Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Volume LII
Edited by
J.J. van Baak
R. Grübel
A.G.F. van Holk
W.G. Weststeijn
Profane Challenge
and Orthodox Response
in Dostoevsky’s
Crime and Punishment
Janet G. Tucker
The paper on which this book is printed meets the requirements of “ISO
9706:1994, Information and documentation - Paper for documents -
Requirements for permanence”.
ISBN: 978-90-420-2494-6
©Editions Rodopi B.V., Amsterdam - New York, NY 2008
Printed in the Netherlands
To My Family
and Nattie
CONTENTS
Preface 5
Introduction 9
Conclusion 231
Bibliography 239
Index 273
Preface
Transliteration
Introduction
1
Cited in Clint B. Walker’s fine “Psyche, Soma and Raskolnikov’s Sickness
Revisited: Mind as Microcosm in Crime and Punishment” (Salt Lake City: American
Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies, 3-6 November, 2005), 1-2, 13-14.
I would like to thank Clint Walker for having shared his work with me. The present
prodigal essay is based on a talk delivered at the University of Chicago on 31 March,
2005. I would like to thank the Department of Slavic Languages and Literatures and
especially Malynne Sternstein for having invited me to give this lecture.
Introduction 11
2
For a brief discussion of nihilism in literature, see Daniel R. Brower, Training the
Nihilists: Education and Radicalism in Tsarist Russia (Ithaca: Cornell University
Press, 1975), 59-173.
3
Richard Freeborn notes that “[…]Dostoevsky repudiate[ed] the idealism of the 1840s
and, more specifically, the highmindedness of the social utopianism that he
discovered at the Petrashevsky evenings”. Richard Freeborn, The Rise of the Russian
Novel: Studies in the Russian Novel from ‘Eugene Onegin’ to ‘War and Peace’
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 175-176. But “[i]t was not until the
1860s with the so-called new Enlightenment and its emphasis on materialism and
social utilitarianism”, Theofanis George Stavrou maintains, “that the peculiar type of
the Russian intelligent, as usually defined and appreciated in the West, was formed”.
Theofanis George Stavrou, “Introduction”, in Theofanis George Stavrou, ed., Art and
Culture in Nineteenth-Century Russia (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983)
(ix-xix), xi.
4
Cited in Joseph Frank, Dostoevsky: the Seeds of Revolt, 1821-1849 (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1976), 256, 276 n. 45.
12 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
5
Reprinted in Robert Louis Jackson, ed., Twentieth Century Interpretations of Crime
and Punishment: A Collection of Critical Essays (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-
Hall, 1974), (81-90), 83-84. See also Lesley Chamberlain’s informative analysis in
Motherland: A Philosophical History of Russia (London: Atlantic Books, 2004), 48-
52. Gary Cox has an excellent discussion of this same issue in Crime and Punishment:
A Mind to Murder (Boston: Twayne, 1990), 48-49. Peter Gay refers to the
“uncharitable, bloodless, almost literally inhuman philosophy of Jeremy Bentham and
his followers, the Utilitarians [….]”. Peter Gay, Savage Reprisals: Bleak House,
Madame Bovary, Buddenbrooks (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 2002), 24. Thomas
Hobbes’s Leviathan, with a “mechanical enlightenment model of the state”, may well
find a latter-day echo in Raskol’nikov’s mechanical movements leading up to the first
murder. Clint Walker discusses this parallel in “Psyche and Soma: Metaphors of
Transformation and the Petrine Cultural Legacy from Dostoevsky to Platonov” (The
University of Wisconsin: Ph.D. thesis., 2006), 61. Utilitarianism as linked with the
pawnbroker’s murder surfaces early on, when the student and officer discuss the
“utility” of killing her, as Raskol’nikov soaks up their conversation. F.M. Dostoevskii,
Prestuplenie i nakazanie. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v tridtsati tomakh, ed. V.G.
Bazanov et al., 6 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1973), 54, hereafter cited in the text as PSS 6.
