Oblomov spent his days like the Dude. (The Big Lebowski)

Oblomov, I imagine, looks like that stonily stoned chap in František Kupka’s The Yellow Scale. It’s a striking painting, a riot of yellows, with Kupka — for this is a self-portrait — staring defiantly at you, propped up in a cushioned wicker chair, a cigarette in one hand and the index finger of his other lodged in a lemony paperback, as if saying, “yes, I’m a lazy bastard. So what?”
That’s the vibe conveyed by Ilya Ilyich Oblomov, the hero of Ivan Goncharov’s second novel, published in 1859. He embodies that mid-19th century Russian ideal type — common enough in Turgenev and Pushkin — whom we would do well to emulate: the “superfluous man”. He is an “incorrigible, carefree idler”, his pal Penkin observes, but that’s an understatement.
Oblomov is paralysed by indolence. His achievement, in the first 50 pages, is to negotiate a relocation from his bed to his chair. He isn’t handicapped, Goncharov explains: “Lying down was not for Oblomov a necessity, as it is for a sick man; or a matter of chance, as it is for a tired man; or a pleasure, as it is for a lazy man: it was his normal condition.” Oblomov spends much of the novel in a state of near-permanent recumbency, wearing “an expression of serene unconcern, thoughts promenading freely all over his face”, his presence adding nothing to society, any more than detracting from it.
Oblomov, we learn, was once a clerk before he decided that working wasn’t worth the trouble. “In his opinion, life was divided into two halves: one consisted of work and boredom — those words were synonymous for him — and the other of rest and quiet enjoyment.” Accordingly, he decided to commit himself to a life of literary lethargy. He could afford to. With 350 serfs to his name, he has a modest rentier income that frees him from the indignities of work. His overseers swindle him, but he can’t be arsed to put in an appearance in distant Oblomovka, “on the borders of Asia”. Nor can he be bothered to stay au courant with the news. The morning papers bore him. So, too, does high society. He can’t stand the highfalutin eggheads at the Mussinskys’ salon, where they discuss da Vinci and the Venetian School: “Pedants. How boring!”
Oblomov was always a bit of a philistine. At school, “he was quite satisfied with what was written in his notebook and showed no tiresome curiosity when he failed to understand all that he heard”. So it was that, on reaching adulthood, Oblomov withdrew from society, spending his days like the Dude in The Big Lebowski, that inveterate slacker, though in the Russian’s case, his chosen uniform is a capacious oriental dressing-gown rather than a bath-robe, and he doesn’t reside alone in his bachelor pad but has a cantankerous Gogolesque manservant in tow. The two of them bicker like a married couple. Oblomov scolds Zakhar for his appetite: “Are you a cow that you have munched so much greenstuff?” The servant, in turn, faults him for his profligacy with glassware: why can’t the master imbibe directly from the decanter?
The foil to Oblomov is his dour German workaholic schoolmate, Andrey Stolz, a votary of the Protestant work ethic. Stolz laments Oblomov’s laziness: “What do you do? You just roll up and lie about like a piece of dough.” Much of the book is taken up with Stolz’s efforts to make a dull and dutiful German out of the lazy Russian. Needless to say, Stolz fails to improve Oblomov. At first, though, he succeeds in getting our slothful hero to hook up with Olga, and for a minute, Oblomov becomes a party animal, hopping from one soirée to the next. But it doesn’t last. His laziness returns, as it dawns upon him that “intimacy with a woman involves a great deal of trouble”, all the more with those high-maintenance “pale, melancholy maidens”, the kind that make you suffer “tormenting days and iniquitous nights”.
He breaks off the engagement with Olga, who proceeds to tie the knot with Stolz in Crimea. Meanwhile, two artful cadgers make Oblomov part with his fortune. The imperturbable Oblomov, however, can scarcely be bothered by such mundanities. He knows he’s coming down in the world, and he has stoically made peace with his station. Towards the end of the book, he moves in with Agafya Matveyevna, his old childminder. She takes care of him, just as she had when he was a plump putto of seven years.
