Friday, January 19, 2007

Philistines and Philistinism

This also appears in Nabokov's Lectures on Russian Literature. In the book an advertisement used as illustration accompanies the text. Published here without permission.

Philistines and Philistinism
Vladimir Nabokov


A philistine is a full-grown person whose interests are of a material and commonplace nature, and whose mentality is formed of the stock ideas and conventional ideals of his or her group and time. I have said "full-grown person" because the child or the adolescent who may look like a small philistine is only a small parrot mimicking the ways of confirmed vulgarians, and it is easier to be a parrot than to be a white heron. "Vulgarian" is more or less synonymous with "philistine": the stress in a vulgarian is not so much on the conventionalism of a philistine as on the vulgarity of some of his conventional notions. I may also use the terms genteel and bourgeois. Genteel implies the lace-curtain refined vulgarity which is worse than simple coarseness. To burp in company may be rude, but to say "excuse me" after a burp is genteel and thus worse than vulgar. The term bourgeois I use following Flaubert, not Marx. Bourgeois in Flaubert's sense is a state of mind, not a state of pocket. A bourgeois is a smug philistine, a dignified vulgarian.

A philistine is not likely to exist in a very primitive society although no doubt rudiments of philistinism may be found even there. We may imagine, for instance, a cannibal who would prefer the human head he eats to be artistically colored, just as the American philistine prefers his oranges to be painted orange, his salmon pink, and his whiskey yellow. But generally speaking philistinism presupposes a certain advanced state of civilization where throughout the ages certain traditions have accumulated in a heap and have started to stink.

Philistinism is international. It is found in all nations and in all classes. An English duke can be as much of a philistine as an American Shriner or a French bureaucrat or a Soviet citizen. The mentality of a Lenin or a Stalin or a Hitler in regard to the arts and the sciences was utterly bourgeois. A laborer or a coal miner can be just as bourgeois as a banker or a housewife or a Hollywood star.

Philistinism implies not only a collection of stock ideas but also the use of set phrases, clichés, banalities expressed in faded words. A true philistine has nothing but these trivial ideas of which he entirely consists. But it should be admitted that all of us have our cliché side; all of us in everyday life often use words not as words but as signs, as coins, as formulas. This does not mean that we are all philistines, but it does mean that we should be careful not to indulge too much in the automatic process of exchanging platitudes. On a hot day every other person will ask you, "Is it warm enough for you?" but that does not necessarily mean that the speaker is a philistine. He may be merely a parrot or a bright foreigner. When a person asks you, "Hullo, how are you?" it is perhaps a sorry cliché to reply, "Fine"; but if you made to him a detailed report of your condition you might pass for a pedant and a bore. It also happens that platitudes are used by people as a kind of disguise or as the shortest cut for avoiding conversation with fools. I have known great scholars and poets and scientists who in the cafeteria sank to the level of the most commonplace give and take.

The character I have in view when I say "smug vulgarian" is, thus, not the part-time philistine, but the total type, the genteel bourgeois, the complete universal product of triteness and mediocrity. He is the conformist, the man who conforms to his group, and he also is typified by something else: he is a pseudo-idealist, he is pseudo-compassionate, he is pseudo-wise. The fraud is the closest ally of the true philistine. All such great words as "Beauty," "Love," "Nature," "Truth," and so on become masks and dupes when the smug vulgarian employs them. In Dead Souls you have heard Chichikov. In Bleak House you have heard Skimpole. You have heard Homais in Madame Bovary. The philistine likes to impress and he likes to be impressed, in consequence of which a world of deception, of mutual cheating, is formed by him and around him.

The philistine, in his passionate urge to conform, to belong, to join, is torn between two longings: to act as everybody does, to admire, to use this or that thing because millions of people do; or else he craves to belong to an exclusive set, to an organization, to a club, to a hotel patronage or an ocean liner community (with the captain in white and wonderful food), and to delight in the knowledge that there is the head of a corporation or a European count sitting next to him. The philistine is often a snob. He is thrilled by riches and rank—"Darling, I've actually talked to a duchess!"

