Crime and Punishment

Crime and Punishment! It's a very classic novel which, somehow, has been praised by both Jordan Peterson and the Soviet Union (sort of). I've specifically read a translation by Michael R. Katz.

Let's start with the negative. Right off the bat, I believe the book could be chopped to half it's length and wouldn't suffer for it. So much of Crime and Punishment is Raskolnikov sitting in his tiny room, delirious, getting upset and taking a walk, and going back to sitting in his room. Marmeladov, a drunkard, rants about his entire life's story for god knows how long before dying unceremoniously. It is over 600 pages long despite taking place over the course of a few days. It's just one of those books.

On a more positive note, the author does an incredible job of portraying the neurotic mind of a highly rational, isolated man in his twenties, deeply political without any allegiance to a political party and immensely egotistical. In fact, Dostoevsky seems very capable of portraying the inner worlds of all sorts of characters, outside of those he's incapable of empathizing with (which is true of most people).

In what I'm going to assume is an accurate translation, Dostoevsky has an interesting habit when it comes to writing dialogue. He's perfectly willing to trust his readers to keep track of who's speaking through long conversations, and on top of that, he'll often keep dialogue unbroken by narration despite some action occurring. "Here's the door, it appears she's not at home..." might show up in a conversation where a page earlier, the characters were making the decision to head to that house. I found this difficult to keep up with, but I appreciate Dostoevsky's attempt at keeping dialogue "terse" in what's otherwise an overlong, wandering narrative.

It's stuffed full of so many ideas. There's themes of alcohol abuse, people putting on airs for show, people putting on political beliefs for show (we'll get to that), Christianity, charity, the purpose of marriage, it's seriously putting everything on it's shoulders and it might collapse under the weight. Rodion Romanovich, the novel's protagonist, might collapse under his own weight as well; the crime of the title is his crime. Murder.

I've seen it said that the "Crime" of the novel's title might be better translated as "Transgression". That checks out. Rodion Romanovich, Rodya, Raskolnikov (always with the diminutives, Russia!) isn't bothered by the fact that he committed a crime. He's only bothered by whether he is worthy of committing it. Rodion has a theory. Some people, he believes, are destined for great things, and these people don't give a rat's ass about laws. In fact, the great things they accomplish usually involve dissolving old laws and establishing new ones, so how could they possibly care if they break them? Laws are for other people-- The sheep, the unwashed masses who have no grand plan and actually require law to restrain themselves from ungoverned chaos.

Rodion finds his own theory very attractive, and what's more, he's attracted by the idea that he himself may be a "great man". There's only one way for him to find out! Can he put an axe in an old lady's head without feeling bad about it? For the greater good, of course. This old lady, you see, is a pawn broker. She is filthy with money, will certainly die soon and doesn't plan on doing anything useful with it. Raskolnikov is young, ambitious and needs capital to get himself out of his hellhole apartment. Despite having instinctive doubts, he carries out his plan, and kills another woman in the process, who everyone was fond of. He eventually comes to the conclusion that he isn't a very great man after all.

Let's stop for a moment and consider the novel's author, Fyodor Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky was a devout Russian Orthodox Christian living in 19th century Russia. He was conservative and necessarily took a dim view of progressive philosophies which were becoming very popular in Russia at the time, like Utilitarianism and Nihilism. He believed that Russia should reject "western" ideas and remain cozy and insular, and that a republican or democratic state (in the traditional sense) would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to his country. He hung out with literary circles which criticized the Tzar, in fact he was exiled for it, but he rejected their rational, progressive, atheistic leanings wholeheartedly. This is probably not a man I would have gotten along with.

It shouldn't be surprising that this all colors Crime and Punishment in ways large and small. Raskolnikov is trapped in a remorseless utilitarian philosophy of his own design, and he suffers for it until he Finds Jesus. Throughout the book, progressive ideas (socialism, feminism, utilitarianism) are mostly mocked for being very silly and the people who follow them are portrayed as idiots. I was struck by the notion that Dostoevsky describes a character the way modern conservatives see most people on Twitter:

"In spite of all these qualities, Andrey Semyonovich really was a rather stupid man. He had attached himself to the idea of progress and to 'our younger generation' out of eagerness. He was one of a countless and diverse legion of vulgar people, feeble retards, and uneducated morons who instantly and without fail latch onto the most fashionable current idea in order to vulgarize it and immediately caricature the cause they themselves sometimes serve in a most sincere manner."

(As mean-spirited and nasty as it is, I completely empathize with this assessment.)

Hopefully, it's clear that I'm not a fan of Dostoevsky's worldview. It's embraced by people I actively disagree with (like the aforementioned Jordan Peterson). To zealous conservative Christians, and surely to Dostoevsky himself, the message of the novel is that there is no morality without God, and that without biblical morals humanity is lost, incapable of trust or love or compassion. I believe that Dostoevsky is expressing an woefully narrow version of what's otherwise an important life lesson. While it's ironic in our current political landscape, he's advocating for feelings over facts.

Raskolnikov's name is a reference to a schism within the Russian Orthodox Church. It could be said that it's a reference to the very idea of a schism. He suffers for his extreme utilitarian views because he experiences basic human guilt and disgust towards the idea of murder. His conscience and body punishes him for his transgression yet in his mind, he is pushing against his natural instincts for the greater good. He reacts to love with hatred, because he feels he shouldn't be loved, yet he loves and cares for his family regardless. His plan was to use the money he stole to propel himself, but in reality, he couldn't bring himself to spend it and left it hidden under a rock. He comes to the conclusion that if he is so deeply bothered by what he did, he must be one of the people he wishes to walk over. He could only turn himself in to the police, and receives a reduced sentence for it.

Compare Svidrigaylov. Raskolnikov hates him, because Svidrigaylov is a sexual predator, potentially a murderer himself and is after Rodya's sister. Sucks, right? He's a nasty person. Yet unlike Rodya, he recognizes that he's a nasty person and doesn't try to make some grand claim about the greater good. In particular, when Rodya's sister finally gets through to him that she could never love such a man, he seems to recognize his flaws. It's revealed that he has nightmares about his vices. While Rodya couldn't bring himself to use the money he stole, Svidrigaylov manages to give all his money to people who needed it, and secure the future of two orphans, before his suicide. Cold logic didn't rule his actions. He felt.

Apparently, people are extremely split on Crime and Punishment's epilogue. They're baffled by Rodya being "reborn" when he accepts Sonya's love and by extension (possibly) God's love. Meanwhile, many conservatives misinterpret Rodya's dream to be a nightmare about communism, despite it not depicting any specific political or economic theory. The point of the dream is that everyone on earth, "infected" with an incredible surety of their own worldview, cannot come to terms with anyone else's worldview. No one can trust, and everyone kills for it. It's a warning against extremism. Meanwhile, it's extremely telling that Rodya's fellow prisoners hate and shun him, calling him an atheist (which he is) without him ever saying it. As soon as Rodya chooses to believe, his fellow prisoners sense that something has changed and treat him more kindly. To Dostoevsky, atheists are cold scientific weirdos and Christians are, y'know, human. While I am not a Christian, I can appreciate the sentiment behind what he's saying.