Putin

If nothing else can be said for the man, he's certainly one of the most interesting political leaders since the days of Thatcher and Reagan. This article that I found in the archives of The Atlantic, written in 2005, eschews the media hype that usually surrounds the political leader and looks at the man behind the tiger-shooter, whale-harpooner, and judo-expert. Very interesting. On a lighter note, here's a great series of pictures from the same magazine that highlights the sort of action-hero status that makes him such a fun politician to follow...even if he is, you know, a bit on the totalitarian side, potentially dangerous, all that.

The Grand Inquisitor

Well, after that long post on the X-Files, I realized I hadn't even mentioned the episode that had inspired me to write about it in the first place. The finale of Season Three, "Talitha Cumi" is so very impressive. Unlike the rest of the episodes (which generally leave me entertained rather than impressed), this one kind of blew me away. Gah, it's so awesome I kept exclaiming to my preoccupied sister across the room something to that effect every five minutes or so.

Wait for it....

They draw on Dostoevsky's "Grand Inquisitor" scene from one of my favorite books, The Brothers Karamazov! Oh my goodness, it was so neat. Another testament (like the Moby Dick references) to the fact that some of the writers, at least, were decently educated. Again, like the last reference, it's actually made intelligently. Comes off very smoothly, makes sense in terms of the show we've seen up to this point, and does a fantastic job of helping us make sense of who the Syndicate is and what they're doing.

The one quibble I had with it is that it's a bit odd to put what I take is an alien hybrid in the "role" of Christ in the scene. Granted, he's being persecuted for his efforts to open Mulder's and Scully's eyes to "the truth", so it kind of works. The really compelling aspect, as I said, however, is what it reveals about the role of the "interrogator", or the "Cigarette Smoking Man". Yet another example of how much easier it is for human beings to make sense of the bad guy than the good guy. Especially when the bad guy is an archetype of human hostility to the "disappointing" savior, as Dostoevsky depicts his inquisitor, but the good guy is actually God incarnate. Bit of an imbalance there in what we're capable of comprehending.

On that note, it's perhaps natural that the heroes of X-Files come off as such compelling characters, while the nature of what they're searching for remains rather nebulous and unconvincing. The good guys we know how to portray are the searchers, the questors, the people who will give up anything to find the truth. When it comes to depicting what they are looking for, though, or to depicting one who actually has some answers, the producers are at a loss. I can hardly blame them much though. I personally think one has to move out of narrative into poetry at that point: after all, Dante and Eliot are some of the only artists to have really achieved any such depiction satisfactorily, and even then only towards the culminations of their artistic endeavors.

The Long Telegram

George Kennan's "Long Telegram" (available here) is probably one of the most famous documents of the Cold War era, an over 5000-word telegram sent to American Secretary of State in 1946 when Kennan, the head of the US mission in Moscow at the time was asked for an explanation for recent (remember, just post-WWII) Soviet behavior. It's a pretty remarkable document, not merely for the way it was sent, but for the effect it had on American policy; it managed to explain the basic ideology of the Soviets so well that it was almost single-handedly responsible for the development of the American "containment" policy with respect to Soviet countries. Essentially, the soviets had to “be contained by the adroit and vigilant application of counter-force at a series of constantly shifting geographical and political points.” Kennan was hurriedly called back to Washington after this quite absurdly lengthy but effective telegram (a telegram, mind you!) and made deputy of foreign affairs at the National War College. And his ideas, well those became even more famous via the Truman Doctrine: "it must be the policy of the United States to support free peoples who are resisting attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside pressures." A logical application of Kennan's call for containment: defend other countries about to fall to soviet power from the aggression of the Stalinist regime that, as Kennan claims, "seek[s] security only in patient but deadly struggle for total destruction of rival power, never in compacts and compromises with it."

One problem of his telegram, at least arguably, however, is the fact that he seems to attribute the aggression of Stalinism not to the principles of Communism, but to the Russian national character:

At bottom of Kremlin's neurotic view of world affairs is traditional and instinctive Russian sense of insecurity. Originally, this was insecurity of a peaceful agricultural people trying to live on vast exposed plain in neighborhood of fierce nomadic peoples. To this was added, as Russia came into contact with economically advanced West, fear of more competent, more powerful, more highly organized societies in that area. But this latter type of insecurity was one which afflicted rather Russian rulers than Russian people; for Russian rulers have invariably sensed that their rule was relatively archaic in form fragile and artificial in its psychological foundation, unable to stand comparison or contact with political systems of Western countries. For this reason they have always feared foreign penetration, feared direct contact between Western world and their own, feared what would happen if Russians learned truth about world without or if foreigners learned truth about world within. And they have learned to seek security only in patient but deadly struggle for total destruction of rival power, never in compacts and compromises with it.