A philistine neither knows nor cares anything about art, including literature—his essential nature is anti-artistic—but he wants information and he is trained to read magazines. He is a faithful reader of the Saturday Evening Post, and when he reads he identifies himself with the characters. If he is a male philistine he will identify himself with the fascinating executive or any other big shot—aloof, single, but a boy and a golfer at heart; or if the reader is a female philistine—a philistinette—she will identify herself with the fascinating strawberry-blonde secretary, a slip of a girl but a mother at heart, who eventually marries the boyish boss. The philistine does not distinguish one writer from another; indeed, he reads little and only what may be useful to him, but he may belong to a book club and choose beautiful, beautiful books, a jumble of Simone de Beauvoir, Dostoevski, Marquand, Somerset Maugham, Dr. Zhivago, and Masters of the Renaissance. He does not much care for pictures, but for the sake of prestige he may hang in his parlor reproductions of Van Gogh's or Whistler's respective mothers, although secretly preferring Norman Rockwell.

In his love for the useful, for the material goods of life, he becomes an easy victim of the advertisement business. Ads may be very good ads—some of them are very artistic—that is not the point. The point is that they tend to appeal to the philistine's pride in possessing things whether silverware or underwear. I mean the following kind of ad: just come to the family is a radio set or a television set (or a car, or a refrigerator, or table silver—anything will do). It has just come to the family: Mother clasps her hands in dazed delight, the children crowd around all agog; Junior and the dog strain up to the edge of the table where the Idol is enthroned; even Grandma of the beaming wrinkles peeps out somewhere in the background; and somewhat apart, his thumbs gleefully inserted in the armpits of his waistcoat, stands triumphant Dad or Pop, the Proud Donor.

Small boys and girls in ads are invariably freckled, and the smaller fry have front teeth missing. I have nothing against freckles (in fact I find them very becoming in live creatures) and quite possibly a special survey might reveal that the majority of small American-born Americans are freckled, or else perhaps another survey might reveal that all successful executives and handsome housewives had been freckled in their childhood. I repeat, I have really nothing against freckles as such. But I do think there is considerable philistinism involved in the use made of them by advertisers and other agencies. I am told that when an unfreckled, or only slightly freckled, little boy actor has to appear on the screen in television, an artificial set of freckles is applied to the middle of his face. Twenty-two freckles is the minimum: eight freckles over each cheekbone and six on the saddle of the pert nose. In the comics, freckles look like a case of bad rash. In one series of comics they appear as tiny circles. But although the good cute little boys of the ads are blond or redhaired, with freckles, the handsome young men of the ads are generally dark haired and always have thick dark eyebrows. The evolution is from Scotch to Celtic.

The rich philistinism emanating from advertisements is due not to their exaggerating (or inventing) the glory of this or that serviceable article but to suggesting that the acme of human happiness is purchasable and that its purchase somehow ennobles the purchaser. Of course, the world they create is pretty harmless in itself because everybody knows that it is made up by the seller with the understanding that the buyer will join in the make-believe. The amusing part is not that it is a world where nothing spiritual remains except the ecstatic smiles of people serving or eating celestial cereals, or a world where the game of the senses is played according to bourgeois rules, but that it is a kind of satellite shadow world in the actual existence of which neither sellers nor buyers really believe in their heart of hearts—especially in this wise quiet country.

Russians have, or had, a special name for smug philistinism—poshlust. Poshlism is not only the obviously trashy but mainly the falsely important, the falsely beautiful, the falsely clever, the falsely attractive. To apply the deadly label of poshlism to something is not only an aesthetic judgment but also a moral indictment. The genuine, the guileless, the good is never poshlust. It is possible to maintain that a simple, uncivilized man is seldom if ever a poshlust since poshlism presupposes the veneer of civilization. A peasant has to become a townsman in order to become vulgar. A painted necktie has to hide the honest Adam's apple in order to produce poshlism.

It is possible that the term itself has been so nicely devised by Russians because of the cult of simplicity and good taste in old Russia. The Russia of today, a country of moral imbeciles, of smiling slaves and poker-faced bullies, has stopped noticing poshlism because Soviet Russia is so full of its special brand, a blend of despotism and pseudo-culture; but in the old days a Gogol, a Tolstoy, a Chekhov in quest of the simplicity of truth easily distinguished the vulgar side of things as well as the trashy systems of pseudo-thought. But poshlists are found everywhere, in every country, in this country as well as in Europe—in fact poshlism is more common in Europe than here, despite our American ads.