All translations are mine. As Gary Saul Morson observes, “Dostoevsky’s genius here
was to see that utilitarianism consistently applied not only makes murder permitted,
but mandates it as virtuous”. Gary Saul Morson, “Gogol’s Parables of Explanation:
Nonsense and Prosaics”, in Susanne Fusso and Priscilla Meyer, eds., Essays on
Gogol: Logos and the Russian Word (Evanston: Northwestern University Press,
1992), 212. Richard Freeborn comments that “Chernyshevsky justified ‘rational
egoism’ in his famous article ‘The Anthropological Principle in Philosophy’ (1860),
but Luzhin’s theory is a parody of Chernyshevsky’s thought”. Richard Freeborn,
Russian Novel, 196 n. 1. William Brumfield discusses the nexus between rational
egoism and libertine philosophy in “Thérèse philosophe and Dostoevsky’s Great
Sinner,” Comparative Literature 32 (1980): esp. 241, 248-249. Obviously, Luzhin but
especially Svidrigailov fit in here. See also Susanne Fusso, Discovering Sexuality in
Dostoevsky (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2006), 13-14.
Introduction 13
6
Clint Walker presents a particularly cogent discussion of the important relationship
between the Slavophile Ivan Aksakov and Dostoevsky in his “Psyche, Soma and
Raskolnikov’s Sickness Revisited”, as well as in “Psyche and Soma: Metaphors of
Transformation and the Petrine Cultural Legacy from Dostoevsky to Platonov”,
unpublished essay.
7
Raskol’nikov—of all people!—comments on Luzhin’s personal philosophy, which
would allow one to slit someone else’s throat (literally, cut someone, rezat’) if carried
to its logical conclusion. (PSS 6: 118).
8
“Chernyshevsky”, observes Joseph Frank, “was not a Nihilist at all in the sense in
which this term came to be understood in the mid-1860s”. Joseph Frank, Dostoevsky:
The Miraculous Years, 1865-1871 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), 69.
9
For a detailed discussion of the environment that Crime and Punishment addresses,
see M.S. Gus, Idei i obrazy F.M. Dostoevskogo (Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe
izdatel’stvo khudozhestvennoi literatury, 1962), 261, 265-267, 269-271. Gus notes
that Raskol’nikov is separated not only from the majority of the population, but also
from his fellow students (270-271). “Only with the third generation of radicals […]”,
Robert Belknap states, “do Dostoevsky’s personal distaste and scorn appear in their
full glory. The imprisonment of Chernyshevskii and the deaths of Dobroliubov and
Pisarev left a gap in the radical journals that lesser figures like G.Z. Eliseev and M.A.
Antonovich emerged to fill. Dostoevsky treats them as greedy operators who are
growing rich by saying what the deracinated intelligentsia desires”. Robert Belknap,
The Genesis of The Brothers Karamazov: The Aesthetics, Ideology, and Psychology of
Making a Text (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, Studies of the Harriman
14 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
12
I would like to thank Deborah Martinsen for her encouragement regarding this topic.
As James Scanlan observes, “Rational Egoism—was a genuine doctrine, because by
glorifying the self it could turn the minds of impressionable young people away from
sound values [….]”. James Scanlan, Dostoevsky the Thinker (Ithaca: Cornell
University Press, 2002), 61; emphasis added. For a discussion of the implied reader,
see Robin Feuer Miller’s masterful Dostoevsky and The Idiot: Author, Narrator, and
Reader (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981), 128, 131, 154-55. See also
Wayne Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction, Second Edition (Chicago: The University of
Chicago Press, 1983), 138-139. Luzhin makes youth’s infatuation with modish
ideologies look negative; Lebezyatnikov makes this craze seem ridiculous (as on PSS
6: 280), although it must be noted in Lebezyatnikov’s defense that he does stand up
for Sonia.
16 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
13
Robin Feuer Miller speaks of Dostoevsky’s “manipulation of the reader” in
Dostoevsky, 32.
14
For a valuable discussion of this issue, see Konstantine Klioutchkine, “The Rise of
Crime and Punishment from the Air of the Media”, Slavic Review 61:1 (Spring 2002):
88-108. “[A]ll the central figures in [Dostoevsky’s] major novels”, Richard Freeborn
observes, “are notable for their youth [….]”. Richard Freeborn, Russian Novel, 164 n.
2.
15
Cited in Clink Walker, “Psyche” (2005: 7-8). Clint Walker (2005: 8) likens
Raskol’nikov’s “hacking” with the axe (on porubil) to Peter’s own hacking “a
window through to Europe” (“v Evropu porubil okno”) from Aleksandr Pushkin’s
“The Bronze Horseman”.
Introduction 17
16
See the original drafts for the novel in F.M. Dostoevskii, Prestuplenie i nakazanie,
rukopisnye redaktsii, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v tridtsati tomakh, ed. V.G. Bazanov
et al., 7 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1973). Cited hereafter as PSS 7.
