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inkedwingss · 4 months ago

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Raskolnikov's fever

— an essay on prefigurations in ''Crime & Punishment''

This essay ''discusses'' many characters without providing detailed introductions, so readers who haven’t read the book might find some aspects unclear. However, this shouldn’t significantly affect the overall understanding. Oh, and obviously: this essay contains spoilers.

PART I

With an ''irritable state of mind'', ''so absorbed in himself (...), so isolated from anyone else'' (p. 5), Raskolnikov is an entire generation's timeless mirror, amusing himself with fantasies. ''Just pretty pictures'' (p. 6) for him, harmless thoughts.

He meets the stranger, the drunk man who believes and screams: ''Why should anyone feel pity for me, you say? Indeed! There's nothing to pity me for! I ought to be crucified, crucified upon a cross, not pitied! Crucify him, O Heavenly Judge, crucify him and, when it is done, take pity on him! And then I will come to thee for mortification, for it is not merrymaking that I seek, but sorrow and tears!'' (p. 29)

Marmeladov, whose words are a mystical warning, or a prophetic path for Raskolnikov to walk on, still cries: ''O Lord, thy kingdom comes'' (p. 30), revealing the only hope of a man who knows he can't save himself. Why is always the blackest sheep that adores her shepherd the most, sleeping at his feet after rescue?

Raskolnikov's heart faints, falling gradually, forgetting its own cries for light. His mind is too important. He is so tired from working!

''What sort of work?'', Nastasya asks.

''Thinking'', he answers.

''Nastasya fairly rolled with laughter''. (p. 37)

When the reality of his mother's letter strikes him, what is all that thinking good for? His beloved sister deals with life's business for his sake, while he hides in the shadows of his dreams, distancing himself from objective reality, from virtue, and from life — he exclaims like a victim: [I will] ''(...) turn my back on life altogether! (...) Obediently accept my fate, such as it is, once and for all, and stifle all my aspirations, renouncing every right to action, life and love!'' (p.54)

Well, that is the path he is already on, by his choices. The choices of how he thinks and understands the world, life, and love.

His fate is being made with every single one of his thoughts; thinking and thinking with diligence still doesn't mean you're thinking the right thoughts. One can, and frequently one does, think wrongly. And what is worse: believe its own thoughts as truth!

Where is truth, so we can have a comparison? Raskolnikov doesn't know. He remembers Marmeladov's words:

''For every man must have at least somewhere to go...'' (p. 56)

Rodion meets the prefiguration of Sonia, who also carries something of Dunechka, especially in the way Svidrigailov preys over her. At first, the obvious response to that drunk lady, clearly the victim of some bad-intentioned people, was to ask for the police officer just like he did and to care deeply: ''are we just going to let him get his hand on her? Aren't we going to try to fetch her home?'' (p. 59)

Which suddenly turns into: ''Forget about it! Let him have his bit of fun!'' In an instant, he was ''utterly transformed''. (p. 61)

Does the audience feel disgusted, or do both believe objective morality doesn't exist?

Raskolnikov ''studied intensely, not sparing himself, and for this, he was respected [in the university]; nobody liked him, however. He was very poor and at the same time somehow haughtily arrogant and uncommunicative: as though he were keeping something to himself. Some of his fellow students had the impression that he looked down on them all from a certain height as though they were children, as though he had outstripped them all in terms of education, knowledge and convictions, and that he views their convictions and interests as something inferior.'' (p. 63) For better contrast, we are presented with the description of the good-natured Razumikhin, the humble, at this exact moment.

Raskolnikov thinks: ''Wait for a moment: did I really think I could put everything right just by going to see Razumikhin, find a way out in the person of Razumikhin?'' But he is too proud. He is determined to write his fate, and blame it on circumstance, on coincidence, even on the divine hand, as is common for human beings.

Raskolnikov's soul didn't give up yet, though. He falls asleep, poor feverish creature, sick to the bone, and dreams of his childhood. Isn't it in childhood where all the horror begins?

