the history of Kazak music." The first comprehensive work on the history of Kazak music was written by Jŭbanov, entitled "The Lives and Works of Kazak Composers." This book apparently follows the history of masters of European music in its manner of historical and biographical writing. We see that Jtibanov attempted to show the autonomous and independent worth of Kazak music -- by both denying and allowing the application of European terms to Kazak music. Simultaneously, though, this autonomy of Kazak musical culture was considered as a thing of the past, and in this regard was unlike Soviet-Kazak professional folk music. In this way, Kazak folk music was "developed" into Soviet national music through systematization and institutionalization. As national music was seen to have these indispensable characteristics, traditional forms of Kazak music were relegated to the realm of folk music, which was associated with "simplicity" and "amateurism".
著者
勝田 吉太郎
出版者
北海道大学
雑誌
スラヴ研究 (ISSN:05626579)
巻号頁・発行日
vol.3, pp.7-65, 1959

The leitmotif of this article is to compare Bakuninism with Marxism in terms of their philosophical and sociological foundations as well as of their revolutionary programmes and tactics. In a word, the basic pathos of Marxism is Equality, and it starts with the society, whereas Bakunin's is Liberty and he starts with the individual. Indeed, his social and political theory begins, and almost ends, with liberty. That is why Bakunin's criticism of "the dictatorship of proletariat" is so severe and uncompromising. It may be said that his "apolitism" and the rejection of legal political action lead to the syndicalist ideas. Marx introduced into the revolutionary theory and practice the order, method, and authority, and thereby laid the foundation of the disciplined revolutionary State, Bakunin was a visionary and a romantic. His concern was not with the mass but with the individual, not with institutions but with morality. On the other hand, the combination between the Russian reality and his unrealism is peculiar enough. The paradox of history shows us that Lenin owes more to that rebel of the eastern backward country rather than to his official teacher, Karl Marx in formulating his own revolutionary tactics.(Particulary in his theory of "smychka" between workers and peasants and also his concept of the revolutionary party organization.) At all events, Bakunin's ideas, with his all fantasies and Narodnik biases, are deep-rooted in the Russian soil.