17
For a further discussion of Crime and Punishment and its milieu, consult Stephen K.
Carter, The Political and Social Thought of F.M. Dostoevsky (New York: Garland,
1991), 120-124, esp. 124.
18 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
addressing major issues.18 “It can be said with [Ju.] Lotman”, Rudolf
Neuhäuser maintains (2006: 3), “that the realist novel made the
transition to a literature that went beyond the fate of the individual,
which had been the central problem of romantic literature, turning to
the problems of society as such in its very existence”. This is the
literary scene when Dostoevsky enters the stage—with what is
arguably a fleshed-out sequel of sorts to Notes from Underground—
featuring a twenty-three-year-old axe murderer in Crime and
Punishment. He addressed problems that touched an entire
generation..
Why the young characters? In Crime and Punishment, for
example, even characters no longer young play at being so, to either
ludicrous (Luzhin) or horrific effect (Svidrigailov).19 The hero Rodion
Romanovich Raskol’nikov’s friend Razumikhin and sister Dunya, as
well as Sonia Marmeladova, are all close in age to Raskol’nikov.
Moreover, Dostoevsky, as is well known from his earlier drafts,
originally intended to have Raskol’nikov himself be a first-person
narrator, that is, to have a young narrator, before switching to a third-
person-omniscient one in his final draft of the novel. But Dostoevsky
definitely intended for the narrator to be young from the start. The
author, states Dostoevsky firmly in his earlier drafts, must seem like
“one of the members of the new generation” (PSS 7:149). Dostoevsky
“left the ‘I-form’ with extreme reluctance, taking it through several
variations and leaving us with two large fragments in the
18
V.V.Rozanov noted that “radical critics of the 1860’s wrote for youth, and it never
occurred to them that adult standards might be applied to their production by men like
Katkov and Dostoevskij. The radicals […] were uncomfortable pedagogues”. V.V.
Rozanov, “Kul’turnaia khronika russkogo obshchestva i literatury za XIX vek”,
Religiia i kul’tura, 2nd edition (St. Petersburg: M. Merkusheva, 1901), 86 n. 87, n. 88.
Cited in Charles Moser, Antinihilism, 28; emphasis in original. “It is probably
supportable to say”, adds Moser, “that the 1860’s phase of the Russian revolutionary
movement was the most thoroughly youth-oriented period in its history”. Charles
Moser, Antinihilism, 27. Leonid Grossman comments that, starting in the 1860s,
Russian novels focused on leaders of the younger generation. Leonid Grossman,
Dostoevskii (Moscow: Molodaia gvardiia, 1962), 341.
19
Raskol’nikov’s mother comments on Luzhin’s self-identification with the younger
generation in her letter to her son (PSS 6: 31). Luzhin is held up as a negative model
to be avoided, but also as the inevitable end result of submersion in materialism.
Introduction 19
20
See, for example, PSS 7: 5. For a discussion of the first-person narrator, see Fyodor
Dostoevsky, The Notebooks for Crime and Punishment”, ed. and tr. Edward Wasiolek
(Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1967), 9.
21
Gary Rosenshield notes that “the narrator outspokenly expresses his [positive]
attitude toward Dunya”. Gary Rosenshield, Crime and Punishment: The Techniques of
the Omniscient Author (Lisse: The Peter de Ridder Press, 1978), 90.
22
“ ‘Don’t forget that he is 23 years old’, [Dostoevsky] reminds himself”. Dostoevsky,
The Notebooks, 8.
23
For further comment on this letter, as well as on the “mood of the times” and St.
Petersburg, see W.J. Leatherbarrow, A Devil’s Vaudeville: The Demonic in
Dostoevsky’s Major Fiction (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2005), 68, 69,
85-86, 88.
20 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
24
As Malcolm Jones observes in “Dostoevskii and Religion”, The Cambridge
Companion to Dostoevskii, ed. W.J. Leatherbarrow (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2002), 159. Dostoevsky struggled in this novel, as Soviet criticism
noted in the mid-1960s, “against atheism and materialism”. B.I. Bursov, B.S. Meilakh
and M.B. Khrapchenko, eds., “Dostoevskii”, Istoriia russkoi literatury, Vol. IX, Part
2, Literatura 70-80-kh godov (Moscow-Leningrad: Akademiia nauk, 1956), 65.