Childhood, freighted with associations of innocence and simplicity, was a 19th-century invention, and Oblomov, a child of that century, was unsurprisingly obsessed with recovering it. In a lyrical chapter about his pastoral upbringing, titled “Oblomov’s Dream” and published a year earlier as a short story, Oblomov describes his tranquil youth, when “troubles flew past him like birds”. It’s a state of mind he clings onto until his affliction — Oblomovitis — kills him. And so Oblomov dies, just as he lived, in blissful apathy.
In lesser hands, Oblomov would have been a morality tale, a warning against idleness written in the run-up to the abolition of serfdom in 1861; this was a period of flux when “superfluous man” acquired a whole new meaning in landowner circles. Yet it is clear from his treatment that Goncharov’s sympathies lie with the protagonist of his roman à thèse. Goncharov himself was something of an Oblomov. Not exactly a gentleman amateur — he was a bureaucrat in St Petersburg — he was nevertheless an unhurried writer. He left behind only three novels. Oblomov was workshopped in his head for some 13 years, before he rapidly wrote it up at a spa in Marienbad. Like his titular character, Goncharov never married the love of his life, shacking up instead with the widow of his manservant to whom he left his estate.
Oblomov was written in reaction to the sentiments of the age. In fiction, the desultory everyman had triumphed over the Romantic of old. Dostoevsky was all the rage. In politics, there was a growing sense that Tsarist Russia had been left behind. Some levelling up was needed, to which end the proles were expected to make some sacrifices. Hard work, patriotism and austerity were the insufferable watchwords of the day. Goncharov had had enough. Oblomov was his stab at ripping this consensus to shreds. If Russians could be infected with a heavy dose of Oblomovitis, and so made to prize poetry and disdain drudgery, then all the better.
The book was like a brick lobbed at the pensée unique. A small minority immediately panegyrised it as an instant classic. Tolstoy, for one, wrote that he was “in raptures over Oblomov”. The majority, though, felt otherwise. The same year it was published, the literary critic Nikolay Dobrolyubov turned its languorous hero into a term of abuse. His essay “What is Oblomovism?” concluded that was the ailment plaguing Russia’s ancien régime. It was this sense that Lenin inveighed against the Oblomovs of the Twenties, “always lolling on their beds”. The battle lines were drawn. The presiding conflict of rest of the century was the existential struggle between Oblomov and Stakhanov, that mirthless miner who set a world record for mining some 200 tonnes of coal in single shift, for which he became a Soviet celebrity, gracing the cover of Time magazine to boot.
These days, in Britain, our latest ruler has taken up the cudgels against Oblomovism. Indeed, Starmerism is really just Stakhanovism by another name. A rather plodding Stakhanovite himself, Sir Keir wrote a 12,000-word manifesto of sorts in 2021, a blueprint for his Labour, the gist of which was the need to “put hard-working families first”. Since then, along with his papa’s métier, it has become one of those characteristically vacuous utterances that he parrots ad nauseam. If Starmer ever gets around to putting up his own version of the EdStone, I wager that “hard work” would be right up there.
Starmer and Rachel Reeves present their war on the scrounging Oblomovism of the lumpenproletariat and lumpenpatriciate as Leftist common sense. In truth, it is anything but. It’s actually an aristocratic worldview masquerading as a proletarian one. It was always the upper classes who thought it absurd that the lower sort should have anything resembling free time, time, that is, to be up to no good. To them, the layabouts were loiterers and loafers to a man, given to boozing and wife-beating, ball games and Betfred. The great achievement of the Left, of trade unionism in particular, was to yank them away from the clutches of Dickensian miserabilism. That was the point of capping the workweek, abolishing child labour and legislating a minimum wage. Even in Stakhanov’s Soviet Union, one joined a trade union above all to enjoy its perks: spas, saunas and vacations in Black Sea dachas.
Pace Starmer, then, the Left is not in the business of ennobling work but enabling leisure. His rhetoric, in fact, mirrors that of the Right, recalling David Cameron’s obsession with “hardworking families”. Starmer would do better to take a page instead from John McDonnell, who, in the expectant days of Corbynism, received unlikely praise in The Spectator — from Oblomov’s heir and editor of The Idler, Tom Hodgkinson — for making the case for a 32-hour week, on the strength of the sensible proposition that we “work to live, not live to work”.
