The role that the environment plays in “I do not look for harmony in nature”, and the tone in which it is described, is very different than what we’ve seen in past readings. I have found that most pieces represent nature as very strong and persistent in the face of all the disruption it faces. In this poem, however, I felt less of this “hope” I felt in the past, feeling more of the hopelessness of nature coming through. Not only has nature become unidentifiable to humans, as Zabolotsky makes clear in explaining that he no longer even bothers searching for harmony in nature, but also that nature can no longer identify itself. Zabolotsky writes that the black water is now “weary of its vigour”, “its bodily movement”, and “its massive labors”, seemingly trying to express that the hopelessness we often see in humans regarding the environment has reached nature itself. A force once so in balance and in harmony can no longer recognize its new form and purpose, an idea that reminds me of Professor Breyfogle’s lecture. The role of water around Lake Baikal was created to maintain itself and the wildlife depending on it. All of a sudden this purpose was shifted to supporting factories and working endlessly to work toward hydroelectric power. If we were to personify the water within Lake Baikal, we might imagine that altering its purpose so drastically could make it unable to identify itself, similar to how nature is depicted in Zabolotsky’s “I do not look for harmony in nature”. I see themes of betrayal in both of these instances, the industrialization of Lake Baikal and the transformation of nature in Zabolotsky’s poem. The waters of Baikal, the wildlife inhabiting it, and even the residents of the area we’re betrayed by the forced industrialization; and, too, the narrator in Zabolotsky’s poem loses a connection with nature, and nature itself almost loses a connection with itself.
Tag Archives: Baikal
Nature’s Moral Goodness versus its Deception in Valentin Rasputin’s “Baikal”
After close examination of Lake Baikal in Rasputin’s essay, there seems to be great variability between the moral and heavenly descriptions of Lake Baikal, versus mysterious and sometimes deceptive illustrations of what Rasputin and his colleagues observe within the region.
From the beginning of this piece, descriptions of “the sacred sea,” “the sacred lake,” “ the sacred water,” illustrate Lake Baikal as a region closely connected with the divine. It is said to be “considered enlightened” by those who frequent it, and Rasputin states that this part of Russian is “wrought by God” (188). Here, there is a connotation of spiritual goodness paired alongside Lake Baikal. Later, the accounts of the colleague’s miraculous transformation after visiting the region similarly associate a divine and everlasting power with the region. This colleague states that his “spirits have been lifted” by Baikal, and that he now addresses the lake formally as “Father Baikal” (191). Spiritual imagery, specifically the epithet “Father,” implies Lake Baikal becomes a heavenly force for those who witness it. Now with that supernatural, divine connotation comes a sense of morality mention on page 193—Baikal’s heavenly abundance is evidenced by its vast nature, which in itself “is always moral.” Furthermore, Rasputin states that Baikal “has never refused to help human beings,” even despite their constant utilization of its resources. By use of notions like morality and unconditional support of Russian people, Lake Baikal and its heavenly nature suggest moral and spiritual goodness.
With these various (and seemingly harmless) characteristics of Lake Baikal, such as spiritual enlightenment and even its physically bright, blossoming rocks, there is surprisingly also a notion of deception and mystery portrayed through Rasputin’s observations. In the beginning of this piece, it is mentioned that Baikal noticeably “dumbfounds” its visitors due to its otherworldly nature (188). Specifically, “its rocks seem to blossom” and its snowy mountains are accentuated so much so that the human “eye perceives” them “as many times closer than they actually are” (189). Here, there is a deceptive component to the Baikal region, which almost tricks its visitors into imagining scenery different than it really is. Another scene that depicts similar deceptive notions is during winter when “the transparent ice seems so thin” that one is “afraid to step on it” even though it “might be over one meter thick” (191). This second excerpt and its imagery of ice and transparency coincides the moral goodness of the Baikal region; however, the fact that frozen lake is so clear that it deceives its visitor contradicts the region’s divine, moral goodness.
In sum, Lake Baikal in Rasputin’s essay seems to encompass both moral and divine notions yet simultaneously comes across as deceptive and mysterious. Do you think these characteristics should mutually co-exist? Perhaps they enhance one another, and purposely portray the region as complicated: spiritually divine and moral, yet also deceptive, a force to be reckoned with. I would love to hear your thoughts!
Is all of nature created (and enjoyed) equally?
Valentin Rasputin does a beautiful job writing Baikal. This piece is written in a very lyrical and intriguing manner, both informing and inspiring the reader. Rasputin depicts Lake Baikal as different from other natural landmarks, and at one point, claims it one of nature’s “favorites”. For me, this begged the question of whether or not nature creates all natural environments equally, to be enjoyed equally by all, none objectively better than another. Early on in this piece, Rasputin writes, “How and with what can its beauty actually be compared? … each of us regards his own region as beloved and dear…From the time we are born we drink in the air, the salt, and the scenes of our homeland; these influence our character and shape our vital makeup to no small degree” (189). According to this view, maybe all of nature is created equally, but experienced differently, and even biasedly, by love who live in it. For instance, I might find that the beauty of my home environment is objectively better than the environment a couple of towns over. This seems right to me in many ways. However, there are some flaws in this view. I love my hometown and will always think that the ocean surrounding my tiny island is the most beautiful of them all, but I must admit that I believe this because of the personal attachment and emotional bond I have with it. I’ve traveled a great deal and have seen oceans must more beautiful than the Atlantic surrounding my island – the colors of the Indian and Atlantic oceans colliding at the very point of Cape Town, the sky above it, and backdrop behind it, were so obviously more beautiful than the ocean I’m used to here. According to this view posed by Rasputin, I should think there is nothing more beautiful than my island ocean, so why is it that, in some ways, I prefer the ocean in Cape Town? This leads me to Tolstoy’s quote:
“How, in the midst of nature’s charms, can feelings of malice and vengeance or the passion to destroy others like himself possibly remain entrenched in man? It seems that all evil in a person’s heart should vanish when it comes into contact with nature, this spontaneous expression of beauty and goodness” (192).