Marxist ideology is to some limited extent to blame for the soviet attitude, but only insofar as the soviets took these ideas and twisted them to suit their own purposes and justify their ideas. In other words, the USSR is an evil empire, but only because of its leadership, not because of any intrinsically misplaced ideas about human nature, etc. (if you don't agree that the ideas are misplaced, I'm not intending to prove anything just now, just observing that that's his position).

After establishment of Bolshevist regime, Marxist dogma, rendered even more truculent and intolerant by Lenin's interpretation, became a perfect vehicle for sense of insecurity with which Bolsheviks, even more than previous Russian rulers, were afflicted. In this dogma, with its basic altruism of purpose, they found justification for their instinctive fear of outside world, for the dictatorship without which they did not know how to rule, for cruelties they did not dare not to inflict, for sacrifice they felt bound to demand. In the name of Marxism they sacrificed every single ethical value in their methods and tactics. Today they cannot dispense with it. It is fig leaf of their moral and intellectual respectability. Without it they would stand before history, at best, as only the last of that long succession of cruel and wasteful Russian rulers who have relentlessly forced country on to ever new heights of military power in order to guarantee external security of their internally weak regimes. This is why Soviet purposes most always be solemnly clothed in trappings of Marxism, and why no one should underrate importance of dogma in Soviet affairs.

Another interesting thing about Kennan is that after writing this telegram and then the essay "The Sources of Soviet Conduct", he basically spent the entirety of a long (but much less illustrious) political career denying everything he ever said here, going around to university campuses and telling people that "well, yes, that's what I said, but what I meant was..."

Interesting fellow.

Raskolnikov vs. Svidrigailov

Another Paper. I feel lazy.

Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment is unique in literature as a book whose true villain is a theory in the mind of its protagonist. This theory of the ubermensch, or superman, is originated by the main character, Raskolnikov, who essentially claims that any breach of the moral law is permitted to those few “extraordinary men” who are destined to bring an increase of the overall justice of the world. Obsessed with this theory, Raskolnikov’s mind becomes dramatically conflicted, his good inclinations at variance with his desire to prove himself one of these ubermensch. Despite this obsession, the ramifications of his idea remain unclear to Raskolnikov until he meets the man, Svidrigailov.

Svidrigailov is a figure whose presence throws Raskolnikov’s mental split into sharp relief by his own unwavering singleness of purpose. This man, in fact, epitomizes the theory that creates Raskolnikov’s mental turmoil in the first place. He lives for a single purpose – himself – and seems immune to moral responsibility. He is superficially suave and polite. As Raskolnikov tells him, I fancy indeed that you are a man of very good breeding, or at least know on occasion how to behave like one.” (Part 4, Chapter 1 -p.256) However, this “good breeding” is a rather thin disguise for a character so absorbed with his own comfort and pleasure that he has become utterly depraved. He is calm and rarely loses his temper, but his composure often hides plotting and conniving. He has committed several murders over the space of many years. But in accordance with the idea that the extraordinary man would merit no temporal or mental punishment, he is completely remorseless. Moreover, he is above human law, because the nature of his crimes is such that they can never be proven.

Raskolnikov’s character is an interesting mix of good and bad traits; his generosity, compassion, and love for justice contrast sharply with his sullenness, morose attitude, and pride. His close friend Razumihin describes him as “morose, gloomy, proud and haughty…He has a noble nature and a kind heart… it’s as though he were alternating between two characters.” (Part 3, Chapter 2 – p.194) Up to the point of the meeting with Svidrigailov, Raskolnikov is plagued with guilt for the murder of an old pawnbroker whose dishonesty, he had decided, had “deserved” death. The better side of his character makes it impossible for him to escape this guilt; however, the only conclusion he will admit is that he is not an extraordinary man. The idea that his theory may be wrong is intolerable to his pride – even if he is one of the “worms” of the world, bound by moral laws and human regulations, his idea at least must be right.

