Dostoevsky’s philosophy of contradictions, this book demonstrates, contributes to the development of antinomian thought in the writings of early twentieth-century Russian religious thinkers and to the development of Bakhtin’s dialogism. Dostoevsky’s Dialectics and the Problem of Sin marks an important and original intervention into the enduring debate over Dostoevsky’s spiritual philosophy.
Dostoevsky’s philosophy of contradictions, this book demonstrates, contributes to the development of antinomian thought in the writings of early twentieth-century Russian religious thinkers and to the development of Bakhtin’s dialogism. Dostoevsky’s Dialectics and the Problem of Sin marks an important and original intervention into the enduring debate over Dostoevsky’s spiritual philosophy.
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Overview
Dostoevsky’s philosophy of contradictions, this book demonstrates, contributes to the development of antinomian thought in the writings of early twentieth-century Russian religious thinkers and to the development of Bakhtin’s dialogism. Dostoevsky’s Dialectics and the Problem of Sin marks an important and original intervention into the enduring debate over Dostoevsky’s spiritual philosophy.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780810139831 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Northwestern University Press |
| Publication date: | 12/15/2018 |
| Series: | Studies in Russian Literature and Theory |
| Edition description: | 1 |
| Pages: | 174 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.60(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Dostoevsky's Dialectics and the Problem of Sin
By Ksana Blank
NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY PRESS
Copyright © 2010 Northwestern University PressAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8101-2693-0
Chapter One
"If You Don't Sin, You Can't Repent; If You Don't Repent, You Can't Achieve Salvation"
CONTROVERSIES ABOUT THE EPILOGUE TO CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
The Russian philosopher Sergei Askoldov observed that the works of Dostoevsky can be seen as artistic illustrations of two biblical episodes: the parable of the prodigal son and that of the adulterous woman. Crime and Punishment, its plot based on the progression from sin to spiritual renewal, definitely conforms to this metaphoric definition. Having committed murder, Raskolnikov experiences disgust. Weakened physically and psychologically, he is besieged by doubts, realizing that his plan to become a new Napoleon has failed. His torments and exhaustion lead him to a series of confessions, the first of which is addressed to the prostitute Sonya Marmeladova. Assuming the role of Raskolnikov's spiritual instructor, Sonya—whose full name in Greek, Sophia, means spiritual wisdom—gives him the following advice: "Stand in the crossroads, bow down, and first kiss the earth you've defiled, then bow to the whole world, on all four sides, and say aloud to everyone: 'I have killed!'" (420). Raskolnikov follows her advice. Finding himself in Haymarket Square among poor and drunken people, he kneels down and kisses the earth thrice. Although he does not confess aloud publicly, his kneeling and kissing of the earth convey the symbolic value of a penitential gesture. Soon after, Raskolnikov goes to the police and informs the officials that he killed the old pawnbroker and her sister, Lizaveta. These three confessional acts lead the reader to expect that Dostoevsky is guiding his hero to a spiritual metamorphosis.
The ending of Crime and Punishment, however, has become the subject of incessant scholarly controversy. Some claim that the epilogue is an artificial appendix to the novel, and thus a reflection of the writer's failure. They argue that the religious conversion of the arrogant Raskolnikov is unexpected, unpersuasive, and implausible. Konstantin Mochulsky's reaction is especially harsh: the renewal "is promised, but is not shown. We know Raskolnikov too well to believe this 'pious lie.'" Like Mochulsky, Lev Shestov does not believe in Raskolnikov's moral resurrection. In the opinion of Ernest Simmons, the moralistic ending of the novel and the protagonist's metamorphosis are not sufficiently motivated; they are "neither artistically palatable nor psychologically sound." Michael Holquist points to a disjunction between the temporal structure of the novel and its epilogue. Joseph Frank formulates his observations in the following way: "It would be a daunting task to find an adequate artistic image of a possible new Raskolnikov. This task could hardly be undertaken in his brief concluding pages; and so the epilogue, if by no means a failure as a whole, invariably leaves readers with a quite justified sense of dissatisfaction."
Other scholars defend the epilogue. Thus, Gary Rosenshield undertakes an analysis of its narrative structure to show the continuity between the text of the novel and its final section. He demonstrates that Raskolnikov has the potential for a spiritual transfiguration and argues that this potential motivates his transition to a "new life." In Rosenshield's view, the role of any novelistic epilogue is to create a sense of closure. As he writes, "For everything in it is designed to give a note of finality and a sense of resolution to that which has proceeded." The epilogue of Crime and Punishment, in his view, supports this general rule. In a more recent article titled "In Defense of the Epilogue of Crime and Punishment," David Matual proceeds analogously, considering all those episodes that serve as links between the text of the novel and its ending. He points out that Raskolnikov's compassion for the humiliated and the injured, his disgust toward the crime he committed, and his childhood reminiscences create the psychological motivation for his future resurrection.