We can all be Oblomovs. At first blush, of course, Oblomovism appears to be the luxury that can be afforded only by the few, not the many. Oblomov was a rentier. So, too, was Seneca, that Oblomov avant la lettre, who preached the gospel of otium, a sense of leisure grounded on a commitment to the high literary life, even as he ran the Wonga of his day. Seneca was a loan shark, whose predatory ways prompted Boudica’s anti-capitalist revolt in 60 CE. But you don’t need pots of money to be a cut-price Oblomov. A great many Zoomers and Millennials have discovered a way of sustaining a sybaritic existence on the cheap: quiet quitting. This is not the same as quitting proper, which is to say withdrawing from the workforce. Rather, it is to treat one’s job as no more than a sinecure, doing no more than the bare minimum to hold on to one’s perch.
Quiet quitting created quite the stir during the pandemic, though it’s been around for a while. Across La Manche, in 2004, the economist Corinne Maier published what was effectively a call to arms for quiet quitters. In Bonjour paresse — the translated title, Hello Laziness, loses the pun — she calls time on corporate culture, its penchant for fancy dress, for ritualised hierarchy and dissembling jargon. “It’s in your best interest to work as little as possible,” she concludes, instead of chasing that “ever-elusive little bonus”. That’s what she does at EDF, the state electricity supplier that made her book a bestseller when it subjected her to a disciplinary hearing. She exhorts her readers to “follow my example, ye small-time yuppies and wage slaves, ye wretched of the service sector, brothers and sisters led by the nose by dreary, servile little bosses and forced to dress like puppets all week long and to waste time in useless meetings and bogus seminars.”
Many have followed in her Oblomovian footsteps since the pandemic hit, aided by the recognition that work has ceased to pay as it once did. Holding back on luxury purchases, one avocado at a time, does nothing to alter the fact that in London, where I live, homes are worth 12 times the average annual wage; half a century ago, it was only three times. If “work hard, play hard” was the credo of those who entered employment at the turn of the millennium, nowadays it is dolce far niente — the sweetness of doing nothing.
Not the quiet quitting types, many young refuseniks have quit rather loudly. The upshot was the Great Resignation of the pandemic, as some four million Americans and just as many Europeans cocked a snook at proper employment. Some sought refuge in suburban self-employment, others in premature retirement. They also did a great service to those in the workforce, as wages spiralled upward thanks to reduced labour supply. For the first time since the Seventies, capital suffered a stinging defeat at the hands of labour. The conceit of Ayn Rand’s reactionary novel Atlas Shrugged, in which the billionaires go on strike to prove their indispensability, was turned on its head.
As in the West, so in the East. In China, the Tang Ping — lying flat — movement caught on, as young men and women got off the hamster wheel. Its Oblomovian logic was spelt out by Luo Huazhong, a 26-year-old blogger: “I can live like Diogenes and sleep inside a wooden bucket, enjoying sunshine. I can live like Heraclitus in a cave. Lying down is my philosophical movement. Only through lying flat can humans become the measure of all things.” In a culture where 2,200 hours of work every year is the norm — as against 1,600 in Britain and under 1,400 in Germany — the attractions of lying flat are obvious. Accordingly, many have left the heaving metropolises of the coast for the Himalayan courtyard homes of Yunnan. The movement has driven Xi Jinping mad. His avuncular counsel to “eat bitterness” for the sake of the country’s future, of course, cuts no ice with the young.
Mechanisation and Artificial Intelligence have taken the wind out of the sails of Stakhanovism, Starmerism and Xi Jinping Thought. In the Thirties, Keynes predicted that 100 years on — today — people would have to work no more than 15 hours a week. That this hasn’t come to pass, the anthropologist David Graeber argued, is because we have created “bullshit jobs”. Encompassing HR and PR, not to mention some of the more recondite acronyms, we have a Red Army-sized militia of middle-management flunkies and box-tickers. Put in place a universal basic income and liberate the lot of them from their superfluous jobs. Make them happy superfluous men à la Oblomov.
