For anyone who isn't slavic, I would highly encourage those reading to look into historical relationships and tensions between different slavic peoples. Russians, Ukrainians, Poles, Belarusians, Serbs, Bulgarians, and other slavic groups (or not even slavic but neighboring groups). I think it would give some cultural context that could add a lot to the book :)
ps the painting that is the cover photo is called Stańczyk w czasie balu na dworze królowej Bony wobec straconego Smoleńska or Stanley during a ball at the court of Queen Bona in the face of the loss of Smolensk, its by one of my favorite painters, Jan Matejko.
That's a great point. It hadn't even occured to me how much understanding the culture and the circumstances people lived in at the time enriches the experience. I think that's probably because being culturally close to it I tend to take that background knowledge for granted and it all just seems familiar.
Reading, book 4, my most favourite part was the last chapter. The conversation between Captsin Snegiryov and Alyosha was the highlight of this book for me. I really felt for that family and what Ilyusha was facing at school and when he was describing his dream of moving to another town, and buying a black horse for his son, it was so beautiful I actually smiled a bit reading that part. Its clear that he didn't accept the money cause of his pride, I understand his predicament. As someone who just wanted to support his family and who had been publicly humiliated by a relatively rich young man, its very hard to swallow pride thst take the money.
That conversation also portrayed brilliantly how the poor live in constant fear of what the rich can do to them if they stand against their wrongdoings. Snegiryov wanted to avenge his humiliation but he was afraid of the consequence.
Good gumdrops. The detail about Fyodor using Mitya but almost never Vanka is such a sneaky little clue. I'd completely missed it on my own read through. You've convinced me Dostoevsky is doing so much character work in these tiny naming choices. Nuts, isn't it?
It's likely because he sees Ivan as his true competition whereas he perceives Dmitri as an immature child who will sabotage his clear advantages with his impetuous behavior. Ivan is cunning and calculating.
Snegiryov admits as he's crying and walking away that it's more about furthering Ilyusha's humiliation had he taken the money than it's about his own foolish pride.
I don’t buy it… It sounds sympathetic on the surface, but I think it only works if refusing the money can actually protect Ilyusha’s dignity in the long run. But it’s obvious that it cannot. If nothing changes and their condition remains the same, their dignity will only continue to be challenged and wounded again and again.
Part of being an adult is being able to think maturely and critically about your actions, consider the long-term consequences of your choices, and take responsibility for those who depend on you. Snegiryov is supposed to be able to do that, to set a good example for Ilyusha, and to teach him those things. Instead, he uses his nine-year-old son’s humiliation as an excuse. He is basically hiding behind his son’s dignity to protect his own pride. Personally, I think it’s a cowardly move.
I do think he has a good heart and is a loving father, but he is still a terrible father.
... to be clear, he can retain his son's love and sympathy if he doesn't further destroy their lives after taking the money. Ilyusha would then be forced to see him for who he truly is and he doesn't want to risk losing his respect. I think that part is real.
It's somewhat inferred that Snegiryov is a drunk, which is the real plight of his family. Even if he would take the money he'd likely squander it on boozing rather than fulfill Ilyusha's dream. He does have a good heart, but it's obvious his suffering and the weight of his responsibilities are too much for him to bear to the point it's crippling him. Pride, it seems, is woven into Russian culture (and patriarchy in general, but that's another topic), to their detriment.
The thing that struck me most in this section was Dostoyevsky's description of the holy men in the monastery. They're all treated as individuals and feel very human, with their own personalities, opinions and flaws. He doesn't just lump them together as faceless monks, but gives each of them their own way of understanding and living their faith.
The contrast between Zosima and Ferapont is what stood out to me the most. Zosima comes across as an almost Christ-like figure: gentle, compassionate, incredibly perceptive, and always encouraging people to take their faith out into the wider world rather than keeping it behind monastery walls. He represents what he calls "active love", loving people even when it's difficult. I have a feeling this will be a recurring theme throughout the novel.
Ferapont is almost the complete opposite. He's full of fear and suspicion, obsessed with demons, takes pride in his asceticism, and seems to want to separate himself from ordinary people, whether that's out of fear or a sense of spiritual superiority.
