Russian novelist, Fyodor Dostoevsky, born on this day in 1821, is a giant of literature. He remains relevant, today, because he raises the Big Questions of our existence, concerning free will, morality, good and evil as well as the role of faith in our lives.
I imagine there is a special intimacy to reading him in his native tongue (Russian). But I also believe that what is profound in great literature is beyond language.
How else to account for the fact that my inner life was (trans)formed by Russian, French, German & Persian literature, in translation.
As a young man, his Notes from the Underground set me alight. Later on in life, as an angry young man full of Existentialist doubt, it's The Grand Inquisitor chapter in Brothers Karamazov that did it for me -- when the Christ figure responds, wordlessly, to the frustrations of his accuser ('I, respectfully, return my ticket') with a kiss. Sigh
Crime and Punishment, which I also enjoyed immensely, is on the surface a psychological thriller. But, past that, it is an excellent example of a classic work of art that collapses false distinctions between psychology, literature, philosophy and, ultimately, spirituality.
Here is a fine quote of Dostoevsky from his masterwork, Brothers Karamazov a 1000 page philosophical epic that tackled all of his major themes and was to be his final novel:
Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.
I remember being awestruck to discover this complicated and complex prophet as a voracious reader in my teens. If memory swerves correctly, I was so caught up reading his darkly entertaining Notes from Underground that I hardly noticed that the train I was on had derailed!
When I did (because everyone else was panicking and scrambling to get off the tram), I proceeded to disembark, in measured pace, without tearing my eyes off his delirious, passionate prose.
In fact, I was so enamored by the voice of the narrator of this unsettling novella that I attempted to emulate it.
Here's an excerpt of an early work of fiction of mine:
Underground Revisited
An homage to Dostoevsky
Abominable Ladies and Gentleman, thank me for coming!
Tonight, I empathize with every one of you. I’m overcome by a peculiar affection encompassing all and, almost, myself. I do not lie . . . now! Just how long I shall continue to experience this curious condition, I do not know. There are no constants and there are no certainties. Yes, there are none, certainly. We are merely figures of fun moved by unseen forces, which have no right to make any claims to knowing ourselves. (Nor can we assume any credit for our actions, only blame).
It’s important, therefore, that we recognize the notion that we should accept ourselves, fully, for what it truly is: a fallacy. We most certainly should do no such thing. To accept oneself, fully, is to assume responsibility for all that wanders in the wasteland of our heads and, that is a most dangerous thing to do. Instead, one should only judge oneself by their actions, and not for their thoughts. Thought is thwarted action, impotent action, unactualized action; active but not action. The thoughts we choose to act upon define us to others, the ones we don’t define us to ourselves.
Only partially, of course, for one can never fully know themselves, nor should they want to. The over examined life is even less worth living than the unexamined one, trust me. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, true, but a lot is absolutely fatal . . . particularly self-knowledge. It is a wonder that people are able to identify on any level at all with others -family, friends, or lovers—when they are unable to identify with themselves.
How they do it, I shall never know. Which is not to say that I should not care to know but, the truth is, I do not care to know. I care much more for extraordinary personalities than I do for ordinary persons; and I shall continue to be consumed by character until the day I live (which must account for my most shameful self-absorption).
But, I do hope you don’t believe every word I’ve said, however, even I don’t. Or, perhaps, especially I don’t. But more likely, affectations aside, I don’t entirely. Believe every word I’ve said, that is. You see, I most certainly do not ‘see the world steadily and whole’. Rather, I see it oscillating wildly and fragmented. But, everything is difficult to see when one will not open their eyes.
I know that. I’m aware that I am walking around with one eye firmly shut, and the other half open. Don’t be alarmed. I’m all too aware that I only say half-truths, and that I’ve lived even less than what little I’ve seen, all theory and hardly any practice.
With me, there can only be so very little life in my life for it to be livable; any more life and I could not continue; any more light and I would go blind. Yes, I’m all too aware of that. I am aware. I have the suffering of awareness, though, and not merely the awareness of suffering (which is only its offspring). But, please, don’t take me too seriously—it’s enough that I do.
I’m sorry if you do not find the program amusing so far; I don’t either. Why should I make myself amusing to you when I can’t find myself amusing? Why should you be able to enjoy me, when I can’t enjoy myself? Don’t answer me!
An answer would rob me of my uncertainty, and that is all I have left. Without it I am left with nothing. Please, don’t answer me. But, believe me, I wasn’t always this way. I wasn’t always a haunted man. You would not have recognized me then, just as I do not recognize myself, now.
© Yahia Lababidi, author of Learning to Pray
LOVE it love it LOVE it!
As always, I could highlight every line as a beacon, a tease, a temptation to other readers to #ReadThis excellent post. Hundreds of thousands of new posts appear daily at Hive, but few indeed are as full of substance, marrow, challenges, inspiration, and food for thought as yours.
This:
"Later on in life, as an angry young man full of Existentialist doubt, it's The Grand Inquisitor chapter in Brothers Karamazov that did it for me -- when the Christ figure responds, wordlessly, to the frustrations of his accuser ('I, respectfully, return my ticket') with a kiss."
And your own "fan fiction," so to speak, your story with a nod to the master's Underground, is stellar, spot-on, and all too accurate:
This is SO BIG, I want to shout it from the rooftops.
But who will hear - who will listen - who will understand, and recognize him/her/themselves?
You can be the oracle of Delphi, dispensing wisdom to any who ask for it, yet who listens?
"We are merely figures of fun moved by unseen forces" - you remind me how Odysseus thought he could bypass his "fate." Who listens? Who heeds good advice?
Well, millions of people must, or we wouldn't have billions of Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus (some 10,000 religions in all) - sometimes, a prophet *is heard and heeded.
Heed Yahia!
Listen to Yahia!
With Twitter, Hive, You-Tube, books, podcasts, and that occasional interview with NPR, you surely must be getting your insights out there to a lot of people. May we be changed and improved by listening. :)
Good golly, how did I get so lucky to be heard with such generosity of spirit?! Thankyouthankyouthankyou for being there and you.😇🙏
In the fullness of time, I believe, what's good will get out... to those who need it.
As early Thanksgiving, giving thanks, for you and hoping that your nobility of spirit will be appreciated by those who come into contact with you. Beaming good cheer your way, dear Carol <3
This is your narrator, not you, speaking. I love the "unreliable narrator" - and get frustrated when book reviewers complain about some unlikable character without seeing where this is going.
Yes, thanks, for making that fine distinction of not confusing author with their characters ;) It was interesting to learn that persona means to sound through a mask... Something authors often do...
If you should find yourself in the Midwest (after your Gettysburg trip), there's this:
From Revolutionary Outcast to a Man of God: Dostoevsky at 200
The Fall 2021 Main Library Gallery exhibition, From Revolutionary Outcast to a Man of God: Dostoevsky at 200, is dedicated to the life and work of the Russian writer Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821-1881).Curated by Dr. Anna Barker, University of Iowa professor of Russian literature, the exhibition covers the entirety of Dostoevsky's prolific literary career.
Visit the Virtual Exhibition
Oh, goodness, this is gold! Thank you, for turning me onto it... Off to explore virtual exhibition and mine this more deeply. Bless you 😇