But there is more than ideology at work here. There are class and collective instincts, born in the countryside of prerevolutionary Russia, embedded in the peasant psyche and often carried from the farm to the factory when peasants have migrated to the cities. This hostility toward those who rise above the herd reflects the collective ethic of the obshchina, the commune of villagers who in czarist times lived in a small huddle of homes, close by each other, not, as in the United States, in single homesteads dotted independently across the open plains. After serfdom was abolished in 1861, the peasantry banded together, working the land together. The peasant commune apportioned to each family strips of land to work, in different fields, some near the village, some off by the forest, distributed so that each family was assigned some good land and some not-so-good land. The obshchina decided when they would all plant, when they would all harvest and often how they would all work the fields. The villagers shared the bad weather. They planted the same crops. They grew accustomed to a common fate. And they reacted warily against anyone who tried to advance beyond his peers. IN MY TRAVELS, VILLAGERS often told me: Remember, the tallest blade of grass is the first to be cut down by the scythe. Lesson: Do not try to stand above the crowd, the collective.

Felicity Barringer, a former New York Times correspondent in Moscow, made the shrewd observation that "in America, it's a sin to be a loser, but if there's one sin in Soviet society, it's being a winner."

Dmitri Zakharov, anchor of the Friday night television show "Vzglyad," said: "In the West, if an American sees someone on TV with a shiny new car, he will think, 'Oh, maybe I can get that someday for myself.' But if a Russian sees that, he will think, 'This bastard with his car. I would like to kill him for living better than I do.' When Russians see a cooperative where people make a lot of money, they ask angrily, 'Why do those people make so much money?' Instead of making an effort to raise their own incomes, they want to close down the cooperative."

Anatoly A. Sobchak, the Mayor of Leningrad, told me: "Our people cannot endure seeing someone else earn more than they do. Our people want equal distribution of money, whether that means wealth or poverty. They are so jealous of other people that they want others to be worse off, if need be, to keep things equal. We have a story: God comes to a lucky Russian peasant one day and offers him any wish in the world. The peasant is excited and starts dreaming his fantasies. 'Just remember,' God says, 'whatever you choose, I will do twice as much for your neighbor as I do for you.' The peasant is stumped because he cannot bear to think of his neighbor being so much better off than he is, no matter how well off he becomes. Finally, he gets an idea and he tells God, 'Strike out one of my eyes and take out both eyes of my neighbor.'

"Changing that psychology is the hardest part of our economic reform. That psychology of intolerance toward others who make more money, no matter why, no matter whether they work harder, longer or better -- that psychology is blocking economic reform."

Commenting on this problem, Vlad Pozner put a new twist on something I had noticed among Russians: the built-in caution of their daily greeting. "When two Americans meet, they ask each other, 'How are things?' and they tell each other, 'Fine,' " Pozner said. "An American will say 'fine' even if his mother died yesterday.

"By contrast, when two Soviets meet and ask each other how they are, they will say, 'Normal,' or 'So-so.' Even if things are good -- especially if things are good! You don't want to tempt the devil. You don't want people to think things are great. Because they might be envious. And if they're envious, there's no telling what they might do."