What is culture?

Exclusive. This time I reached the Pass in good time. The fact is that another day had just ended at the Shelter located on the slope. scientific symposium, and Uncle Desio is especially fond of them. He is always happy to have guests, loves tourists, helps them, but gatherings of artists or scientists evoke a special attitude in him. They amuse him.

Writers, philosophers, and representatives of fundamental and applied science visited here. But always, after plenary sessions, at the end of the day, they often came to visit their uncle, as they liked to say, in the backstage. Desiderius Vasilyevich was especially pleased with this “backstage”, which he associated with a “pantry”. He always gladly invited everyone to his “pantry”, and then the word symposium, as performed by the participants, acquired its direct meaning: after all, the translation of this word literally means “joint drinking”. The thought of scientists and artists, liberated by the informal atmosphere of his uncle’s house, sometimes showed fantastic ups and downs. The host was a witness to this. And since he used wine exclusively for medicinal purposes, sparingly and mainly in winter from a cold, he remembered everything well and interpreted it extremely interestingly.

We greeted Desiderius Vasilyevich, and I asked what issues the last sidelines were devoted to.

But, instead of answering, my uncle asked me a question: "What is culture?"

Realizing that the most interesting thoughts, the most unexpected improvisations had recently been heard in this house, I decided not to try to impress my uncle with my answer. Especially since he had caught me by surprise with his question. Therefore, I said something academic, like the fact that this is a form of social consciousness that is dynamically changing, its guidelines are relative, and in general, it is worth talking about this topic only after defining the concepts: knowledge, education, enlightenment, upbringing, faith, etc. I said general things so as not to express some personal assessment, after which Desiderii Vasilyevich would turn everything against me.

But he listened to me attentively, it felt like he hadn't learned anything new, so I realized that now I would hear what the learned guests of the Pass were supposed to hear, but didn't.

I stopped, and my uncle asked me again: "Tell me, why do all these wise and intelligent people, respected scientists, well-known authorities in their field there in the City, here on the Pass, behave like little children? No, they are arrogant, they say meaningful things, they have a lot to learn, but when I listen to them, I get the impression that they don't believe in themselves.

And I know why – because you trust a person who is confident in himself. And the bourgeois live in such uncertain conditions, they are so dependent on others that they cannot be convinced even in what is personal to them. A dependent person is not confident, and an insecure person does not believe in himself, and therefore they do not believe him either.

But here, on the Pass, where everything is clean, where everything is as clear as the palm of their hand, where they don't expect trouble from anywhere, they become free, and therefore confident. That's why they're not afraid of anything, that's why they behave like children.

For several days they talked about culture here with me. In addition to what you said, each of them separately told interesting stories, gave instructive examples. They talked a lot about the city and the countryside, about science and religion, about ancient times and about our present.

I listened to them, but I felt that there was a certain ganj in everything they said, they were talking about secondary things, bypassing the main thing."

Uncle stopped, and I, already encouraged by the topic, dared to ask: "Uncle, so what is it - culture?"

Desiderii Vasilyevich seemed not to notice my question, and to someone, probably those scientists, he said after me: “Culture is the desire to live. To live well, for the benefit of oneself and others.

"Culture is the space around a person that helps them exist meaningfully, which should be for their enjoyment."

And then my uncle, as if remembering me, added: "And you live in the City and are waiting for a day off, or the first good opportunity, to do this." to get rid of one's space».

I noticed that my uncle was lost in thought, remembering something. And then he continued: "Did you not pay attention to the roads and paths in the mountains? What were they like? They could be steep, winding, but they were always treacherous. They would never be such that a man could not get where he wanted, whether on horseback or on foot."

“In the City, they say – optimal,” I added to my uncle’s definition, trying to support his ironic intonation. And he, smiling, gave me an example of how his relative had a wise mare. The relative just harnessed her, got into the cart, and then briefly told her where to go: to her sister, to her best man, or to the store. And to go home, she didn’t even need to guess.

This image reminded me of my grandfather's Polesie village. It consisted of several corners around a meadow. A river flowed through the meadow. Masonry walls were laid across the river and the old woman. They defined a network of paths among the bushes of young alder. Milkmaids walked to the farm three times a day along these paths, from all corners. On clear moonlit nights, these paths covered the meadow like silver snakes. But you could walk through it with your eyes closed. I've played like that more than once. The thing is that when you walk barefoot, the cold dew on the grass itself takes you to a dry path. The biggest trouble was not to step on a hedgehog.