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SubscribeIt’ so ironic, it almost beggars belief, one could wail, gnash one’s teeth and stamp up and down with despair. The one thing that could have united this country, was the Empire. Instead of using it as a building block, to forge a new sense of community, a common heritage, it has been traduced and reviled and used to sow dissent and bitterness. Sure, the British Empire was far from perfect, it was no different from any other collective human endeavour, self serving, but for all of it’s contradictions, it did tie, people from all across the globe to a common purpose, for which not a few were prepared to sacrifice their lives. When immigration, became a thing, after the Second World War, many of those initial travellers came to the UK on the back of that shared connection, that forged identity ( My first father-in-law to name but one).
No countries history is perfect, every single one will contain episodes of murder, destruction, greed, exploitation, and Britain, or the British Empire, was no different in that regard, but like all emergent countries it then set about trying to forge a common unifying identity, and not entirely without success. I truly despair, that supposedly clever people, with their own agendas, cannot recognise this simple truth. They seek to unite by destroying the very ties that bind, the very reason that drew people, from all over the world, here in the first place.
And no, I will not apologise, for thinking that the British Empire was not an entirely bad thing (I enjoy Flashman, far to much for that).
The British Empire ended the legal institution of slavery, a reality that had existed since the dawn of human history. That people don’t know this when they start banging on about the evils of the UK’s imperial past borders upon obscenely stupid.
I am with you Mr Lewis. The British Empire was far more ‘good’ than ‘bad’ and yes we both know that the standards expected were not always upheld and there were some very bad episodes. But we have left elements of our parliamentary system, justice, administration, ‘rights’, protection of the weak etc for many countries to use as building blocks for their own development. The Commonwealth of Nations is a sort of testament to that.
Disparaging Empire is a silly academic diversionary cul-de-sac. It’s a part of our history which we should look back on as a time when we gave practical foundational help to what eventually became emergent nations and states. Yes, it was based on increasing our wealth and clout as a nation but so many administrators in the late eighteenth and ninenteenth centuries held high principles based on fairness and good will and that meant improving the lot of the native inhabitants where we settled. Sometimes the system failed but these were exceptional instances to what was a straight-forward determination to govern fairly and equably.
King George III wrote an instruction to his newly appointed Governor of New South Wales, Captain Arthur Philip, to ‘treat the natives fairly’ and to ensure that they were not unnecessarily troubled.The humanity was central to the thinking and that is, overall, what we should be proud of.
That you chose this particular straw to grasp shows a remarkable ignorance of how Aborigines have been treated. I suppose we did treat them fairly, until what they wanted confilcted with what we wanted. Then we started shooting them.
I used to believe in the importance of ‘values’ for the post-Christian west. Now, when every corporation and organisation spouts its monolithic ‘values’ to close dissenters down, I see them as a trojan horse for DIE (Diversity/Inclusion/Equity). DIE is a totalising ideology which, up to a couple of years ago, I would have called un-British.
You can still call them un-British, Judy. I know, I call many progressive memes un-American, such as the blatant disregard for our First Amendment that is involved in de-platforming.
I really liked the Manchester Commonwealth Games when ‘Land of hope and glory’ was used as the English anthem. The music is classy and inspiring; the words do recollect what Britain has always represented. I heard the OBON song – dumbed down like a Eurovision entry: nul points!
You are dissing the creative efforts of UK schoolchildren – sacrilege! Whatever next? You’ll be criticising the NHS soon at this rate!
May be some one could have suggested a theme, something along the lines of tomorrow belonging to them perhaps
That’s a thought – we boomers sold that pup to the millennials, it might work with the subsequent generations…
That was satire, correct – or are you unaware of a German song popular during the Third Reich about “tomorrow belongs to me”?
That’s the thing about satire, you never know
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDuHXTG3uyY
Also it was written by John Kander and Fred Ebb (2 of the chosen people) for the film Cabaret in 1972
I don’t understand why ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ can’t be used for this? It inspires hope, belonging and was written by a talented poet and not some random school children. Why are our standards so low? Maybe we should start with that.