It can be argued, however, that the question of Raskolnikov's moral renewal at the end of Crime and Punishment remains open. The issue of the protagonist's resurrection is complicated by the fact that he does not repent. In the epilogue Dostoevsky writes that Raskolnikov tried to convince everybody that he had sincerely repented (raskaialsia): "And to the question of what precisely had prompted him to come and confess his guilt, he answered directly that it was sincere repentance [chistoserdechnoe raskaianie]" (536). We know that the jurors took Raskolnikov's argument on faith: "That he had not made use of what he had stolen was attributed partly to the infl uence of awakened repentance [raskaianie], partly to the not quite sound state of his mental capacities at the time the murder was committed" (536–37). But a few lines down Dostoevsky insists that Raskolnikov does not repent: "If only fate had sent him repentance [raskaianie]—burning repentance, that breaks the heart, that drives sleep away, such repentance as torments one into dreaming of the noose or the watery deeps! Oh, he would have been glad of it! Torments and tears—that, too, was life. But he did not repent [ne raskaivalsia] of his crime" (544).
The word "repentance," used in this passage numerous times, demands close examination. Russian has two words for "repentance"—pokaianie and raskaianie—which derive from the same root and often are used interchangeably. Their difference, however, is important. The word raskaianie describes the state of the soul; it is an internal regret about a committed sin (similar to the English word "remorse" or "contrition"). Pokaianie is used in two senses. It designates the act of confessing one's sins and admitting one's guilt, and thus represents a single moment of verbal expression. Theologically, pokaianie may also imply a lengthy spiritual journey. The Orthodox scholar John Chryssavgis explains:
The "dialectic" of beginning and end underlying repentance is important. Every manifestation of life has an eschatological dimension, even while, paradoxically, repentance gives rise to restoration, to a return to man's original state. Everything tends towards and expects the "end," even while being a matter of the here and now. To repent is not merely to induce a restoration of lost innocence but to transcend the fallen condition.
In its second sense of a process, repentance (pokaianie) implies a spiritual reorientation, which in Greek is called metanoia ([TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII])—a fundamental transformation, a radical change of one's mind and thoughts. The Orthodox tradition does not contain the Western idea of penance. Its rough equivalent—epitimia (Greek and Russian)—implies not a punishment imposed by the church authorities, but a way of spiritual healing, an internal passage of the soul toward the restoration of its wholeness. In the Orthodox Church, repentance is timed to coincide with Great Lent and is exercised through prayers and fasting.
What is crucial, however, is that in spite of the differences between raskaianie (a deep feeling of remorse) and pokaianie (a confession of one's guilt), these two notions are interdependent. In and of itself neither guarantees a successful radical turnabout. Here we confront the dialectic of repentance: telling the truth about one's misdeed without experiencing contrition empties the ritual of its content. Equally, a feeling of remorse is only the first step; without verbalizing one's guilt, without a ritualized act of repentance, metanoia cannot occur.
Raskolnikov confesses his murder to Sonya and to the police and kisses the earth in the Haymarket Square, but he does not feel contrition and does not intend to plead guilty before God. In the epilogue he questions himself: "Now, what do they find so hideous in my action? ... That it was an evildoing? What does the word 'evildoing' mean? My conscience is clear. Of course, a criminal act was committed; of course, the letter of the law was broken and blood was shed; well, then, have my head for the letter of the law ... and enough!" (544). Significantly, Raskolnikov keeps the Gospel given to him by Sonya under his pillow and does not open it.
Robert Belknap tackled the theme of "unrepentant confessions" in Dostoevsky, differentiating between two types of confessions: apologetic ("I did it and I was right") and repentant ("I did it and it was wrong, I am sorry"). As Belknap shows, the speeches of the Underground Man and Fyodor Karamazov belong to the category of unrepentant confessions. This observation is very keen, and the list of Dostoevskian "unrepentant confessions" can be continued: the petit jeu in The Idiot, Stavrogin's confession to Tikhon in The Devils, and the dead people boasting about their sins in the short story "Bobok" (1878). In light of Belknap's observation, it can be said that Raskolnikov's case is not unique.
And yet Raskolnikov clearly differs from other Dostoevskian characters who confess but do not repent. This difference is suggested by the very title of the novel. The question of what constitutes Raskolnikov's "punishment" is not as simple as it may seem. Is it the jurors' verdict? Siberian exile? The labor camp? Or is it Raskolnikov's internal feeling of failure? His physical and psychological weariness? The bankruptcy of his ideas and plans? To be sure, all these constitute parts of his punishment. But the acme of Raskolnikov's crisis, an experience that turns out to be the most unbearable for him, is revealed symbolically in his apocalyptic dream.
Lying in bed in a Siberian hospital, Raskolnikov dreams that the whole world is doomed to fall victim to some terrible pestilence spreading from Asia to Europe, when "everyone was to perish, except for certain, very few, chosen ones. Some new trichinae had appeared, microscopic creatures that lodged themselves in men's bodies" (547). People contaminated by this virus become possessed and go mad, unable to tell good from evil. They gather into armies and begin to kill each other. There are "only a few people who could be saved; they were pure and chosen, destined to begin a new generation of people and a new life, to renew and purify the earth; but no one had seen these people anywhere, no one had heard their words or voices" (548).
