生命不能承受之轻-第37部分

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　properly；　that　human　existence　is　good；　and　that　we　are　therefore　entitled　to　multiply。　Let　us　call　this　basic　faith　a　categorical　agreement　with　being。
The　fact　that　until　recently　the　word　shit　appeared　in　print　as　s—　has　nothing　to　do　with　moral　considerations。　You　can't　claim　that　shit　is　immoral；　after　all！　The　objection　to　shit　is　a　metaphysical　one。　The　daily　defecation　session　is　daily　proof　of　the　unacceptability　of　Creation。　Either/or：　either　shit　is　acceptable　（in　which　case　don't　lock　yourself　in　the　bathroom！）　or　we　are　created　in　an　unacceptable　manner。
It　follows；　then；　that　the　aesthetic　ideal　of　the　categorical　agreement　with　being　is　a　world　in　which　shit　is　denied　and　everyone　acts　as　though　it　did　not　exist。　This　aesthetic　ideal　is　called　kitsch。
Kitsch　is　a　German　word　born　in　the　middle　of　the　sentimental　nineteenth　century；　and　from　German　it　entered　all　Western　languages。　Repeated　use；　however；　has　obliterated　its　original　metaphysical　meaning：　kitsch　is　the　absolute　denial　of　shit；　in　both　the　literal　and　the　figurative　senses　of　the　word；　kitsch　excludes　everything　from　its　purview　which　is　essentially　unacceptable　in　human　existence。
6
Sabina's　initial　inner　revolt　against　Communism　was　aesthetic　rather　than　ethical　in　character。　What　repelled　her　was　not　nearly　so　much　the　ugliness　of　the　Communist　world　（ruined　castles　transformed　into　cow　sheds）　as　the　mask　of　beauty　it　tried　to　wear—in　other　words；　Communist　kitsch。　The　model　of　Communist　kitsch　is　the　ceremony　called　May　Day。
She　had　seen　May　Day　parades　during　the　time　when　people　were　still　enthusiastic　or　still　did　their　best　to　feign　enthusiasm。　The　women　all　wore　red；　white；　and　blue　blouses；　and　the　public；　looking　on　from　balconies　and　windows；　could　make　out　various　five…pointed　stars；　hearts；　and　letters　when　the　marchers　went　into　formation。　Small　brass　bands　accompanied　the　individual　groups；　keeping　everyone　in　step。　As　a　group　approached　the　reviewing　stand；　even　the　most　blase　faces　would　beam　with　dazzling　smiles；　as　if　trying　to　prove　they　were　properly　joyful　or；　to　be　more　precise；　in　proper　agreement。　Nor　were　they　merely　expressing　political　agreement　with　Communism；　no；　theirs　was　an　agreement　with　being　as　such。　The　May　Day　ceremony　drew　its　inspiration　from　the　deep　well　of　the　categorical　agreement　with　being。　The　unwritten；　unsung　motto　of　the　parade　was　not　Long　live　Communism！　but　Long　live　life！　The　power　and　cunning　of　Communist　politics　lay　in　the　fact　that　it　appropriated　this　slogan。　For　it　was　this　idiotic　tautology　（　Long　live　life！　）　which　attracted　people　indifferent　to　the　theses　of　Communism　to　the　Communist　parade。
7
Ten　years　later　（by　which　time　she　was　living　in　America）；　a　friend　of　some　friends；　an　American　senator；　took　Sabina　for　a　drive　in　his　gigantic　car；　his　four　children　bouncing　up　and　down　in　the　back。　The　senator　stopped　the　car　in　front　of　a　stadium　with　an　artificial　skating　rink；　and　the　children　jumped　out　and　started　running　along　the　large　expanse　of　grass　surrounding　it。　Sitting　behind　the　wheel　and　gazing　dreamily　after　the　four　little　bounding　figures；　he　said　to　Sabina；　Just　look　at　them。　And　describing　a　circle　with　his　arm；　a　circle　that　was　meant　to　take　in　stadium；　grass；　and　children；　he　added；　Now　that's　what　I　call　happiness。　