Please see our new Relationships/PSHE/character education call it what you will programme for primary schools at http://www.alivetotheworld.com. (See comment below). I’ve always worked on the basis that’s it’s not enough to protest. One has to produce the good alternative and here it is. We even have an exercise getting children to colour in the Union Jack while understanding how it comes from the flags of Ss George, Andrew and Patrick – not forgetting our friends the Welsh whose colourful dragon all the children can colour in. Have a look at the website. So much more in there. Anything anyone can do to advertise it abroad greatly welcomed.
The website is so new I’ve given you the wrong name! It’s http://www.alivetotheworld.co.uk. That’s better.
Orwell was right about the British laughing at militaristic posturing, but he also saw the dangers of totalitarian newspeak and doublethink and wrote Nineteen Eighty Four to warn us. How ironic that plenty of young ‘educated’ Brits now act as if that novel is a guide to the conduct of public affairs.
“What British Values tended to mean, and this wasn’t exactly an accident, was liberal or progressive values, ideas that plenty of people of all backgrounds might feel completely alien to them. Beyond that the things they emphasise — tolerance and respect — are worthy, and something we’d like to teach our children, but they’re not particularly British.”
They’re not particularly Liberal or Progressive either. Wokeism is the latest iteration of Progress within Liberalism, and it’s the diametric opposite of tolerant and respectful.
The Swiss have an admirable level of civic nationalism, partly facilitated by having four official languages. They have one tune for their national hymn, but the lyrics in the different languages express different sentiments. The German lyrics are like advertising copy for the Swiss Tourist Board, whereas the French lyrics read like a version of our footy chant “. If you think you’re hard enough, come and take a chance . . .”. (My knowledge of Italian and Romansh are too limited for me to attempt translations.)
This demonstrates that, as long as the tune is the same, a country does not have to sing from the same hymn sheet.
Great idea. ‘God Save The Team’ does it for sport.
I have long thought that our national anthem should be updated to reflect what is mostly sung as our anthem, namely, “‘Ere We Go”.
For the benefit of non-British commenters the tune is “Stars And Stripes Forever”, and the anthem is very easy to remember, because it would have only four verses. In each verse the same word is repeated throughout, thus:
Optionally verses 2 and 3 could be left out.
It’s a winner.
Doesn’t work for Scotland unless you say Scot-ter-land but Wales is definitely short of syllables.
In fact, Wales has the best anthem by far but the words would be a problem for most people.
Those countries would drop verse 2.
On the matter of re-writing National Anthems, there is this version of the La Marseillaise:
We are the French, we run away
We live to surrender another day
That’s why all French military heroes
Are Women, or, have German Dads.
Not bad, but in the interests of scansion, how about amending the last three words to “are total zeros”? Just a thought.
It does scan better, but I think the line, as is, echoes both the American observation that due to D-Day, ‘Thousands of French women find out what it’s like to not only sleep with a winner, but one who doesn’t call her “Fraulein.” Sadly, widespread use of condoms by American forces forestalls any improvement in the French bloodline.’ and the English football chant of, “You’re S**t, but your birds are fit!”
I think you might have a sideline in writing for I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue.
Liberal democracy is just a reststop on the road from nationalism to nihilism.
Legutko again!
Which is curious since I am completely irreligious.
I thought the internationally recognised essential British value was fair play? Perhaps we should try and rescue it from the avalanche of BS in which it is drowning
The only society which can successfully make “values” the principle of unity is a totalitarian one – and it can only last for as long as subscription to the “values” is enforced. The moment that weakness kicks in, or fatigue, or doubt, the whole thing goes belly-up. Hence the fall of the Soviet Union. The US pretends it is constructed around a constitution, but that constitution is itself a manifestation of the real reason for US unity and identity, the WASP inheritance – now all but squandered – which means the US is heading for dissolution. National integrity relies on inherited culture which in turn depends on demographic stability. When the ties that bind are deeper than “values”, the bitterest rows are sustainable and deadly division kept at bay. After all, what are “values” at the end of the day but fancy, moralising propositions most likely at variance with real experience? And a proposition naturally excites its own opposition in any conscious mind. Any attempt to build a society on words is doomed, either to speedy collapse – “liberal”; or long, increasingly coercive and hysterical enforcement – Marxist / “Woke”.