Although the two characters are polar opposites, they are not merely caricatures. Dostoyevsky manages to balance the extremes of their personalities with real human qualities.
I know Dostoyevsky was a committed member of the Russian Orthodox Church, so I don't think he's criticising Christianity itself, or even the Church as a whole. But I do wonder if he's shining a light on what can happen when religion becomes too institutionalised, when outward displays of holiness start to matter more than compassion and love. To me, Zosima feels much closer to the simple message of Christ in the Gospels: love one another, be humble, and recognise that we're all responsible for one another.
I can already see this theme of difficult love appearing between the brothers, and especially in the way they're called to respond to their father. Can the often very human, mean, self-centred and irresponsible actions of the characters be seen through compassionate, forgiving eyes? I guess we'll see.
I think one thing that always bothered me about this book (not related to this part specifically) was how characters would open up and "tell-all" to Alyosha in long monologues, in a way that always felt "unnatural" to me, like I don't think this is how people actually talk to one another, even if the characters themselves were well sketched out in theory, and had depth to them. Plausibly, this is fine, since you could argue that Dostoevsky isn't aiming for realism, but rather pure psychological exploration, but this style never quite worked for me, which is why I bounced off this book twice.
I am really liking your analysis so far though, and I might pick this back up again when this re-read gets to the part of the book where I dropped it (halfway through the Zosima monologue I think).
Father Ferapont’s behavior reminds me of riya in Islam. In Christianity, I think the equivalent is vainglory, or in Russian, there is an exact word for your explanation of Father Ferapont: prelest (прелесть). Prelest happens when a person practices intense spiritual disciplines—like Ferapont’s extreme fasting and silence—but does them out of secret pride rather than genuine humility. Father Ferapont is more like a case of spiritual delusion. Even though I don't really like Father Zosima, at least that man actually has a good baseline as a human being, but unfortunately, the rotten monastery system makes him perform plenty of questionable actions so far.
Fyodor’s threat regarding Ivan compares differently to Dmitri because he knows the asymmetrical psychological power at play. With Dmitri, the competition is a symmetrical goal (money and women), but with an asymmetry of resources. But with Ivan, Fyodor doesn't even know what game they are playing. Fyodor doesn't call Ivan "Vanka" as much as he calls Mitya "Dmitri" because deep down, the patriarch of the Karamazovs knows he would lose to Ivan if he argued with words.
It's interesting that you’re talking about Simone Weil, because as far as I see, the Karamazov family dynamics match the selected essays you chose back in March. I thought you asked us to read along back then to prep us for reading The Brothers Karamazov starting in June. Basically, when Fyodor denies his kids' soul-needs, the reactions differ as they grow up. Dmitri aligns with Weil's essay "The Iliad, or the Poem of Force" (and later on, Smerdyakov does too). Ivan and Alyosha align with Weil's essay "The Power of Words" but Smerdyakov only sees himself as equal to Ivan (and despises Alyosha because they are light and shadow in mimetic desire). This is just a mere opinion of mine, maybe I'm wrong because I'm just reading that book for the first time.
When Alyosha meets Ilyusha and gets bitten, what I'm thinking about is the threat this young boy feels if he is being pitied. Because when Alyosha gives active love (compassionate), yet his own brother Dmitri is the one giving Ilyusha's family suffering, the intention is misread as humiliating care (pity). Accepting love when one is in unfortunate conditions feels humiliating, and the only way to reply to it is with hatred, compromising with logic because it's about pride. When in reality, pride is just part of the ego, and it’s always savage, no matter how fancy the diversion used to bury the ego's intention. We can bring good intentions to others, but before we speak, sometimes people have already assigned us a role, and it's out of our control when we are labeled as monsters without doing anything at all.
Ilyusha's baseline is actually like Smerdyakov's and Alyosha's in his belief in something. But because Ilyusha has a father who fulfills his soul-needs as a human being, he doesn't make extreme choices in viewing humanity on the level that Alyosha or Smerdyakov do. Even if that means Snegiryov rejects 200 rubles when he knows it could change their entire family's life. But is that worth it if it destroys Ilyusha's pride as a human being? Which I think, when reading this scene, is something Ilyusha knows: his father would choose him over anything, no matter what. Even when normal people like us see it as a stupid decision.