Behind　his　words　there　was　more　than　joy　at　seeing　children　run　and　grass　grow；　there　was　a　deep　understanding　of　the　plight　of　a　refugee　from　a　Communist　country　where；　the　senator　was　convinced；　no　grass　grew　or　children　ran。
At　that　moment　an　image　of　the　senator　standing　on　a　reviewing　stand　in　a　Prague　square　flashed　through　Sabina's　mind。　The　smile　on　his　face　was　the　smile　Communist　statesmen　beamed　from　the　height　of　their　reviewing　stand　to　the　identically　smiling　citizens　in　the　parade　below。
8
How　did　the　senator　know　that　children　meant　happiness？　Could　he　see　into　their　souls？　What　if；　the　moment　they　were　out　of　sight；　three　of　them　jumped　the　fourth　and　began　beating　him　up？
The　senator　had　only　one　argument　in　his　favor：　his　feeling。　When　the　heart　speaks；　the　mind　finds　it　indecent　to　object。　In　the　realm　of　kitsch；　the　dictatorship　of　the　heart　reigns　supreme。
The　feeling　induced　by　kitsch　must　be　a　kind　the　multitudes　can　share。　Kitsch　may　not；　therefore；　depend　on　an　unusual　situation；　it　must　derive　from　the　basic　images　people　have　engraved　in　their　memories：　the　ungrateful　daughter；　the　neglected　father；　children　running　on　the　grass；　the　motherland　betrayed；　first　love。
Kitsch　causes　two　tears　to　flow　in　quick　succession。　The　first　tear　says：　How　nice　to　see　children　running　on　the　grass！
The　second　tear　says：　How　nice　to　be　moved；　together　with　all　mankind；　by　children　running　on　the　grass！
It　is　the　second　tear　that　makes　kitsch　kitsch。
The　brotherhood　of　man　on　earth　will　be　possible　only　on　a　base　of　kitsch。
9
And　no　one　knows　this　better　than　politicians。　Whenever　a　camera　is　in　the　offing；　they　immediately　run　to　the　nearest　child；　lift　it　in　the　air；　kiss　it　on　the　cheek。　Kitsch　is　the　aesthetic　ideal　of　all　politicians　and　all　political　parties　and　movements。
Those　of　us　who　live　in　a　society　where　various　political　tendencies　exist　side　by　side　and　competing　influences　cancel　or　limit　one　another　can　manage　more　or　less　to　escape　the　kitsch　inquisition：　the　individual　can　preserve　his　individuality；　the　artist　can　create　unusual　works。　But　whenever　a　single　political　movement　corners　power；　we　find　ourselves　in　the　realm　of　totalitarian　kitsch。
When　I　say　totalitarian；　what　I　mean　is　that　everything　that　infringes　on　kitsch　must　be　banished　for　life：　every　display　of　individualism　（because　a　deviation　from　the　collective　is　a　spit　in　the　eye　of　the　smiling　brotherhood）；　every　doubt　（because　anyone　who　starts　doubting　details　will　end　by　doubting　life　itself）；　all　irony　（because　in　the　realm　of　kitsch　everything　must　be　taken　quite　seriously）；　and　the　mother　who　abandons　her　family　or　the　man　who　prefers　men　to　women；　thereby　calling　into　question　the　holy　decree　Be　fruitful　and　multiply。　
In　this　light；　we　can　regard　the　gulag　as　a　septic　tank　used　by　totalitarian　kitsch　to　dispose　of　its　refuse。
10
The　decade　immediately　following　the　Second　World　War　was　a　time　of　the　most　horrible　Stalinist　terror。　It　was　the　time　when　Tereza's　father　was　arrested　on　some　piddling　charge　and　ten…year…old　Tereza　was　thrown　out　of　their　flat。　It　was　also　the　time　when　twenty…year…old　Sabina　was　studying　at　the　Academy　of　Fine　Arts。　There；　her　professor　of　Marxism　expounded　on　the　following　theory　of　socialist　art：　Soviet　society　had　made　such　progress　that　the　basic　conflict　was　no　longer　between　good　and　evil　but　between　good　and　better。　So　shit　（that　is；　whatever　is　essentially　unacceptable）　could　exist　only　on　the　other　side　（in　America；　for　instance）；　and　only　from　there；　from　the　outside；　as　something　alien　（a　spy；　for　instance）；　could　it　penetrate　the　world　of　good　and　better。　
