These are some excerpts from the first in a series of “lectures” that I will be discussing with the senior class at St. Greg’s.

Raskolnikov’s “Own New Word”

I feel that some kind of introduction to the novel itself is an appropriate introduction to this novel. One of the characteristics of the novel itself is that things are presented as they happen, but they are also presented as they seem to happen in the minds of characters. So, you will notice that Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment has the singular burden of a double consciousness. The Russian root ras means split; Raskolnikov’s character is split as well–more on that point throughout the book; especially when Mr. Svidrigailov shows up a couple days after the murder. The narration of the book itself is a kind of split, though, a dual presentation of events as Raskolnikov experiences them, and events as Raskolnikov thinks about them. It is one of the delights of Crime and Punishment–as of every novel–to explore the boundary between things as they happen to the conscious acting, living, loving Raskolnikov, and things as they appear to happen, or as they strike below Raskolnikov’s consciousness. What things are, and what things seem to be; good and evil; dreams and reality: these things blur and there is little solid and definite in Dostoevsky’s world. I remember Mr. Cully saying, of reading Crime and Punishment: “It’s better than any drug!”
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The reasons, if you like that way of putting it, for killing the old woman are scattered throughout his past experiences. But it is easy to point to one event that has tipped the balance, you could say, causing him to think, “From this day forth, / My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.” Right after he has read his mother’s letter to him, Raskolnikov voices his choice in the following manner. He could “Renounce life altogether;” he could “[a]ccept fate obediently as it is, once and for all, and stifle everything in myself, renouncing any right to act, to live, to love!” (45). If this is one alternative, then the other, doing “something without fail, at once, quickly,” deciding “at all costs to do at least something” (45)–even if that something is murdering the old woman–well, that second alternative, even if it is not good, it may be seen in a bit more light than a simple decision to murder wantonly.

Now, I don’t want to be seen as justifying murder, or wrongdoing, or sin, but it is kind of important to look at the context of people’s decisions before judging them. The lines from Burns’ “Address to the Unco’ Guid” recall themselves: “What’s done, we partly may compute, / But ne’er know what’s resisted!” We can at least partly understand what Raskolnikov does: he murders a couple defenseless women and takes their money. But what is the thing that Raskolnikov is trying to resist by that action, by itself an unjustifiable crime? That is a bit more difficult to see.

Let me ask you this: Why does ‘accepting fate as it comes’ mean that Raskolnikov is renouncing any right “to act, to live, to love”? What could there be about such fate–letting Luzhin marry his sister–that will ‘stifle everything in himself’? I suggest that violent opposition to the unreal word, or opposition to old, dead words, drives Raskolnikov to murder. There is something of this in the letter from his mother. Ruminating her letter, Raskolnikov says of people like his sister and mother:

“And that’s how it is with these beautiful, Schilleresque souls: till the last moment they dress a man up in peacock’s feathers, till the last moment they will not utter a real word beforehand; the thought alone makes them cringe; they wave the truth away the with both hands, till the man they’ve decked out so finely sticks their noses in it with his own bare hands….” (42)

The attitude of such people is expressed in language that is trite, overused, sentimental, cliché. Such an attitude wishes to impose its own conception of what should be without seeing its place in reality, or rather, its context with all humanity. ‘Its contact with all things human,’ is what I just said; it will be fruitful to examine this attitude and its relation to speaking a new word and becoming in a way outside of the law. But now, let’s look at a couple examples of the attitude I mentioned before: the speakers of trite sentimentalities.

Y’all have heard the phrase about how “it’s useless to beat a dead horse.” It’s an example of a phrase that is empty or unreal. Many proverbs are cliché. I don’t mean to shock you by deriding wise morals from the fables, fairy tales, or even the Bible. But, they are often sententious. I just mean to say that if you are going to say something new, you would do well to avoid trite phrases.
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Whatever–I’m getting sidetracked. “Beating a dead horse…”: well, Raskolnikov experiences something that exposes the emptiness of sententious, old dead words. In section five, Raskolnikov, in a somewhat delirious state, dreams of a horse being beaten to death. It is unclear whether this dream is a memory of an actual experience or whether it is strictly hallucinogenic. But, how appropriate that Raskolnikov experiences the horror and revulsion at something sentimental or out of tune with humanity while that cliché is in his consciousness! What I mean is, telling the peasant Mikolka, “Hey, you! It’s useless to beat a dead horse!” is itself useless and empty. Raskolnikov’s reaction, however, seems much closer to a real response or real new word that answers the situation at hand. What I mean is, the impulsive horror and sorrow in a child’s face does more to evoke shame and fear in an evildoer than do the empty phrases from the other onlookers: “That puny nag can’t pull a loaded cart!” “Where’s your fear of God?” As a side note, what made a bigger impression on Peter as he was fleeing Rome: the pricks and nags of conscience, or the vision of Christ suffering because of his flight?
There is much more to draw from Raskolnikov’s dream–pay special attention to dreams in this book!– but there is another instance of sentimentality that deserves attention now.