Ilyusha's ego, to be honest, isn't about him being better than the Karamazovs on a moral level. It's about having a father like Snegiryov who cares for him without a motive, unlike the Karamazov (and Smerdyakov) kids, who have a father like Fyodor who puts attention on them with a motive to extract something.
I'm interested to see what you save for next week about Alyosha. See you next week, then.
Thanks, Joe. It is fascinating to see what Pride does to people. Makes me wonder why it is so difficult to be humble? What makes us want to prove that we are better than others (like the other monk in this book 4)? For the captain, wouldn’t starting a new life for his family be the best now? …
Great questions! Those were actually some of the things I was trying to explore in my comment. It's a bit long, but if you're interested, I think it addresses a few of them.
I didn't touch on this in my essay, but Kant also argued that having a high opinion of yourself isn't necessarily a bad thing. It only becomes a vice when it depends on comparison, superiority, or the diminution of others :)
On the topic of responding to kindness with suspicion and hostility, the image that comes to mind is someone trying to help a wounded wild animal. The reaction is completely expected and understandable. After all, we are just animals.
But we are also humans. We can either reflex or reflect.
Of course, it's easier said than done. Reflex comes naturally and effortlessly, but reflection requires discipline. It's not for no reason that my first ever note on this platform carried the message that reacting to unpleasant things or people with anger and violence is not strength, it's weakness. “Restraint takes strength. Patience takes strength.”
I could say much more on this juicy topic of being human, but that’s enough thesis spoiling for today :P.
Totally unrelated, but I just learned that the image of ink smeared shoes is quite common in 19th century Russian literature. I only looked into it because your interpretation of it was so beautifully and poignantly written; it was definitely my favorite part of this post :).
4–91
With ink <…> he smeared the cracks in his shoes when there was not enough shoe polish… — This detail is taken not from N. G.'s diary, but from Russian literature of the 19th century. The unfortunate Ilyusha Snegirev in The Brothers Karamazov has “a large hole on his right boot, on the toe, where the big toe is, obviously heavily smeared with ink” ( Dostoevsky 1972–1990: XIV, 162 ) . The heroine of Chekhov's story “Anna on the Neck” ( 1895 ) is ashamed of her poverty: “It seemed to her that the whole world could see her cheap hat and the holes in her shoes, smeared with ink” ( Chekhov 1974–1982: IX, 163 ) . Getting ready to visit a wealthy home, the poor village teacher Turbin in Bunin's story "The Teacher" ( 1894 ) "spent a long time sewing up the back of his boot with thread and covering it with ink" ( Bunin 1965–1967: II, 71 ) . In Dostoevsky's "Winter Notes on Summer Impressions," covering boots with ink is a symbol of the hypocrisy of the French bourgeoisie, unwilling to admit that there are holes in society: "That's why the bourgeois covers up the holes in his boots with ink, just so, God forbid, they don't notice!" ( Dostoevsky 1972–1990: V, 75 ) .
This came from Alexander Alexandrovich Dolinin’s commentary on Vladimir Nabokov's novel The Gift
Regarding this one line, I think McDuff's translation did the best job of staying faithful to Dostoevsky. I did look up the original in Russian in order to compare them, and the other two translations I have either dropped the detail that "it was plain" or that the shoes were "heavily" covered. I think both details should be kept.
Nice. Makes me want to reread the book, especially since you are approaching book six, my favorite part (by way of how many tabs are clinging to the pages). lol. In regards to the idea of a constant wounded dignity resulting in a person griping onto their pride after a deep (or repeated) injustice, I think that makes a lot of sense. As well as when you take into account how forced gratitude always rears its ugly head when the reaction to kindness is negative. But what is kindness, if it is not fragile, vulnerable, enough to drown?
“In the kingdom of ends everything has either a price or a dignity. Whatever has a price can be replaced by something else as its equivalent; on the other hand, whatever is above all price, and therefore admits of no equivalent, has a dignity.”
I’ve been trying to find a good definition for dignity that supports the idea that it is something intrinsic, but I couldn’t find one in the dictionaries I looked at. Luckily, our good friend Kant came to the rescue.
From my understanding: price describes the external, conditional measures by which we evaluate worth. Pride is what happens when we mistake those measures for the source of our worth. Dignity is the intrinsic worth of human beings; it is above all price, so it cannot be earned through status, achievement, or reputation, nor can it be lost when those things disappear.