Introduction 21
The pronouns “he” and “self” recur, in fact, a record twenty-two times
within the first thirty-two pages of the text, with Raskol’nikov often
simply referred to as “the young man” (Kovsan 1988: 78). And he is a
young man cut off from those around him, most significantly, from his
immediate family and, by extension, from the “larger” family of the
Orthodox community.25
In contrast, various important characters are instead presented
by name before they even surface in the novel. Sonia makes her initial
appearance when her father refers to her and her prostitution in a
drunken exchange with Raskol’nikov. His mother Pul’kheria
Raskol’nikova first turns up as the signatory to a letter we see
Raskol’nikov reading before he commits the murders. (His mother’s
letter introduces Dunya along with her undesirable “suitors”.) This
letter itself includes a reference by name to two major players prior to
their “coming on stage”: Petr Petrovich Luzhin and Arkady Ivanovich
Svidrigailov, the latter designated here by his last name only (PSS 6:
27-34). (Svidrigailov’s name as a label for a sexual predator resurfaces
when Raskol’nikov calls out “Svidrigailov” to a stranger in an attempt
to save a young woman from further molestation out on the street
[PSS 6: 40]).
Nor are characters’ names the only specifics. Dostoevsky also
carefully identifies Raskol’nikov’s environment, providing names for
actual buildings and streets (Antsiferov 1923: 28). In his focus on
urban detail, recalling the London of Dickens as well as the Paris of
Balzac, Dostoevsky recreates on the page the literal city in which his
target reader was probably adrift.26 For example, S.V. Belov observes,
25
“Raskolnikov […] manages to rid himself rather easily of his immediate
interlocutors [….]”. Caryl Emerson, The First Hundred Years of Mikhail Bakhtin
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 151. But they keep returning, drawing
him back into the larger community. Raskol’nikov as a separate entity represents an
entire class of young men split off from their “real” Russian roots, as Clint Walker
maintains in “Psyche and Soma”, 32, noting further the tremendous impact of Ivan
Aksakov’s articles in Den’ (The Day) on Dostoevsky, “particularly Crime and
Punishment, but also the other major novels to follow”. Walker, “Psyche and Soma”
(2006), 35. Dostoevsky, notes Walker (41), characterizes Peter as “against the people”
(antinaroden).
26
As a very “painterly” visual writer, Dostoevsky’s streets recall the urban details of
Delft in the paintings of Jan Flette Vermeer (although Vermeer’s bright canvases are
in stark contrast to Dostoevsky’s own crepuscular urban landscapes). For a masterful
discussion of the impact of Dickens and Balzac on Gogol and especially Dostoevsky,
see the classic by Donald Fanger, Dostoevsky and Romantic Realism: A Study of
22 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
30
I am grateful to Malynne Sternstein for pointing out to me the Church Slavonic roots
of Raskol’nikov’s first name. Dostoevsky, incidentally, is hardly the first major
Russian writer to extol Russianness. We encounter this same emphasis on native
Russian culture in Aleksandr Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin, notably in reference to food,
and specifically in regard to the eating habits of Tat’iana and Onegin.
31
“Religion”, notes Theofanis George Stavrou, “chiefly that of the Orthodox church,
continued to leave its mark on the social behavior of Russian society as well as on its
aesthetic sensibility”. “Introduction”, Art and Culture, xix.
32
As Emily Johnson suggests, “To Dostoevsky, [Nikolai] Antsiferov explains, the
city’s grand palaces and ministries represented a shimmering mirage, the product of a
spell laid on the Finnish swamps by the ‘miracle-working builder’, and hence might at
any moment disappear. The water element, the primeval destructive force that so often
threatened imperial St. Petersburg, Antsiferov notes, pervades Dostoevsky’s
descriptions of the city and, in the form of canals, rivers, foul weather, and wet snow,
plays a negative role in the lives of many of the author’s most famous characters”.
Emily Johnson, How St. Petersburg Learned to Study Itself: The Russian Idea of
Kraevedenie (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006),
137-138. Antsiferov, however, does not deal with baptismal imagery.
24 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
34
See also Priscilla Meyer, “Introduction”, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and
Punishment, tr. Constance Garnett, translation revised by Julia Salkovskaya and
Nicholas Rice (New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 2007), xx.
35
Dostoevsky, notes Robert Belknap, “knew the Bible well”. Robert Belknap,
Genesis, 19.
36
But, Frank adds, Pisarev then wrote an article “proving that Raskolnikov’s crime
was really caused by hunger and malnutrition”.
26 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
37
Interestingly enough, Dostoevsky would have been following in the footsteps of a
man he respected as a writer but disdained as a human being: Ivan Turgenev. In such
widely-spaced works as his A Sportsman’s sketches (1852) and Fathers and Sons,
Turgenev always knew how to elicit a “gut reaction” in his readers.