12 comments:

With Hammer And Tong...The LetterShaper said...

Very much enjoyed the time I spent reading and looking around your site...as a poet and an avid reader, I found it a most rewarding look. Thank you...

Cheshire Cat said...

What a confused and self-contradictory article. Nabokov comes close to embarrassing himself here. All that palaver about freckles saves him - it is the finest palaver.

Much worse than being a philistine is to be exiled from the community of philistines, unable to stand on equal terms with them. But there is still hope for me - there are two aspects of philistinism for which I have nothing but fondness...

One is falseness, which has an ironic appeal. The other: naivete, which has a sentimental appeal.

Alok said...

with hammer: thanks for visiting anc commenting!

cat: gasp! confused? i thought it was a one track rant...

and ironizing falseness is same as standing up to it on your own. it is definitely not philistinism. it is what for example great satirists do. Nabokov was himself an expert in this too.

sentimentality... ah cliches of the heart! what is literature other than a refuge from everyday philistinism? a campaign against the cliches of mind and the cliches of the heart... both kind you mention?

Cheshire Cat said...

I think rants are confused by their very nature. They have more to do with what gets on one's nerves than with what's unreasonable, it's too much to expect coherence from them. But what surprised me was that Nabokov's style had much less verve than usual - mostly stereotypes, tired words.

Also, those who define themselves through their opposition to sentimentality often do so because they are strongly attracted to it. "Protesting too much". It's hard to think of a more sentimental modern writer than the Nabokov of "Speak, Memory".

Alok said...

Nabokov wrote about sentimental subjects I agree but he wrote with great detachment and irony. in fact the sense of irony is so strong in many places that it verges on sadism. The way he makes fun of kinbote and pnin and their feelings of homelessness when part of those characters are self-portraits for example... They are also moving and tender at many places but overall one gets the feeling that nabokov is playing games while his characters suffer. he made some comment also like that...

speak, memory sentimental? Heresy :) It is one of the greatest books of twentieth century... my own humbler opinion of course. in fact reading this book showed me how one can write about one's past, one's first love for example in a completely non-sentimental manner. reading it was almost a therapeutic exercise for me. just like proust is, only easier to read and more words to look up in the dictionary.

He was a hopeless snob I agree. Not just in his artistic and literary tastes, that would be okay for me, but also for his aristocratic background. you should read his dostoevsky essay. he makes some good points but overall it is pretty nasty.

Alok said...

a fitting review of his russian literature lectures

Cheshire Cat said...

You're assuming that I'm using "sentimental" as a negative term. Not at all - I agree that "Speak, Memory" is a wonderful book, it's my favorite Nabokov of the ones I've read so far. I just think Nabokov had a sentimental attitude towards his material; his writing is a reaction to that, and goes to the other extreme.

Alok said...

yes that's true. I totally agree with that. he would have reacted violently to it but i think it was one of those cases of "sublimation"!

seherezada said...

Perusing through your blog gives me immense pleasure.
I cannot compliment your exquisite taste, as it may sound self-laudatory, so does it coincide with mine ...

With respect to Nabokov, I came across a surprising
3-page article, titled “The Gay Nabokov” , about his brother Serghei, ... and their relationship.

Intimate and tragic revelations, ... hidden, and yet so present in Nabokov’s unique style of writing, ... a mixture of apparent rigid confidence with repressed vulnerability ...

I love Nabokov even more now.

Alok said...

thanks, seherezda! thanks for the link to the article. i have read his biography so i knew some of the things but it is still a very good summary.

seherezada said...

alok, have you seen the film DESPAIR, directed by Fassbinder, based on a Nabokov story with the same title ?

It is one of my favorite movies, a product of three personalities with genious: Nabokov, Fassbinder and Dirk Bogarde.

This meeting of talents created
a masterpiece that, imHo, surpasses the value of Nabokov's novel alone.

Alok said...

No, I haven't seen it. I haven't read the novel too!

I like Fassbinder a lot too, but somehow this is not really easily available. Will need to check out. thanks!