I think Snegiryov is a textbook example of what happens when dignity is confused with pride. His tragedy started long before his interaction with Alyosha, even long before he was humiliated by Dmitry.
For years, his identity rested on being a respectable captain, an independent, self-sufficient man, and a father who provides for his family. Not only did he take pride in these things, they became part of his personal narrative, the story through which he understood his own worth and perhaps even the meaning of his life. But when his circumstances changed, he was unable to let go of that old identity, and this created a painful conflict between who he believed he was and what reality seemed to show him to be.
Dostoevsky portrays him almost as an actor performing a role whose world no longer exists. Through bows, jokes, exaggeration, and theatrical gestures, Snegiryov seems to try to preserve the identity of “Captain” even after the reality supporting it has collapsed. He is jobless; his family lives in a cramped, miserable dwelling; his wife is disabled and mentally unstable; his daughter is ill; and his son is bullied at school. As a father, Snegiryov feels unable to protect any of them.
But I think the deeper issue here is that he cannot integrate that failure into a version of himself that he can live with. Since he has already spent so long tying his identity and worth to a certain image, when that image collapses, he sets himself up for a much harsher judgment than the circumstances warrant. Instead of being able to think, “I failed at something” (and learn, and change, and try again), he is forced to confront the thought, “I am a failure,” and that is unbearable. His pride becomes the last defense against that feeling. It is the thing that allows him to preserve some sense of self-worth and meaning, so he clings to it even more tightly (I’m not saying this is true, but it is probably how it feels from his perspective).
But deep down, he still feels ashamed of himself. And so he turns to alcohol to temporarily numb that pain, but it only reinforces the very condition he cannot accept.
The Dmitry incident is devastating to him because it damages his pride in public. He feels humiliated because he experiences it as a loss of dignity. But again, I think this happens mostly because he cannot separate his worth from his status, or his identity from his social image. If he believes his dignity is something the crowd gives him, then it is something the crowd can take away.
And then there is the money scene. From Snegiryov’s perspective, accepting the money is basically confirming everything he has been trying to deny. It exposes the painful contradiction in the narrative he has been telling himself. It forces him to confront his shame, but even worse, to him it means giving up the very thing that has given his life meaning. So of course he cannot do it. His rejection is not an isolated act of pride; it is consistent with a lifelong struggle: he would rather preserve the idea of himself as an honorable man than accept the painful reality that he needs to change. It was his way of defending the last remaining structure that makes his life intelligible.
Here I think Dostoevsky’s insight into the relationship between pride and shame, and how pride is often both a defense against shame and “a precondition for shame itself,” is demonstrated quite beautifully (you touched on this in your first post. I’m surprised you didn’t mention shame in this blog post, but I’m happy to do that for you 😉). It also makes me think of this early line from Elder Zosima, which establishes one of the novel’s central themes and pretty much foreshadows the struggles of characters like Snegiryov:
“And, above all, do not be so ashamed of yourself, for that is at the root of it all.”
I want to write something about humility as well, but it took me much longer than I expected to write the above, and I’m quite sleepy now. I’ll see how I feel about it tomorrow.
P.S. btw, from this perspective, Alyosha’s approach is interesting only because it is suspiciously Kantian 😄
Sorry im a bit late to the party. How much does the translation matter. Ive seen the mcduff version of a lot of classics id like to read but im scared it will be too strict like google says and not be a very nice read. Thanks
I have 3 different translations with me (technically 4, but one is not in English) and although I haven’t read all of them in their entirety (except for the one in my language), I’d say the translation doesn’t matter all that much. They are pretty similar.
But I think the best thing to do is to give a few samples that’re freely available on Amazon a read and choose the one you like.
Not just for mcduff and not just for the brothers k. At the penguin classics there are this specific kind of hardcover book thats got like all the classics. Dostoevsky, divine comedy, and even homer
Hi. I'm wondering if you would tell me which translation you're reading?