And　in　fact；　Soviet　films；　which　flooded　the　cinemas　of　all　Communist　countries　in　that　crudest　of　times；　were　saturated　with　incredible　innocence　and　chastity。　The　greatest　conflict　that　could　occur　between　two　Russians　was　a　lovers'　misunderstanding：　he　thought　she　no　longer　loved　him；　she　thought　he　no　longer　loved　her。　But　in　the　final　scene　they　would　fall　into　each　other's　arms；　tears　of　happiness　trickling　down　their　cheeks。
The　current　conventional　interpretation　of　these　films　is　this：　that　they　showed　the　Communist　ideal；　whereas　Communist　reality　was　worse。
Sabina　always　rebelled　against　that　interpretation。　Whenever　she　imagined　the　world　of　Soviet　kitsch　becoming　a　reality；　she　felt　a　shiver　run　down　her　back。　She　would　unhesitatingly　prefer　life　in　a　real　Communist　regime　with　all　its　persecution　and　meat　queues。　Life　in　the　real　Communist　world　was　still　livable。　In　the　world　of　the　Communist　ideal　made　real；　in　that　world　of　grinning　idiots；　she　would　have　nothing　to　say；　she　would　die　of　horror　within　a　week。
The　feeling　Soviet　kitsch　evoked　in　Sabina　strikes　me　as　very　much　like　the　horror　Tereza　experienced　in　her　dream　of　being　marched　around　a　swimming　pool　with　a　group　of　naked　women　and　forced　to　sing　cheerful　songs　with　them　while　corpses　floated　just　below　the　surface　of　the　pool。　Tereza　could　not　address　a　single　question；　a　single　word；　to　any　of　the　women；　the　only　response　she　would　have　got　was　the　next　stanza　of　the　current　song。　She　could　not　even　give　any　of　them　a　secret　wink；　they　would　immediately　have　pointed　her　out　to　the　man　standing　in　the　basket　above　the　pool；　and　he　would　have　shot　her　dead。
Tereza's　dream　reveals　the　true　function　of　kitsch：　kitsch　is　a　folding　screen　set　up　to　curtain　off　death。

11
In　the　realm　of　totalitarian　kitsch；　all　answers　are　given　in　advance　and　preclude　any　questions。　It　follows；　then；　that　the　true　opponent　of　totalitarian　kitsch　is　the　person　who　asks　questions。　A　question　is　like　a　knife　that　slices　through　the　stage　backdrop　and　gives　us　a　look　at　what　lies　hidden　behind　it。　In　fact；　that　was　exactly　how　Sabina　had　explained　the　meaning　of　her　paintings　to　Tereza：　on　the　surface；　an　intelligible　lie；　underneath；　the　unintelligible　truth　showing　through。
But　the　people　who　struggle　against　what　we　call　totalitarian　regimes　cannot　function　with　queries　and　doubts。　They；　too；　need　certainties　and　simple　truths　to　make　the　multitudes　understand；　to　provoke　collective　tears。
Sabina　had　once　had　an　exhibit　that　was　organized　by　a　political　organization　in　Germany。　When　she　picked　up　the　catalogue；　the　first　thing　she　saw　was　a　picture　of　herself　with　a　drawing　of　barbed　wire　superimposed　on　it。　Inside　she　found　a　biography　that　read　like　the　life　of　a　saint　or　martyr：　she　had　suffered；　struggled　against　injustice；　been　forced　to　abandon　her　bleeding　homeland；　yet　was　carrying　on　the　struggle。　Her　paintings　are　a　struggle　for　happiness　was　the　final　sentence。
She　protested；　but　they　did　not　understand　her。
Do　you　mean　that　modern　art　isn't　persecuted　under　Communism？
My　enemy　is　kitsch；　not　Communism！　she　replied；　infuriated。
From　that　time　on；　she　began　to　insert　mystifications　in　her　biography；　and　by　the　time　she　got　to　America　she　even　managed　to　hide　the　fa