But then Svidrigailov introduces himself to Raskolnikov, insisting from the opening moments of their conversation that he and the younger man are unnervingly alike, despite the fact that Raskolnikov is as outwardly brash, rude, and quick tempered as Svidrigailov is cool, polite, and calm. “Didn’t I say there was something in common between us? ...... Wasn’t I right in saying that we were birds of a feather?” (Part 4, Chapter 1) Raskolnikov reacts indignantly to the idea. Svidrigailov has crimes in his past as well, but his crimes were far from Raskolnikov’s “just murders” – this man had caused the suicide of a deaf girl of fifteen, he had caused the death of one of his servants, and he had most likely poisoned his own wife. Each of Svidrigailov’s actions is calculated for no purpose beyond his own pleasure - his existence is purely selfish. Raskolnikov at least has a noble purpose at heart; or so he protests at first. However, the idea that he, Raskolnikov, is somehow more just than this other murderer disappears quickly when Rodion realizes the truth which the reader has perhaps seen all along. Svidrigailov is simply the extreme of the “extraordinary man” Raskolnikov has been turning himself into over the course of several horrible months. Despite the differences in outward personality, Raskolnikov is indeed becoming similar to Svidrigailov, the extraordinary man.

True, Svidrigailov’s aims and motives are ostensibly quite different from the protagonist’s. They seem worse perhaps, because they seem more selfish. But is that appearance true? Raskolnikov kills the old woman with the sanction of his concept of justice, but why else does he kill in the first place except to prove his status as one of the ubermensch? It is hardly less selfish to commit a crime in order to satisfy one’s pride than it is to do the same in pursuit of physical pleasure. And how even can Raskolnikov’s initial perception of his crimes being superior in the realm of justice be given exceptional credence? Svidrigailov may cause deaths that seem totally unjust from the standpoint of human morality, but the first premise of the ubermensch theory is that extraordinary men are not bound by these standards. Such men “have the right” to interpret aims and means of achieving the greater good. Svidrigailov is undeniably a superman by Raskolnikov’s definition, and he thinks that he himself is the greater good, making his “selfish” actions perfectly justifiable by the theory’s standards.

There are, Raskolnikov comes to realize, two possible solutions to the questions raised by this perfect ubermensch. Svidrigailov might be a good man, in accordance with the theory. The idea is abhorrent to any honest person. Even Svidrigailov, in fact, recognizes that he is not a good man – he admits his depravity easily, although he feels no remorse for it. He recognizes even, that he is not a healthy man. He has seen ghosts, he says, and ghosts “are unable to appear except to the sick” (Part 4, Chapter 1 – p.260), the healthy are too much a part of reality to be bothered by such supernatural beings. Svidrigailov goes on to muse that once he really leaves this world, he can expect nothing better than “one little room, like a bathhouse in the country, black and grimy and spiders in every corner.” (Part 4, Chapter 1 – p.261) Raskolnikov responds with as much horror as he did to the idea of his similarity to Svidrigalov. “Can it be you can imagine nothing juster and more comforting than that?” (ibid.) Svidrigailov’s response reveals not only his own self-condemnation, but also the emptiness of promise and hope in ubermensch morality. “Juster? And how can we tell, perhaps that is just, and do you know, it’s certainly what I would have made [eternity].” (ibid.)

If the possibility of Svidrigailov’s “goodness” (and thus the possibility of the goodness of any such superman) is so roundly contradicted, there is only one other possibility. That is, the ubermensch theory must be wrong. As Raskolnikov thinks things over, wrestling with his pride, he begins to come to this conclusion. It eventually becomes apparent to him that the second really is the only sensible possibility, the only possibility which fits in with human nature, and the only possibility that promises something more just than a petty eternity filled with spiders. With this admission, he finally begins to renounce his pride and self-righteousness.

Indeed, the encounter with Svidrigailov, the epitome of Raskolnikov’s negative qualities, instigates the protagonist’s first real swing towards repentance. By being faced with the true face of his theory he is compelled to admit its repulsiveness. In the process, he is obliged to open the door to his own redemption by admitting that he is a criminal, that he must submit to the human justice he disdained for so long, and that he must find peace in the hope of God’s mercy.