I’m using the McDuff translation - though I picked it for availability more than for any literary reason :)
For anyone who isn't slavic, I would highly encourage those reading to look into historical relationships and tensions between different slavic peoples. Russians, Ukrainians, Poles, Belarusians, Serbs, Bulgarians, and other slavic groups (or not even slavic but neighboring groups). I think it would give some cultural context that could add a lot to the book :)
ps the painting that is the cover photo is called Stańczyk w czasie balu na dworze królowej Bony wobec straconego Smoleńska or Stanley during a ball at the court of Queen Bona in the face of the loss of Smolensk, its by one of my favorite painters, Jan Matejko.
That's a great point. It hadn't even occured to me how much understanding the culture and the circumstances people lived in at the time enriches the experience. I think that's probably because being culturally close to it I tend to take that background knowledge for granted and it all just seems familiar.
Reading, book 4, my most favourite part was the last chapter. The conversation between Captsin Snegiryov and Alyosha was the highlight of this book for me. I really felt for that family and what Ilyusha was facing at school and when he was describing his dream of moving to another town, and buying a black horse for his son, it was so beautiful I actually smiled a bit reading that part. Its clear that he didn't accept the money cause of his pride, I understand his predicament. As someone who just wanted to support his family and who had been publicly humiliated by a relatively rich young man, its very hard to swallow pride thst take the money.
That conversation also portrayed brilliantly how the poor live in constant fear of what the rich can do to them if they stand against their wrongdoings. Snegiryov wanted to avenge his humiliation but he was afraid of the consequence.
Good gumdrops. The detail about Fyodor using Mitya but almost never Vanka is such a sneaky little clue. I'd completely missed it on my own read through. You've convinced me Dostoevsky is doing so much character work in these tiny naming choices. Nuts, isn't it?
It's likely because he sees Ivan as his true competition whereas he perceives Dmitri as an immature child who will sabotage his clear advantages with his impetuous behavior. Ivan is cunning and calculating.
Snegiryov admits as he's crying and walking away that it's more about furthering Ilyusha's humiliation had he taken the money than it's about his own foolish pride.
I don’t buy it… It sounds sympathetic on the surface, but I think it only works if refusing the money can actually protect Ilyusha’s dignity in the long run. But it’s obvious that it cannot. If nothing changes and their condition remains the same, their dignity will only continue to be challenged and wounded again and again.
Part of being an adult is being able to think maturely and critically about your actions, consider the long-term consequences of your choices, and take responsibility for those who depend on you. Snegiryov is supposed to be able to do that, to set a good example for Ilyusha, and to teach him those things. Instead, he uses his nine-year-old son’s humiliation as an excuse. He is basically hiding behind his son’s dignity to protect his own pride. Personally, I think it’s a cowardly move.
I do think he has a good heart and is a loving father, but he is still a terrible father.
... to be clear, he can retain his son's love and sympathy if he doesn't further destroy their lives after taking the money. Ilyusha would then be forced to see him for who he truly is and he doesn't want to risk losing his respect. I think that part is real.
It's somewhat inferred that Snegiryov is a drunk, which is the real plight of his family. Even if he would take the money he'd likely squander it on boozing rather than fulfill Ilyusha's dream. He does have a good heart, but it's obvious his suffering and the weight of his responsibilities are too much for him to bear to the point it's crippling him. Pride, it seems, is woven into Russian culture (and patriarchy in general, but that's another topic), to their detriment.
The thing that struck me most in this section was Dostoyevsky's description of the holy men in the monastery. They're all treated as individuals and feel very human, with their own personalities, opinions and flaws. He doesn't just lump them together as faceless monks, but gives each of them their own way of understanding and living their faith.
The contrast between Zosima and Ferapont is what stood out to me the most. Zosima comes across as an almost Christ-like figure: gentle, compassionate, incredibly perceptive, and always encouraging people to take their faith out into the wider world rather than keeping it behind monastery walls. He represents what he calls "active love", loving people even when it's difficult. I have a feeling this will be a recurring theme throughout the novel.
Ferapont is almost the complete opposite. He's full of fear and suspicion, obsessed with demons, takes pride in his asceticism, and seems to want to separate himself from ordinary people, whether that's out of fear or a sense of spiritual superiority.
Although the two characters are polar opposites, they are not merely caricatures. Dostoyevsky manages to balance the extremes of their personalities with real human qualities.