Oh dear. The union flag held by the little girl in the picture is upside-down.
To be fair, it’s the person who stuck it on the stick who is to blame. Perhaps she knows hence she is scowling at it slightly
Three lions on a shirt
Plus another one on Scotland’s
Wales have got a DRAGON
And Northern Ireland’s is nice too
GB is a truly great country IMO with great people and great potential, and its not even the 1% that spoil it for everyone else its far less than that. There is no place in this country for that tiny %,. To carry on the 1% analogy they are the “filthy few” and include messrs Johnson, Corbin, Witty, Valance and Ferguson. Spain and Portugal are close in joint 2nd to GB in my exp.The best place for those who have no place here is probably somewhere where they have death squads and psychotic cartel bosses. That’ll learn them.
“One flesh, one bone, one true religion
One voice, one hope, one real decision
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Give me one vision, yeah”
If you sing this in the style of Dennis Waterman in Little Britain, I could get on board with this…
If non-european rulers derived their legitimacy from their value as allies of Britain and the Raj, maybe our modern island story should emphasise our value as vassals of the American empire. Just as Jodhpur ruled herself and provided some of the finest (Indian officered) troops in our imperial armies, so to do we provide submarines equally as advanced as America’s efforts. They have sailed side by side against Russian SSKs and SSNs. No other nation can provide that assistance. Nor can any other nation provide the signals intelligence that America depends on. There is no closer alliance in the intelligence world than UKUSA (even within the already tightly knit Five Eyes).
Zareer Masani spoke of an imperial esprit de corps in the armies of the empire. Maybe we should embrace our role as part of the American empire and make clear how important we are to them.
Sounds about right. Only I do not think the US same view of our significance, not at all
Plenty of Brits disparaged the princes, with the exception of the military. The British Army was desperate for Indian and Nepalese manpower, and were incredibly grateful for what they got. The admiration of the US military (which is very very real) is all we need. Ignore the silly democrats- they are no different to the complacent liberal imperialists of the late 19th century. Ungrateful and increasingly irrelevant.
Was the reference to the JRSST deeply ironic, or a mistake? It has been funding anti British activities for,decades. ( You never know.A Times journalist recently called Glenn Greenwall a conservative journalist).
We’re all fu**ed!
It may still be too early to assess whether the British Empire was a good thing. Like the Ottoman, Roman and earlier empires, it is the imprint left once the centre of power and the history have faded that counts. If positive, this is likely to include some kind of partly real or imagined concept or project that leaves former subjects wealthier in spirit than before. On that basis, despite their predations and brutalities, the Roman and British empires may be thought tilted towards the good, if one overlooks arbitrary borders drawn on maps that are a source of endless trouble. Not so the Ottoman empire or attempts to create copycat empires by other European nations and Japan. Now, what of Britain’s last colony – itself?
This type of article keeps coming along. People in England see that the problem with unity begins in Scotland and Wales. In fact, the problem begins in England – in conversation people struggle with the idea of Britishness not being the same as Englishness.
For total unity, the idea of Englishness has to disappear first because England is dominant in the arrangement but can’t be openly seen to be dominant.
Excellent point. I’ve never been able to pin down what “Englishness” is, so always defined myself as “British”, or “Northern”, or “Yorkshire”. Those identities always triggered a feeling of belonging for me much more than “English” did.
What would you say was “British” and what “English”?
I have always assumed we English are diffident about our nationality as we have had the larger influence over the British Isles in language, driving, law etc. I’m 3rd generation white immigrant and half-English but feel pretty incorporated. The English identity is maybe humour (Carry On films), self-depreciation, nostalgia (Downton Abbey), inventiveness and Christian humanism (abolished slavery in the 12th century) [off the top of my head]!