As with all dreams in Dostoevsky, this one is many layered. The imagery of a military invasion of Europe echoes Raskolnikov's Napoleonic plans. The motif of violence and spilled blood ties in with his earlier dream about being a child and watching a horse beaten to death, a dream that filled him with revulsion toward his planned crime. The idea of contaminating the whole world with a small particle of sin has intertextual resonances—it is fully realized in Dostoevsky's story "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man," discussed in part 3. Although Raskolnikov does not repent, his dream shows that internally, and perhaps subconsciously, he is tormented by a feeling of guilt. His dream suggests that Raskolnikov's unrepentant sin begins to contaminate the whole world. The absence of people who could purify the earth clearly reflects his own inability to become pure. It is thus significant that his delirium takes place during the time of Great Lent, the traditional period of repentance, which is meant to lead to a renewal.
Let us now draw two extraliterary connections and consider two texts that shed additional light on the epilogue of Crime and Punishment. These texts belong to different literary traditions and time periods, but both focus on the issue of repentance. One of them is the Great Canon of Saint Andrew of Crete, the most famous penitential text of the Orthodox Church. Another is a late sixteenth- century Russian folktale, "The Legend of an Incestuous Man" ("Legenda o krovosmesitele"), which claims that the author of the Great Canon was a sinner who became a saint.
SAINT ANDREW OF CRETE AND DOSTOEVSKY'S GREAT SINNERS
Composed in the seventh century, the Great Canon of Repentance (Velikii pokaiannyi kanon) is still sung every year in the Orthodox Church during the first and fifth weeks of Great Lent. Its authorship is attributed to Saint Andrew, a Byzantine poet and hymnologist and the archbishop of Crete. Consisting of 250 odes, the canon contains numerous images from the Old and New Testaments, but its emotional tuning and deep lyricism give it a very personal flavor. In this highly poetic text, the process of repentance acquires the form of a double dialogue. The author of the canon addresses God, asking him to cleanse him and to forgive his sins. Simultaneously, he admonishes his soul, addressing it as many as a hundred times, asking it to "make confession to God," "to abstain from past brutishness," and "to offer to God tears of repentance." He invokes his soul to "be watchful" and "be full of courage." Over and over again he exclaims: "My soul, O my soul, rise up! Why art thou sleeping? The end draws near, and soon thou shalt be troubled."
In Dostoevsky's time, just as in our time, as well as centuries ago, this ancient text was known to all Orthodox believers. What is even more significant for our discussion is that Dostoevsky perceived the Great Canon as one of the best examples of Orthodox spirituality. In the notes to his Diary of a Writer, he contrasts two types of humanity (gumannost'): European and Russian. In Dostoevsky's view, the former is shaped by the chivalric code of honor and the principles of the Enlightenment; the latter is oriented toward inner accomplishments: overcoming one's pride and restoring spiritual wholeness. Dostoevsky addresses his opponents twice, suggesting that they read the Canon of Saint Andrew of Crete in order to be enlightened spiritually, not just intellectually.
Saint Andrew of Crete was familiar to Dostoevsky's contemporaries not only through the text of the canon, but also from the Byzantine life of this saint, in which Andrew is presented as an ascetic and a man of faith. Curiously enough, this hagiographic work was not as popular in Russia as an Old Russian legend, in which Andrew is presented as a great sinner (a debauchee and a murderer) who became a great saint. This legend, with the generic title "The Tale of St. Andrew of Crete," was written anonymously at the end of the sixteenth century. In the seventeenth through nineteenth centuries, it circulated in Russia in five redactions, each having dozens of versions. At the beginning of 1860, two versions of it, both titled "The Legend of an Incestuous Man," were published in Monuments of Old Russian Literature (Pamiatniki starinnoi russkoi literatury), compiled by the Petersburg historian Nikolai Kostomarov.
Here is a brief summary of the legend's plot. Before the protagonist is born, his parents learn from an oracle that their son, named Andrew, will kill his father, marry his mother, and corrupt three hundred maidens. When Andrew is born, his father tells his servants to baptize the baby, cut his belly, and throw him into the sea. The child survives in the waters and finds his way to a convent, where nuns nourish him with goat's milk. When the boy turns fifteen, he begins to seduce nuns young and old, thus corrupting three hundred maidens, some of whom yield to him "voluntarily," others "involuntarily." Eventually they grow angry and chase him away. Andrew travels to Crete, where he is hired as a gardener, without suspecting that his master is in fact his father. As luck would have it, while doing some work in the garden, Andrew accidentally kills his master (namely his father) and soon marries the man's widow (his own mother). After the wedding, the woman notices traces of a healed wound on the belly of her young husband and asks him about the origin of the scar. Andrew tells her the story of his childhood, which makes her lament and wail: "I am not your wife, but I am your mother; you, my beloved son Andrew, killed your own father in my garden."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Dostoevsky's Dialectics and the Problem of Sin by Ksana Blank Copyright © 2010 by Northwestern University Press. Excerpted by permission of NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY PRESS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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