I know Dostoyevsky was a committed member of the Russian Orthodox Church, so I don't think he's criticising Christianity itself, or even the Church as a whole. But I do wonder if he's shining a light on what can happen when religion becomes too institutionalised, when outward displays of holiness start to matter more than compassion and love. To me, Zosima feels much closer to the simple message of Christ in the Gospels: love one another, be humble, and recognise that we're all responsible for one another.
I can already see this theme of difficult love appearing between the brothers, and especially in the way they're called to respond to their father. Can the often very human, mean, self-centred and irresponsible actions of the characters be seen through compassionate, forgiving eyes? I guess we'll see.
I think one thing that always bothered me about this book (not related to this part specifically) was how characters would open up and "tell-all" to Alyosha in long monologues, in a way that always felt "unnatural" to me, like I don't think this is how people actually talk to one another, even if the characters themselves were well sketched out in theory, and had depth to them. Plausibly, this is fine, since you could argue that Dostoevsky isn't aiming for realism, but rather pure psychological exploration, but this style never quite worked for me, which is why I bounced off this book twice.
I am really liking your analysis so far though, and I might pick this back up again when this re-read gets to the part of the book where I dropped it (halfway through the Zosima monologue I think).
Father Ferapont’s behavior reminds me of riya in Islam. In Christianity, I think the equivalent is vainglory, or in Russian, there is an exact word for your explanation of Father Ferapont: prelest (прелесть). Prelest happens when a person practices intense spiritual disciplines—like Ferapont’s extreme fasting and silence—but does them out of secret pride rather than genuine humility. Father Ferapont is more like a case of spiritual delusion. Even though I don't really like Father Zosima, at least that man actually has a good baseline as a human being, but unfortunately, the rotten monastery system makes him perform plenty of questionable actions so far.
Fyodor’s threat regarding Ivan compares differently to Dmitri because he knows the asymmetrical psychological power at play. With Dmitri, the competition is a symmetrical goal (money and women), but with an asymmetry of resources. But with Ivan, Fyodor doesn't even know what game they are playing. Fyodor doesn't call Ivan "Vanka" as much as he calls Mitya "Dmitri" because deep down, the patriarch of the Karamazovs knows he would lose to Ivan if he argued with words.
It's interesting that you’re talking about Simone Weil, because as far as I see, the Karamazov family dynamics match the selected essays you chose back in March. I thought you asked us to read along back then to prep us for reading The Brothers Karamazov starting in June. Basically, when Fyodor denies his kids' soul-needs, the reactions differ as they grow up. Dmitri aligns with Weil's essay "The Iliad, or the Poem of Force" (and later on, Smerdyakov does too). Ivan and Alyosha align with Weil's essay "The Power of Words" but Smerdyakov only sees himself as equal to Ivan (and despises Alyosha because they are light and shadow in mimetic desire). This is just a mere opinion of mine, maybe I'm wrong because I'm just reading that book for the first time.
When Alyosha meets Ilyusha and gets bitten, what I'm thinking about is the threat this young boy feels if he is being pitied. Because when Alyosha gives active love (compassionate), yet his own brother Dmitri is the one giving Ilyusha's family suffering, the intention is misread as humiliating care (pity). Accepting love when one is in unfortunate conditions feels humiliating, and the only way to reply to it is with hatred, compromising with logic because it's about pride. When in reality, pride is just part of the ego, and it’s always savage, no matter how fancy the diversion used to bury the ego's intention. We can bring good intentions to others, but before we speak, sometimes people have already assigned us a role, and it's out of our control when we are labeled as monsters without doing anything at all.
Ilyusha's baseline is actually like Smerdyakov's and Alyosha's in his belief in something. But because Ilyusha has a father who fulfills his soul-needs as a human being, he doesn't make extreme choices in viewing humanity on the level that Alyosha or Smerdyakov do. Even if that means Snegiryov rejects 200 rubles when he knows it could change their entire family's life. But is that worth it if it destroys Ilyusha's pride as a human being? Which I think, when reading this scene, is something Ilyusha knows: his father would choose him over anything, no matter what. Even when normal people like us see it as a stupid decision.
Ilyusha's ego, to be honest, isn't about him being better than the Karamazovs on a moral level. It's about having a father like Snegiryov who cares for him without a motive, unlike the Karamazov (and Smerdyakov) kids, who have a father like Fyodor who puts attention on them with a motive to extract something.