He sees the old church, that ''he loved'' (p. 68). He sees the little grave of his brother — the shadow of death, also in holding his father's hand. And then is about the old little mare, about Alyona Ivanovna; but does he know that? The thinking mind seems to lose track of what is important, essential, truthful, and real.

''Get in, I'm going to take you all!'' The mare's owner, Mikolka, screamed, leaping into the cart first. ''She eats her oats and gives nothing back! Get in, I say! I'll fly there at the gallop! I'll make her gallop!'' (p. 69)

''He [Raskolnikov] felt towards her [Ivanovna], at first glance, without knowing anything particular about her, an unmasterable sense of revulsion (...)''. (p. 78)

'Papa, Papa!', he cried to his father. 'Papa, what are they doing? Papa, they're beating the poor little horse!' 'Come along, come along!' said the father. 'They are drunk, playing mischief, the fools; come along, don't look!' (p. 70)

''(...) the student had suddenly begun to tell his companion all sorts of details about Ivanovna. (...) 'Only she's a horrible old cow...' And he begun to relate how mean and capricious she was (...)``.

''Little jade began to tug with her might but not only was she unable to set off a gallop — she could barely manage to move forward at all (...)'' (p. 69).

The student said: ''I'd murder that old woman and rob her of all her money, and I swear to you, I'd do it without the slightest twinge of conscience.' (p. 80). Pretty images, harmless. Just thoughts, ideas, vague words — weightless.

Who could measure the intention of the human heart?

''Flog her to death!', cried Mikolka. (...) She belongs to me! I'll do as I like with her!'' (p. 70)

I am her god: her life is mine. My desire is sovereign. I answer to no one: I am the law. I am perfect. I face no consequence! That is the testament of the cruel, twisted hearts, through all generations. I will climb the tower, and sit on the throne.

''Whip her on the muzzle, on the eyes, on the eyes!', Mikolka shouted'.

But young Raskolnikov was crying (p. 71). He escaped his father's grip and ran to her. The mare was flogged and everyone sang a song, while she fought until her last breath, while Mikolka was angry that he wasn't strong enough to kill her with one blow (p. 71).

''and then shall be revealed the Lawless One, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth'' (2 Thessalonians 2:8a, Young's Literal Translation).

''She'll fall down in a minute, lads, it's all over with her now!' one versed in such matters called from the crowd.

'Take an axe to her, for God's sake! Get it over with quickly! cried a third.''

(...)

'Finish her off!' Mikolka shouted, leaping out of the cart as though he no longer knew what he was doing. (...) Mikolka stood to one side and began to beat her on the spine with the crowbar at random. The jade stretched her muzzle forward, uttered a heavy sigh, and died.

'That's the end of her', people shouted in the crowd.

'She ought to have galloped.'

'She belongs to me!' Mikolka shouted, holding the crowbar, his eyes bloodshot.'' (p. 72)

I will do with her life as I please. And so the student kept in the same line of thought, as Raskolnikov still listened.

''I was joking just now, of course, but look: on the one hand you have a nasty, stupid, worthless, meaningless, sick old woman who's no use to anyone and is, indeed, actually harmful to people, who doesn't; even know herself why she's alive, and who's going to kick the bucket of her own accord tomorrow. Do you get my meaning? Do you?'' (p. 80)

Her money could be used for something better. Everyone has being negotiating with her and using her, but no one remembers. No one knows how she got there, was it hard? What did he have to endure? What thoughts hide deep in her heart? Oh, the old lady is a cow, she doesn't have a heart. She is not human.

'One death to a hundred lives — I mean, there's arithmetic for you! (...) common balance? No more than the life of a louse, a cockroach, because the old woman is harmful. She's wearing another person's life out: she's mean: she bit Lizaveta's finger out of meanness the other day; she very nearly severed it!'

'Of course she doesn't deserve to live,' the officer observed. 'But then that's nature'. (p. 81).

In the end, the student would say that it's not his business. But what about the thoughts? Could those words be taken back? Pretty images, harmless. Just silly thoughts and intentions that mean nothing.