We find it in Luzhin. Pulcheria Alexandrovna writes how Luzhin has “carelessly let slip” his true motive for marrying Avdotya Romanovna: “A husband ought to owe nothing to his wife, but it is much better if a wife looks upon her husband as a benefactor” (36). Luzhin is marrying for the sake of fulfilling a theory. There will be no love of either’s part: marriage is simply a tool used for the sake of social advancement (Luzhin) or fiscal security (Dunya for the sake of Rodya). Pulcheria worries that her son holds nothing holy; has become an agnostic (one who is against gnosis, the intimate communion with things holy). I can’t suggest that Raskolnikov as we see him and how he approaches life is a perfect Christian. Yet, he, much more than Luzhin or the peasants in his dream, appreciates intimately such holy things–such gnostic things–as the sanctity of creatures, God’s creation, as the human desire to resist oppression of his sister–basically, he seeks to bring about the union of mankind (characterized by love) in his resolve to speak out against the trite and sentimental fear of morals and conscience.

I don’t want to draw too many conclusions, but it’s good to look at Raskolnikov’s theory. As voiced by a student in a bar, the theory runs that, by taking one life, such as the pawnbroker’s, “thousands of lives [will be] saved from decay and corruption. One death for hundreds of lives–it’s simple arithmetic!” His conversant replies, “Of course she doesn’t deserve to be alive … but that’s nature.” And the reply: “Eh, brother, but nature has to be corrected and guided, otherwise we’d all drown in prejudices. Without that there wouldn’t be even a single great man. ‘Duty, conscience,’ they say–I’m not going to speak against duty and conscience, but how do we really understand them?” (65).

Raskolnikov operates on a similar theory (more on the differences later in the book). Raskolnikov’s murder is his way of correcting and guiding nature. It is his own new word, his first step towards greatness. But, I’d like to ask, just how new is this theory? I mean, if these other people in the bar are casually or theoretically discussing the same theory as applied to the very person he has planned to murder, how original is his word going to be? Isn’t Raskolnikov guilty himself, not of marrying for a theory, as Luzhin does, but of ‘murdering and robbing for a theory’? Isn’t his action just as empty as beating a dead horse? [I refer to the many parallels between the two murder scenes in the first section of the book: the horse signifies in some way the poor Lizaveta.]

Well, let’s look closer at this ‘murder theory.’ It’s fair to say that the modern German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche has had some influence on Raskolnikov. Nietzsche had a little theory, the basis of which is that there are some people who are different than most others; people who are allowed to interpret the law as they see fit; people who may correct and guide the natural law in order to become “great men,” thus abandoning things like duty and conscience, going beyond both good and evil.
It’s obvious that Raskolnikov is not only unoriginal with regards specifics about his theory: he overhears by chance another person expounding views that he himself might agree with. This theory is not even original to his contemporary Russia; it is rather borrowed from a foreign country. As you’ll see, the basis for this theory is not even original to modern times (the 19th century for Dostoevsky). Just one earlier version of Nietzsche’s theory is found in the epistles of Saint Paul.

Saint Paul says some pretty shocking things in his letters; shocking, beautiful things though. How about this: “To those outside of the law, I became as one outside of the law” (cf. 1 Cor 6). Even though Saint Paul acknowledges the importance of “the law,” requiring circumcision, for example, and holds himself to the law, he becomes “all things to all men:” meaning that he in some way lowers himself to the level of those who are not as law-abiding as he is. There is not an exact parallel: Saint Paul is primarily referring to the “Law” in the sense of “Scriptural Law,” whereas Nietzsche and his modern followers refer more to the “Natural Law.” But, they are still talking about the same thing.
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Well, I’ve brought up a lot things that may be considered extra-textual, and it’s high time we got around to the murders themselves.

He could not waste even one more moment. He took the axe all the way out, swung it with both hands, scarcely aware of himself, and almost without effort, almost mechanically, brought the butt-end down on her head. His own strength seemed to have no part in it. But the moment he brought the axe down, strength was born in him.

The old woman was bareheaded as always. Her thin hair, pale and streaked with gray, was thickly greased as usual, plaited into a ratty braid and tucked under a piece of horn comb that stuck up at the back of her head. Because she was short, the blow happened to land right on the crown of her head…. Then he struck her again and yet again with all his strength, both times with the butt-end, both times on the crown of her head. (76-77)
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Lizaveta was standing in the middle of the room, with a big bundle in her hands, frozen, staring at her murdered sister, white as a sheet, and as if unable to utter a cry…. He rushed at her with the axe…. And this wretched Lizaveta was so simple, so downtrodden, and so permanently frightened that she did not even raise a hand to protect her face, though it would have been the most necessary and natural gesture at that moment, because the axe was raised directly over her face. She brought her free left hand up very slightly, nowhere near her face, and slowly stretched it towards him as if to keep him away. The blow landed directly on the skull, with the sharp edge, and immediately split the whole upper part of the forehead, almost to the crown. (79)

I have suggested that Raskolnikov commits these murders in some way to combat the oppression of empty words. Where is the center of these “polite, meaningless words” that are empty and dead? It is in the intellect; in the center of the brain, as far as possible separate from the heart of the matter, away from the person’s heart. When Raskolnikov murders, he does not consciously aim for the “crown” of the head, or for the “forehead, almost to the crown.” His point of attack is, unconsciously, appropriate for striking against the empty word or phrase.

Read Crime and Punishment Book II Analysis