I'm interested to see what you save for next week about Alyosha. See you next week, then.
Thanks, Joe. It is fascinating to see what Pride does to people. Makes me wonder why it is so difficult to be humble? What makes us want to prove that we are better than others (like the other monk in this book 4)? For the captain, wouldn’t starting a new life for his family be the best now? …
Great questions! Those were actually some of the things I was trying to explore in my comment. It's a bit long, but if you're interested, I think it addresses a few of them.
I didn't touch on this in my essay, but Kant also argued that having a high opinion of yourself isn't necessarily a bad thing. It only becomes a vice when it depends on comparison, superiority, or the diminution of others :)
Thank you. Absolutely.
Just finished Book IV. This is a great re-cap. Thank you!
I've suggested this before, but you might enjoy Memnoch the Devil... both you and Alex.
On the topic of responding to kindness with suspicion and hostility, the image that comes to mind is someone trying to help a wounded wild animal. The reaction is completely expected and understandable. After all, we are just animals.
But we are also humans. We can either reflex or reflect.
Of course, it's easier said than done. Reflex comes naturally and effortlessly, but reflection requires discipline. It's not for no reason that my first ever note on this platform carried the message that reacting to unpleasant things or people with anger and violence is not strength, it's weakness. “Restraint takes strength. Patience takes strength.”
https://substack.com/@100pcthuman/note/c-204968702?utm_source=notes-share-action&r=72c4b8
I could say much more on this juicy topic of being human, but that’s enough thesis spoiling for today :P.
Totally unrelated, but I just learned that the image of ink smeared shoes is quite common in 19th century Russian literature. I only looked into it because your interpretation of it was so beautifully and poignantly written; it was definitely my favorite part of this post :).
4–91
With ink <…> he smeared the cracks in his shoes when there was not enough shoe polish… — This detail is taken not from N. G.'s diary, but from Russian literature of the 19th century. The unfortunate Ilyusha Snegirev in The Brothers Karamazov has “a large hole on his right boot, on the toe, where the big toe is, obviously heavily smeared with ink” ( Dostoevsky 1972–1990: XIV, 162 ) . The heroine of Chekhov's story “Anna on the Neck” ( 1895 ) is ashamed of her poverty: “It seemed to her that the whole world could see her cheap hat and the holes in her shoes, smeared with ink” ( Chekhov 1974–1982: IX, 163 ) . Getting ready to visit a wealthy home, the poor village teacher Turbin in Bunin's story "The Teacher" ( 1894 ) "spent a long time sewing up the back of his boot with thread and covering it with ink" ( Bunin 1965–1967: II, 71 ) . In Dostoevsky's "Winter Notes on Summer Impressions," covering boots with ink is a symbol of the hypocrisy of the French bourgeoisie, unwilling to admit that there are holes in society: "That's why the bourgeois covers up the holes in his boots with ink, just so, God forbid, they don't notice!" ( Dostoevsky 1972–1990: V, 75 ) .
This came from Alexander Alexandrovich Dolinin’s commentary on Vladimir Nabokov's novel The Gift
https://lit.wikireading.ru/h2sGWYSBUA
Regarding this one line, I think McDuff's translation did the best job of staying faithful to Dostoevsky. I did look up the original in Russian in order to compare them, and the other two translations I have either dropped the detail that "it was plain" or that the shoes were "heavily" covered. I think both details should be kept.
Nice. Makes me want to reread the book, especially since you are approaching book six, my favorite part (by way of how many tabs are clinging to the pages). lol. In regards to the idea of a constant wounded dignity resulting in a person griping onto their pride after a deep (or repeated) injustice, I think that makes a lot of sense. As well as when you take into account how forced gratitude always rears its ugly head when the reaction to kindness is negative. But what is kindness, if it is not fragile, vulnerable, enough to drown?
Pride and Dignity? How about Price and Dignity?
“In the kingdom of ends everything has either a price or a dignity. Whatever has a price can be replaced by something else as its equivalent; on the other hand, whatever is above all price, and therefore admits of no equivalent, has a dignity.”