“And what about the roads now?” – Deziyderii Vasilyevich knocked me out of my thoughts, – I get the impression that the roads are not for people, but people for the roads.” And while I was coming back to reality, he continued talking about the infrastructure of the village and the City.

“You have many well-educated and well-mannered people in the City. But when you are pushed in the shoulder every day on your way to work and home, whether you want it or not, you will become “sick”. That’s how you live with your “sicknesses”, that’s your culture. After all, it’s not enough for you to be full; you feel secure if the neighbors around you are not hungry. It’s not enough for you to live comfortably; your life becomes comfortable if the people around you are not suffering either. That’s what I understand – culture. But how can you achieve this in the City? – you can’t even say “good day” to each other.

In my house, the sun rises in one window in the morning and sets in another, and the whole day the house is clear and bright. In your city, it's good if it peeks in the window for even a moment. And it's even worse when in a few years a new house is built in front of the house, and it will block out not only the sun but also the sky for the neighbors.

The peculiarity of mountains is that when you stare into the abyss, you feel how small you are. But when you look at the peaks, you understand that there is a height to which you need to strive all your life. You don't have that in the City.

In the city, you live among messages, among what is announced to you. And a person in a village, in the mountains lives among what is, among what is happening. You, even to find out the weather, turn on the radio or TV, and I wake up in the middle of it - the weather. I have a hydrologist friend: he measures rivers and streams here every year. So he sometimes calls me and asks what is happening here on the Pass. And I look at the cow: is it standing in the barn, or is it lying down - and I tell him what the weather will be like. So we make the weather in your city here - on the mountain farms.

Uncle sighed, and I didn't want to interrupt him. But Desiderius Vasilyevich continued at the same moment: "But what is worth bowing to the City for is for doctors and teachers. They are the only ones who take upon themselves the entire science of human existence, multiply it and pass it on to descendants. Everyone else is also doing a good deed, but one way or another it boils down to to making money. But teachers and doctors, in addition to their salary and money, preserve the culture of our life. I thought about this, and so that you understand, I will tell you this: all people make “pots”, and teachers and doctors take care of the “wine” that we pour into them, and which quenches everyone’s thirst.”

Uncle noticed that I was confused by the picture I had drawn. I must have reminded him of the scientists who had just left the Pass for the City. The helplessness of man before current life circumstances made me ask Desiderius Vasilyevich what people should do.

Uncle Desio reacted surprisingly calmly to my despair: "A person should always be concerned with the real."

I agreed, but then asked: “How do I find him?”

“Remember God,” Desiderius Vasilyevich said quietly and added, “People should constantly know that God loves us. And most importantly, not because we are like this, but because He is like this. Therefore, a person must do everything to be worthy of this love.”

Uncle stopped, and I listened to myself as everything fell into place. And then Desiderii Vasilyevich said: "This is what culture will be. And it doesn't matter where, whether in the city, in the village, or in the mountains."

I return to Chernivtsi. The conversation with Uncle Dez does not leave me. I recall how many intelligent, well-mannered, by all accounts cultured people I have met. But among them were those about whom my late uncle Andrey said: "You will lean on them like your hands on the mud." Therefore, on the way, observing the landscape outside the window, I begin to list the definitions, or rather, the signs of culture, that come to my mind.

Culture is a beautiful church in the middle of a grove on a hill, an old manor in a park. It is a good education and work for a decent salary, peace and comfort in the family. It is your good attitude towards your surroundings and your surroundings towards you. It is a railway that will take you from your travels to your parents' house in a warm and tidy carriage. Finally, it is a clear idea of ​​your own success and all the grounds for achieving it without kicks, betrayals and deceit.

I go through and through the signs, and they all come together in Uncle Desi's formula: "To be worthy of His love." And when I realize this, one circumstance that has always confused me is revealed to me - I begin to understand where people come from, when meeting whom you want to "take off your hat."

(pages of the book "So Spoke Uncle Desio", 2012)

Valentin Tkach, Chernivtsi