38
We should in fairness bear in mind that Radishchev and Turgenev dealt with the
most significant contemporary evil in focusing on serfdom.
39
We see comparable exploitation in, once again, Goncharov’s Oblomov, not merely
in the chapter “Oblomov’s Dream”, but also as linked with Oblomov’s landlady,
eventually his wife, Pshenitsina.
Introduction 27
Dostoevsky grafts them anew onto these roots through Orthodox and
oral imagery. The component parts of the novel work on these two
levels at once: within the sphere of the physically “real” contemporary
city, and the transcendent realm of Orthodox belief. The setting, the
characters, the clothing they wear or refer to, even individual scenes
that constitute the plot: all of these components of the novel fit this
paradigm.
The present study represents an attempt to break down the
novel along those lines that relate and appeal to the target reader.
Dostoevsky draws that reader back into pre-Western/modern Russian
culture, reminding him of his ethnic and religious roots. Thus, Chapter
One deals with orality as it fits in with Orthodox Christianity and the
oral tradition. Clothing is at once as an economic barometer and a
religious symbol. It is a significant focal point and the subject of
Chapter Two. Faces are indicators of emotional reactions and images
that also acquire an iconic function. Dramatic scenes, whether
centered on a single character or incorporating more than one,
frequently have iconic as well as situational significance. So do
architectural constructs. Chapter Three is concerned with the iconic
and the anti-iconic. In Chapter Four, the focus is on the young
Raskol’nikov as a follower of Western intellectual trends. In his
separation from his God, his family, and Russian traditional values, he
recalls “The Parable of the Prodigal Son”. Chapter Five concerns the
significance of alterity, or “otherness”, in the novel. The epilogue
figures not only as a capstone to the larger novel, but also as a tale of
the redemption of the sinner, finally purged of his nihilist leanings.
The epilogue will be the focal point of Chapter Six. All of these will
be considered in turn in the course of the present book.
Chapter One
1
As Maurice Friedberg once cogently observed regarding The Brothers Karamazov,
Dostoevsky takes a kept woman, an old lecher, a disgraced officer, and a young
novice, and he loads the biggest question of all onto them: is there a God? Private
conversation. This essay was originally a presentation at the University of Chicago on
31 March, 2005. I would like to thank the Department of Slavic Languages and
Literatures and particularly Malynne Sternstein for their kind invitation.
2
We see this same dichotomy between apparent and underlying, true, reality in the
verse of the great nineteenth-century Russian poet Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev.
30 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
3
My thanks to William Darden for reminding me of Dostoevsky’s Siberian immersion
in orality.
4
Iurii Lotman maintains that Gogol and Dostoevsky “ ‘canonized’ the oral literature of
Petersburg […] and carried its stories, along with the oral tradition of the ‘anecdote’,
into the realm of ‘high literature’ (vysokaya slovesnost’)”. Iurii Lotman, “Simvolika
Peterburga i problemy semiotiki goroda”, Izbrannye stat’i v trekh tomakh 2 (Tallinn:
Aleksandra, 1992), 15-16. Cited in Julie A. Buckler’s fine Mapping St. Petersburg
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005), 128. Julie Buckler observes that “It is a
Petersburg commonplace that mysterious legends and oral lore play an integral role in
the imperial capital’s cultural life and convey an essential part of the city’s history”.
Mapping, 116.
5
As discussed in Clint Walker’s “Psyche, Soma and Raskolnikov’s Sickness
Revisited: Mind as Microcosm in Crime and Punishment”, unpublished paper,
American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies (Salt Lake City,
November, 2005); as well as in “Psyche and Soma: Metaphors of Transformation and
the Petrine Cultural Legacy from Dostoevsky to Platonov”, unpublished essay.
Significance of Orality 31
classes” (Malcolm Jones 2002: 153), and his moral and intellectual
attraction to Western thought on the other. Dostoevsky’s youthful
infatuation with revolutionary ideals and practice clashed, by the
1860s, with his youthful memories of Christ and Christianity,
particularly since his earliest childhood memories were of saints and
saints’ lives (Malcolm Jones 2002: 150).6 Crime and Punishment
marks an attempt to heal that rift, not only in the larger society, but for
Dostoevsky personally.