Raskolnikov keeps being superstitious, volatile, and influenceable. Oh, if just some day he would notice that he actually doesn't not think by himself, but he is a product of his generation's poor line of thought!

Superstition is the devil's version of faith: why would he listen to that conversation if not by some kind of heavenly sign that he was right? What an amazing coincidence! Maybe it was his destiny! No, he didn't consider that listening to those words could be a warning, a chance to listen to such twisted thoughts from a stranger's mouth and be horrified, so he could then recognize the monster within himself and stop the madness from consuming him.

Back to the nightmare, ''with a howl, he forced his way through the crowds towards the little grey mare, flung his arms round her dead, bloodied muzzle, and kissed it, kissed her on the eyes, on the lips...'' (p. 72) He even runs and attacks Mikolka, ''hammering him with his little fists.'' (p. 72)

''Papa! The poor little horse... Why did they... kill it?'' (p. 72).

His father's answer seems too simple, but it's true: they are drunk, up to mischief. (p. 73). Drunk in their own thoughts, blind and lost. Raskolnikov wakes up from this nightmare and asks himself: will I do it? With the axe? (p. 73).

He asks God: ''Oh Lord, will I really?'' (p. 73).

In the silence, the answer could be an echo. Will you, Raskolnikov?

''O Lord', he prayed, 'show me my path, and I will renounce this accursed.... Dream of mine!'' (p. 74).

But He already did, Rodion.

Foa slaver one moment he was free, in the next, slave of his own desire again. The power of choice is so often underestimated. He searches for the excuse, he walks into the trap only to say it was preordained. The reality of morality is the fact that we have a choice (always). The reality of our helplessness is how we choose.

''Ugh, the way the sleeps!', she [Natasya] exclaimed indignantly. 'He does nothing but sleep, either!'' (p. 82). Rodion's laziness is a portal through were his life and self-control escape. Razuminkhin is always working (serving). Raskolnikov is always tired, self-absorbed, lost in his mind. When he finally finds the courage to eat, his vision of an oasis is not only the answer to his last prayer but also prophetic. He could stay in those warm sands, and make his way to peace much shorter, but the human heart is rebellious, stubborn and arrogant.

He thought about everything until ''he was satisfied'' (pg 86). He found delight in his own plan. Not for one moment did he consider that the previous choices led him to this place. He considered himself smart enough to overcome morality through reasoning. The human mind is above the Natural Law. He was immune to the kind of failure and childish behaviour criminals display soon after the crime. In fact, what he had planned was not a crime. (p. 87) He was the law, like Mikolka. He decides morality. Her life is his to take. ''Flog her to death!''

When the time came, he even thought ''Shouldn't I just go away?'', but he ignored himself. Things were done purposely (p. 92). When the old mare opened the door, his intentions spoke louder than his words: she was scared. (p. 92) And when the axe went down, so was his consciousness. But his soul cried, seconds later, he was deep into madness, considering the possibility that Ivanovna could still be alive, somehow. He, who thought he had everything planned and under control, who wanted to commit his crime so carefully that no blood would stain his clothes, ended up covered in it. (p. 96) Blood stained hands by the murder of the old lady and her child-sister.

''And if at that moment he had been capable of seeing things in better proposition and of making decisions, if he had been able to perceive all the difficulties of his situation, in all its desperate monstrous absurdity, and to realize just how many problems he would have to overcome and how much villainy he might have to perform in order to get out of this place and arrive back home again, he might very well have abandoned the whole undertaking and gone at one to give himself up, not out of fear for himself, but from a simple feeling of horror and revulsion at what he had done.''

But Raskolnikov is too proud to repent, he thought he could do it and leave with clean hands. He thought no one would come, but later he found himself on the other side of the door, on the difficulties of the run, and then he cried: ''Oh Lord, what shall I do?''

You shall not murder.

''The rags and tatters of vague thoughts swarmed in his head; but he could not seize hold of a single one of them, could not focus on a single one of them, even though he tried to force himself to...'' (p. 106).

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