Perhaps the most primal horror the human imagination can conjure up is that of being buried alive. For this reason the plight of the sailors on the Russian nuclear submarine, Kursk, has touched a strong chord of sympathy among millions of people throughout the world. Young men, some of whom, through a sense of youthful adventure, did everything they could to gain entry to the submarine service, have been subjected to the most appalling fate imaginable.
The story of the Kursk will now enter a new phase. The writer Alexander Herzen once referred to what he described as the "eternal Russian questions - `What is to be done?' and `Who is to be blamed?' "
The first can be answered quickly. A thorough investigation into the disaster should begin immediately. It should be set up in such a way that it is impervious to sectional interest. It should be rigorous and interested only in ascertaining precisely what caused such a tragedy.
The second question cannot be answered until this investigation has been carried out but there are extremely important aspects of the affair which need to be examined carefully. Reports in the official Russian media that old batteries providing just three hours of power to the rescue craft in their early dives suggests a major bungling of the initial stages of the operation.
Much has been made too, in Russia itself and in the West, of the reported refusal of help from Western sources. The difference in specifications between Russian and NATO equipment has lessened the value of such assistance. US sources have pointed out, for example, that the hatches on their rescue submersibles were unlikely to match the escape hatches on the Kursk.
This does not deflect criticisms that Russian military pride, rather than technical incompatibility, was the prime reason for the refusal of Western offers. It has been extremely difficult for the Russian military and for ordinary Russian civilians to come to terms with their country's fall from superpower status. The role played by the Soviet Union in the second World War was crucial to the Allied victory. The Red Army was, for a considerable time, universally recognised as the most formidable fighting force the world had ever known. What remains today is a ramshackle, badly organised set of military services in which morale is low and in which recruits face initiation rites of the utmost brutality.
In an attempt to rekindle self-esteem among Russians, President Putin has presented a carefully stage-managed image of a Russian military complex with renewed claims to greatness. He has been pictured with the army in Chechnya, he has flown into Grozny in a fighter plane and has stood for a photo call on the conning tower of a nuclear submarine.
Shortly before the latest tragic incident, ill-timed posters extolling the power of the navy began to appear on Moscow's avenues and boulevards with the message "Forward Russia." The navy has now received the same type of blow to its morale as that which befell the army after Afghanistan and Chechyna.
Mr Putin has so far distanced himself from the bad news by remaining at his holiday home at the Black Sea resort of Sochi for the extent of the crisis. Independent media have confined themselves so far to criticism of the military's handling of the tragedy. They may soon turn their attention to the president.