And this is the problem because everyone else doesn’t get a say in things.
You mean deprecation.
Haha. Yes perhaps too much self-depreciation has led us to this dearth of values
Yes, George, but maybe a malapropism that works?
The slavery abolition was mostly the Normans.
I have lived in Wales for 45 years but was born in the north of England. Before moving to Wales I worked in Scotland. I have never seen myself as English!!!
The north of England is vastly different from the south and is, in fact, nearer in humour and character to Wales – self-deprecating, harsh, corner of the mouth rather than full on. To me Englishness means living within a 100 mile radius of London – it means Londonness. Here is the problem, of course. About half of the British population live in this area and they see Englishness and Britishness as the same thing. This makes the far-flung places feel left out of the party. Hence the arrival of independence movements.
Not sure that’s true. I see myself as English because seeing myself as British sort of implies that I must accept something in common with and vicariously share some aspects of Scottishness. As I see Scotland* as a handouts-dependent complete and utter waste of space and a millstone, I don’t agree that they make up any part of my nationality at all.
I have the same reservation about Northern Ireland, where they bizarrely have a “marching season” to insult each other by commemorating sectarian battles of 300 years ago, and a related one about Welshness. As far as I can see there is no Welsh identity at all. When you think of Scotland you at least think of Ally’s Tartan Army and Trainspotting, but when you think of Wales, does anyone think of anything? Anything at all?
*that of today, not the Scotland of the past – where, if you drew up one list of Scottish inventions and discoveries, and another list of British inventions and discoveries, they’d be almost the same list
This is a good answer but you are confirming what I am saying. Effectively, that Englishness doesn’t have room for anything else.
I’m more about suggesting that being British and English is like being north American and American. There cannot be many Americans who consider Mexicans, Panamanians and Canadians their compatriates.
Well no, those are separate countries from the US. But as yet Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland, the Isle of Man, and the Channels (did I miss anything?) all share the same country with England.
If you visit North Wales you will meet lovely people speaking an ancient language.one feels Wales.Its magical.
I am 100% behind Welsh independence but a language is no good for putting food on the table. This idea, that everything depends on a language is what is slowing us down. We need high-paid jobs:- battery producers, the tidal power unit in Swansea, something in the empty space of mid-Wales, technology instead of social science.
I worked in north Wales (well, it was a big chunk of my sales territory) as a graduate and I love the countryside. It is a fabulous place straight out of Tolkien. I am not sure that it adds up to an identity though.
Hi Chris, I was born within 100 miles of London and have never identified with it. I’ve been visiting the capital for 50 years and it progressively became less and less the capital of England and more like an international city of the kind you see in dystopian Sci-Fi films. The only things vaguely English are connected to the Monarchy. Now of course it’s become a political playground under the present Mayor.
I tried replying but for some reason it is ‘waiting for approval’. Time to withdraw from UnHerd, I think.
Howards End has an interesting debate about this. Little England it used to be called , disparagingly, in the days of the Empire. Belloc,and Chesterton portrayed it very well, as well as E.M. Forster. Germany went through a similar identity crisis during its unification under Bismarck.Highly influential writers wanted,Germany to be more like Switzerland. I must admit I find Englishness very easy to understand, based in its ethereally beautiful countryside, nostalgic anthems and bloody minded people.
No, that’s the problem, Englishness has been destroyed to make way for Britishness. The problem isn’t that Englishness is in the way, it’s that Englishness doesn’t exist. We are English, not British, and that is where our focus should be. Britain is a political union, that is all, and the English ties to Britain is what is weakening us because it’s us who are bearing the brunt of it. The Scottish or the Welsh don’t consider themselves British before their national identities so why do we?
You are just agreeing with me but using different words. The reason why Britishness does not work is that Englishness gets in the way. That’s what I said.
“We are Britain and we have one dream to unite all people in one Great Team”.
The road to Brexit was built and paved with such stuff…
Our diversity is our greatest strength … let’s embrace it!
I think the down ticks don’t appreciate irony. Another term I like is diversity and inclusion. Orwellian Newspeak.
Even better, let’s “celebrate” it!