Dostoevky deliberately focuses on oral usage at the expense
of the written word, which can be seen in the present context as linked
with political or philosophical tracts imported from the West. He
simultaneously reinforces the oral teachings associated with his own
earliest childhood exposure to the Gospels. Even, perhaps especially,
common objects in Crime and Punishment are endowed with a two-
fold significance, as part of the details of everyday life and as an
allusion to the Gospels or to Russian folk belief. Everything in the
novel is invested to this end: the cityscape, the characters, their
clothing, the dialogue and action.7 Dostoevsky alerts us to these two
levels of meaning at the very start with a title invested at once with
secular/civil meaning—crime and punishment—and religious
significance: crime or, literally, transgression (prestuplenie) and
punishment or chastisement (nakazanie), with undercurrents in the
Church Slavonic of education or learning (uchenie, obrazovanie).
(Indeed, Raskol’nikov will be “re-educated” by the end of the
epilogue.) Related to skazat’ (to say or tell), the word nakazanie is
inherently oral, reinforcing the oral foundation of the novel.8 As with
Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy’s epigram at the beginning of Anna
6
Even at the end of his life, Dostoevsky was actively engaged in addressing—and
attempting to heal—the rift between Orthodox Christianity and the revolutionary
impulse. James Rice addresses this issue brilliantly in “Dostoevsky’s Endgame: The
Projected Sequel to The Brothers Karamazov”, Russian History/Histoire Russe 33:1
(Spring 2006): 45-62. My thanks to Paul Friedrich for having alerted me to this essay,
and to James Rice for generously sharing it.
7
Much later, Anton Chekhov would similarly privilege orality in his 1887 short story
“At Home” (“Doma”). The child Seryozha, caught smoking, can only be reached
through orality. “When Seryozha asks to hear a fairy tale, he wants it to be told, not
read. The child wants an oral word, one colored by the tone and feelings of the
narrator, a word addressed directly to him”. Vladimir Golstein, “Doma”: At Home
and Not at Home”, Robert Louis Jackson, ed., Reading Chekhov’s Text (Evanston:
Northwestern University Press, 1993), 80.
8
Thanks to Norman Ingham for pointing out these definitions to me.
Significance of Orality 33
Karenina, “Vengeance is Mine, and I will repay”, the title is a red flag
designed to alert the reader to the complexity of layers in the novel.
Raskol’nikov’s very name of schismatic—once we encounter it—
works both on the contemporary sociological level (noted earlier) and
as a religious allusion to the great Schism in the Russian Orthodox
Church, in 1652.
Song
The most powerful voice in Orthodox authority was the sung liturgy,
imbued with impressive oral power. It was during worship that God
was felt to be “present in the community” (Chamberlain 2004: xv).
Songs are also essential vehicles for oral culture. As Malcolm Brown
observes (1983: [57-84] 63), folk music and the music of the Russian
Orthodox Church are “Russia’s two ancient and indigenous musical
practices [….]”, conflating religion with oral culture. Because
Dostoevsky would have been well acquainted with the liturgy, and
since Orthodoxy and traditional belief play a vital role in the novel, we
expect songs and music to be represented here as well. Dostoevsky
employs songs or singing at crucial points in the main body of the
novel, always in public places. He does so in clear opposition to the
liturgical or traditional songs they undermine.9 Song in Petersburg is
song corrupted. The church is transformed into the tavern or the urban
street. Raskol’nikov hears these “recitals” and is Dostoevsky’s
obvious intended audience—along with the target reader—for songs
that encapsulate the decay of traditional Russian life—especially of
the oral tradition—in the urban environment of St. Petersburg.
Malcolm Brown addresses the issue of “urban folk songs”, “which
frequently incorporate identifiable elements from the older rural folk-
song tradition” (1983: 67). Singers function as a kind of chorus,
commenting on the urban setting, the characters, and their actions.10
Most importantly, song as musical sound—coupled with the visual
image—constitutes a vital component of Petersburg realia in the
novel. We as readers—more to the point, Dostoevsky’s readers—have
a heightened sense of being “present” on the scene.
Raskol’nikov is initially linked with song, specifically, street
song, at the very beginning. He has just gone out to rehearse his crime,
9
Nor is Crime and Punishment the only Dostoevsky work with songs or music. As far
back as his 1848 short story “A Christmas Tree and a Wedding” (“Ёlka i svad’ba”),
Dostoevsky adds a pianist to the “festive” scene. Songs are used to ironic or satiric
effect in Demons, as well as in The Brothers Karamazov. Just before his first
interview with Porfiry Petrovich, Raskol’nikov muses that he will have to “sing
Lazarus”. The phrase pet’ Lazaria means ‘to complain of one’s troubles’ (PSS 6:
189). David Matual comments on the irony of this phrase in “Fate in Crime and
Punishment”, The International Fiction Review 3:2 (July 1976): 123.