In my mind, I related this quote to the story of the colleague who becomes silent after witnessing the natural beauties of Lake Baikal. He clearly had a lasting life-altering experience that influenced the way he viewed and approached life thereafter, but can all people experience this, as Tolstoy hopes, or does it take a certain type? Maybe an open-minded person more in touch with nature is most capable of this transformative experience because it is obvious that not everyone experiences nature in the same way this colleague does. Looping back to my point of the island ocean versus the Cape Town ocean, maybe it is that I am more unfamiliar with the latter and thus have a greater appreciation from it; and from this, we might say that nature is created equal, and can be enjoyed equally by all, but that it does take a certain type of person, and maybe even some extent of removal from a place, for us to appreciate the full and true beauty of nature.
Art and the Environment
After reading “Baikal” by Rasputin and looking at the Aivazovsky paintings I was struck by the different portrayals of water in both the literature and the paintings. Though the paintings did not necessarily depict Lake Baikal, they paired well with the descriptions, both positive and negative from the narrator in Rasputin’s text.
There were many descriptions of Baikal as sacred, specifically “for its miraculous, life-giving force and for its spirit, which is a spirit not of olden times, of the past, as with many things today, but of the present, a spirit not subject to time and transformations, a spirit of age-old grandeur and power preserved intact, of irresistible ordeals and inborn will” (Rasputin 189). After introducing Baikal as such an important and powerful lake, he reflects on a time when he brought a colleague on a walk around the lake when its “beauty was in full bloom and at its peak” (190). The man by the lake’s beauty that, by the end of the day, he cannot intake anymore beauty. The Aivazovsky paintings, specifically “The Sea,” “Sailboat near the Crimean Shore,” and “Moonlit Night” struck me as portraying the kind of serenity and beauty that the man saw on his visit that day. The landscape is vast and shocking and the water is call and beautiful.
The other paintings by Aivazovsky parallel the other side of Baikal that Rasputin is careful to mention to his friend. The side that “can rage for no reason” and when “the transparent ice, swept clean by the winds, seems so thin that the water beneath it is alive and stirring” (Rasputin 191). The paintings “Night Storm at Sea,” and “The Ninth Wave” show the other sides of water that aren’t seen when the sea is calm and the sky is blue. Though these conditions are different and sound more daunting than the picture-perfect day initially described, they are all shown in the paintings to be stunning, striking, and rich in color. Rasputin agrees with this intensely beautiful portrayal of a raging sea, regardless of the dangers. He ends “Baikal” with a cry for protection of the lake, which is interesting given the lack of thesis or obvious political motivation. I wonder if art and literature ever collided to advocate for the environment.
Mystical Forces of Good and Evil
One important concept that emerges in both Valentin Rasputin’s “Baikal,” as well as Aleksandr Petrov’s “The Mermaid,” is the duality of nature as a mystical force of both good and evil. Both works highlight the tranquility associated with serene bodies of water, but also how one can be fooled into thinking that serenity is the only possible state for these natural settings. In Rasputin’s “Baikal,” the narrator describes Lake Baikal as sacred for its” spirit of age-old grandeur and power preserved intact” (189). The narrator’s colleague, who accompanies him on a visit to the lake, claims that “[his] spirits have been lifted, and that comes from out there, from Baikal,” which underscores how the lake’s mythical power positively impacts individuals who respectfully relish in its beauty (191). The colleague however only saw “the tiniest edge of Baikal… on a marvelous summer day when everything around was showing its appreciation for the tranquility and sunshine,” leaving him without the impression that “Baikal can rage for no reason… as if whipped from inside” (191). While the lake on the surface appears tranquil, the sudden thrashing of the lake water and “winds that can instantly swoop down” reveal a darker side of the lake’s mystical force that go unseen by infrequent observers (191). The lake not only can raise peoples’ spirits, but also poses great danger for reasons only known to itself.
“The Mermaid” also focuses on the duality of nature’s mystical force. While the earlier portions of the film beautifully depict both the water and mermaid, the sudden storm that brews at the end, as well as the mermaid’s attempt to pull the boy underwater, complicate this beautiful depiction. It leads one to believe that beauty may only conceal evil intent, especially seen as the mermaid’s ultimate goal is to knock the boy off the boat and presumably drown him. Just as seen with Lake Baikal, both the mermaid and water appear serene on the surface, but are subject to change at any moment and reveal a dark side concealed by the outward beauty.
It would be interesting to further discuss in class whether one can classify acts of nature as inherently good or evil, especially given Rasputin’s writing that “[n]ature by itself is always moral; only human beings can make it immoral” (193).