I’ve been trying to find a good definition for dignity that supports the idea that it is something intrinsic, but I couldn’t find one in the dictionaries I looked at. Luckily, our good friend Kant came to the rescue.
From my understanding: price describes the external, conditional measures by which we evaluate worth. Pride is what happens when we mistake those measures for the source of our worth. Dignity is the intrinsic worth of human beings; it is above all price, so it cannot be earned through status, achievement, or reputation, nor can it be lost when those things disappear.
I think Snegiryov is a textbook example of what happens when dignity is confused with pride. His tragedy started long before his interaction with Alyosha, even long before he was humiliated by Dmitry.
For years, his identity rested on being a respectable captain, an independent, self-sufficient man, and a father who provides for his family. Not only did he take pride in these things, they became part of his personal narrative, the story through which he understood his own worth and perhaps even the meaning of his life. But when his circumstances changed, he was unable to let go of that old identity, and this created a painful conflict between who he believed he was and what reality seemed to show him to be.
Dostoevsky portrays him almost as an actor performing a role whose world no longer exists. Through bows, jokes, exaggeration, and theatrical gestures, Snegiryov seems to try to preserve the identity of “Captain” even after the reality supporting it has collapsed. He is jobless; his family lives in a cramped, miserable dwelling; his wife is disabled and mentally unstable; his daughter is ill; and his son is bullied at school. As a father, Snegiryov feels unable to protect any of them.
But I think the deeper issue here is that he cannot integrate that failure into a version of himself that he can live with. Since he has already spent so long tying his identity and worth to a certain image, when that image collapses, he sets himself up for a much harsher judgment than the circumstances warrant. Instead of being able to think, “I failed at something” (and learn, and change, and try again), he is forced to confront the thought, “I am a failure,” and that is unbearable. His pride becomes the last defense against that feeling. It is the thing that allows him to preserve some sense of self-worth and meaning, so he clings to it even more tightly (I’m not saying this is true, but it is probably how it feels from his perspective).
But deep down, he still feels ashamed of himself. And so he turns to alcohol to temporarily numb that pain, but it only reinforces the very condition he cannot accept.
The Dmitry incident is devastating to him because it damages his pride in public. He feels humiliated because he experiences it as a loss of dignity. But again, I think this happens mostly because he cannot separate his worth from his status, or his identity from his social image. If he believes his dignity is something the crowd gives him, then it is something the crowd can take away.
And then there is the money scene. From Snegiryov’s perspective, accepting the money is basically confirming everything he has been trying to deny. It exposes the painful contradiction in the narrative he has been telling himself. It forces him to confront his shame, but even worse, to him it means giving up the very thing that has given his life meaning. So of course he cannot do it. His rejection is not an isolated act of pride; it is consistent with a lifelong struggle: he would rather preserve the idea of himself as an honorable man than accept the painful reality that he needs to change. It was his way of defending the last remaining structure that makes his life intelligible.
Here I think Dostoevsky’s insight into the relationship between pride and shame, and how pride is often both a defense against shame and “a precondition for shame itself,” is demonstrated quite beautifully (you touched on this in your first post. I’m surprised you didn’t mention shame in this blog post, but I’m happy to do that for you 😉). It also makes me think of this early line from Elder Zosima, which establishes one of the novel’s central themes and pretty much foreshadows the struggles of characters like Snegiryov:
“And, above all, do not be so ashamed of yourself, for that is at the root of it all.”
I want to write something about humility as well, but it took me much longer than I expected to write the above, and I’m quite sleepy now. I’ll see how I feel about it tomorrow.
P.S. btw, from this perspective, Alyosha’s approach is interesting only because it is suspiciously Kantian 😄
Sorry im a bit late to the party. How much does the translation matter. Ive seen the mcduff version of a lot of classics id like to read but im scared it will be too strict like google says and not be a very nice read. Thanks
I have 3 different translations with me (technically 4, but one is not in English) and although I haven’t read all of them in their entirety (except for the one in my language), I’d say the translation doesn’t matter all that much. They are pretty similar.
But I think the best thing to do is to give a few samples that’re freely available on Amazon a read and choose the one you like.
Not just for mcduff and not just for the brothers k. At the penguin classics there are this specific kind of hardcover book thats got like all the classics. Dostoevsky, divine comedy, and even homer