10
Victor Peppard discusses the discordant songs of the novel in his “The Acoustic
Dimensions of Crime and Punishment”, Dostoevsky Studies 9 (1988): 146-148.
Significance of Orality 35
11
The rays of the setting sun, associated with the icon of the Mother of God, will be a
treasured memory much later, in Alyosha Karamazov’s remembrance of his mother.
F.M. Dostoevskii, Brat’ia Karamazovy, Knigi I-IX, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v
tridtsati tomakh, ed. V.G. Bazanov et al, 14 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1976), 18. For a fine
discussion of this scene, see Diane Oenning Thompson, The Brothers Karamazov and
the Poetics of Memory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 76.
12
According to David McDuff, “Khutorok” was a ballad by Aleksei Vasilievich
Koltsov. David McDuff, “Notes”, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment
(London: Penguin Books, 1991), 635. In his subject matter, lexicon and metric
scheme, Koltsov closely followed folk traditions. Geir Kjetsaa, “Koltsov, Alexei
Vasilievich”, Victor Terras, ed., Handbook of Russian Literature (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1985), 230-231. Marmeladov’s alcoholism was linked at least in part
with pre-Petrine Russian culture and with the ancient Russian/Orthodox tradition of
suffering. See Eve Levin, Dvoeverie i narodnaia religiia v istorii Rossii (Moscow:
Indrik, 2004), esp. 110, 118-119. In his nocturnal and tortured wanderings around
Petersburg, Marmeladov ironically recapitulates Jesus and the Stations of the Cross.
36 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
13
See Sergei Fomichev’s “The World of Laughter in Pushkin’s Comedy”, in Chester
Dunning, with Caryl Emerson, Sergei Fomichev, Lidiia Lotman and Antony Wood,
The Uncensored Boris Godunov. The Case for Pushkin’s Original Comedy. With
Annotated Text and Translation (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 2006),
144.
Significance of Orality 37
off the song and calls out to the street organ player “that’s it”!
Raskol’nikov turns to the older man next to him who looks like a
“flâneur” and launches into a chatty commentary as much about the
unpleasant St. Petersburg ambiance as about music:
If he isn’t, as the narrator informs us, talking about street singing, then
what is he really talking about? (We do know that Dostoevsky has
quite obviously taken song out of the church, into the street.)
Raskol’nikov questions a young fellow in a red shirt about a
tradesman and peasant woman he saw talking to Lizaveta, but the
young man is evasive and wily, and his response should remind
Raskol’nikov that the intelligentsia had no monopoly on brains and no
authority to dictate (a reference at once to Raskol’nikov’s theory and
to the horse nightmare). Raskol’nikov keeps rehashing his “crime and
punishment”, and his agitated fear of being caught is summed up
handily when the girl starts singing again and her couplet reaches him:
“You’re my ‘handsum’ [the sub-standard prikrasnyi, instead of
prekrasnyi] duty p’liceman [butoshnik, instead of the standard form
budochnik] / Don’t you beat me for no reason”,14 foreshadowing to the
murders and to later nightmares.
Dostoevsky combines trenchant commentary on
Raskol’nikov’s psychological state with a scathing look at the
deterioration of (oral) Russian peasant culture in the negative post-
Petrine environment, encapsulated in the city of St. Petersburg.
Shortly afterwards, Raskol’nikov banters with a group of prostitutes,
whose comment on his “skinniness” recalls his own aside about sickly
St. Petersburg faces (PSS 6: 120-123). Raskol’nikov is ready to rejoin
(Russian) humanity, but it is only a Russian populace ruined in Peter’s
14
Thanks to Vladimir Liapunov for reminding me that butoshnik is really budochnik, a
policeman. See also S.V. Belov, Roman F.M. Dostoevskogo Prestuplenie i nakazanie
(Moscow: Prosveshchenie, 1985), 135. Belov notes that a budochnik is a low-ranking
policeman.