Split Personalities and all that

Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, like the typical Russian novel, is primarily driven by the mental and spiritual conflicts of its characters. Unlike most other Russian novels, Crime and Punishment features a main character who behaves in a strange manner. Rodion Raskolnikov is a literary “split personality” – that is, he has two diametrically opposed aspects to his character which struggle for primacy throughout the book.

Many critics of the book are eager to discuss Dostoevsky’s keen observational psychology, and analyze Raskolnikov as though his character is merely a clinical study on split personalities. However, such an interpretation of Raskolnikov’s conflicted character does not, in my opinion, do justice to the fact that the author was not a scientist impartially examining a medical disorder. Dostoevsky was a writer of a strong philosophical bent, concerned with the conflict between good and evil which Christians believe is present in all of mankind. Thus, Raskolnikov’s “psychological” conflict is more truthfully described as a moral conflict.

This moral conflict takes the less abstract form of a conflict between a destructive theory, and the naturally good temperament and eventually the guilt of the young student who adopts it. In the course of the book, Dostoevsky reveals that Raskolnikov, while a student at a university in St. Petersburg, had developed a theory which supposes that certain men in this world are above the rest of humanity, either by destiny or by talent. Such men are not bound by morality or other “social constraints” but are allowed, even obligated, to break out of these in some cases in order to achieve a greater end. These men must be individualistic in the most extreme connotation of the word: proud, alone, needing and accepting no help from any lesser men. It is unfortunate but not unexpected, considering Raskolnikov’s proud and curious intellect, that having worked out such an idea, he becomes obsessed with a desire to know whether he himself is one of these “extraordinary men.” He decides to commit a murder – killing none but the most useless specimen of humanity he can find: one of the world’s “louses” – in order to know once and for all. An extraordinary man commits no crime in ridding the earth of “scum,” he believes. In such an action, he simply promotes the cause of justice.

As it is this theory which incites Raskolnikov to commit the crime, so it is this theory which, wrestling with his better side and his remorse, causes his personality to become more and more contradicted as the story progresses. At one point, his old friend, Razumihin, describes Raskolnikov’s character to the protagonist’s worried mother and sister. “He is morose, gloomy, proud, and haughty of late…He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He does not like showing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open his heart freely.” Each characteristic as listed seems to contradict the last. And indeed, Razumihin goes on to say, “it’s as though he were alternating between two characters.” Next comes the description of Raskolnikov’s imitation of the solitary ubermensch, or superman, which is the root of the entire conflict. “Sometimes he is fearfully reserved! … He doesn’t laugh at things, not because he doesn’t have the wit, but as though he hadn’t the time to waste on such trifles. He never listens to what is said to him… He thinks very highly of himself, and perhaps he is right.” (Crime and Punishment, p.194 -all of the above)

Razumihin’s analysis is supported by nearly everything Raskolnikov does. At one moment, his compassion moves him to give away his last rubles to help a poor young girl he finds drugged on the street. Within minutes, however, he leaves the entire affair in the hands of a passing policeman, chiding himself for becoming involved in such nonsense. When he receives a letter from his mother, he opens it with an extraordinary display of sentimentality, kissing it repeatedly. But no sooner than he opens it, he becomes furious at finding that he cares at all to hear from his family. He meets a drunkard who is very much on a social and moral par with the miserly pawnbroker he targets for his murder, yet instead of considering this man a “louse,” he befriends him and does his best to assist the man’s family throughout the novel. An uncharacteristic qualm of doubt in his theory which arises hours before he commits the murder expresses this conflict the best. “What if man is not a scoundrel?” he wavers, “Then all the rest is prejudice, simply artificial terrors.” (p.25)

Raskolnikov holds onto his ubermensch masquerade so tenaciously because he must. His “noble nature and kind heart” can be overridden by his haughty intellectual characteristics only as long as he has a theory to support this calculating side. If this collapses, he will no longer be able to keep up his pretence that the murder he committed was justified. He knows this instinctively, but a fusion of guilt and pride will not allow him to admit the fact until all is resolved by his true repentance.

It is the nature of Raskolnikov’s theory, trying as it does to place certain people above the rest of humankind and the laws of morality, which produces his split personality. Essentially, what we see in Crime and Punishment is evil wrestling with good in the human mind and soul. Dostoevsky’s shows us that Raskolnikov finds no fulfillment or peace as a “superman,” but only contradiction and turmoil, as must be the case whenever evil enters the soul.