38 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
15
This might be the appropriate place to comment on the etymology of Svidrigailov’s
name. According to Charles Passage, there was an historical personage named
“Svidrigailo/Shvitrigello/Swidrigiello, 1355-1452, [who] was a devious man with a
reputation for cruelty and with a habit of making radical changes in religion, in
political faction, and even in names, since, in 1386, he changed his given name of
Leone to Bóleslav”. Charles E. Passage, Character Names in Dostoevsky’s Fiction
(Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1982), 62. See also the notes to Crime and Punishment:
“Dostoevsky’s contemporaries were acquainted with [Svidrigailov’s] name”. He was
a chinovnik (‘civil servant’, ‘bureaucrat’) who would take care of all sorts of errands,
a follower of gossip, a man of dark origin, the promptest intermediary. PSS 7, 367-
368; emphasis added. That Svidrigailov was a “chinovnik” links him intimately with
chin (rank) and Peter the Great’s Table of Ranks (and, by extension, the ills of
Petersburg). The reminder to consult the notes comes from Gene Fitzgerald, by way
of James Rice. I’m most grateful for James Rice’s assistance (and for Paul Friedrich’s
suggestion that I investigate Svidrigailov’s name). Dostoevsky was himself, like
Svidrigailov, of Lithuanian origin on his father’s side. See Joseph Frank, Dostoevsky:
The Seeds of Revolt, 1821-1849 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976), 8.
16
“Marlborough”, Belov informs us, was a “popular French comic song, the hero of
which was the English Duke of Marlborough (1650-1722), or Malbruque, as the
French called him. At the beginning of the eighteenth century, English forces led by
Significance of Orality 39
the Duke of Marlborough gained brilliant victories over the French […] The rumor of
Marlborough’s death inspired one of the most famous French songs”. Belov,
Prestuplenie i nakazanie, 200. But Dostoevsky’s reader has already encountered this
song in Nikolai Gogol’s Dead Souls, when Nozdryov’s barrel organ inexplicably
(since this is Gogol!) ends a mazurka with “Marlburg v pokhod poekhal”
(“Marlbrough s’en va-t-en guerre”), which itself gives way to a well-known waltz.
N.V. Gogol’, Mertvye dushi. Poèma. Tom pervyi. Sobranie sochinenii v vos’mi
tomakh 5 (Moscow: Pravda, 1984), 74. Dostoevsky’s textual density—touching on
both Lermontov and Gogol’ (specifically, Nozdryov) ironically undermines Katerina
Ivanovna.
17
“Cinq sous” is the beggars’ aria from Grace de Dieu by Gustave Dennery and A.P.
Lemoine, tremendously popular in Russia. “Du hast Diamanten und Perlen” is from a
poem by Heinrich Heine, set to music by Franz Schubert. David McDuff, “Notes”,
646.
40 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
18
Song is Western—specifically French—and negative, like Svidrigailov, as in the
scene leading to his suicide, when he refers to himself as looking like someone
returning from a “kafeshantan” (café chantant). PSS 6: 388. But along with
Svidrigailov we hear a song when he’s on his way to suicide, a song about “someone,
a ‘scoundrel and tyrant’ [and Svidrigailov is arguably both], ‘[who] began to kiss
Katya’ ” (PSS 6: 383). And we recall the unholy combination of tavern, mask, and
entertainment that Svidrigailov embodies.
Significance of Orality 41
I assure you, there isn’t much trouble involved, just talk any old
wish-wash you want. Since you’re a doctor, you could just begin
to treat her for something. I swear, you won’t regret it. There’s a
clavichord standing in her apartment; well, you know, I clink on it
a little bit; I have one little song, a Russian one, a real one: “I’ll
drown in burning tears”. She loves real ones. Well, it all started
with that song […] (PSS 6: 160; emphasis added).
a barely audible song was borne to him from the far bank. There,
in the boundless steppe flooded with sunlight, barely perceptible
nomad yurts appeared as black dots. There was freedom over
there, and other people lived there, not at all like the ones here; it
was as though time itself had stood still, as though the age of
Abraham and his flock had not yet passed (PSS 6: 421).
19
For a brief discussion of this episode, see V.P. Vladimirtsev, “Zal’ius’ slez’mi
goriuchimi”, Russkaia rech’ 1 (1988): 119-123, esp. 121-122.
42 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
For all of his exposure to written texts, the former law student
Raskol’nikov remains strikingly vulnerable to oral usage.20 His
patterns of behavior even recapitulate the formula central to the oral
tradition. In keeping with Vladimir Propp’s (1969: 30-31, 40-44, 48-
50, 53-54, 56, 58-60) observations on the oral tale,21 Raskol’nikov
abandons his home and violates an interdiction. He goes out on a
“quest” and is aided by helpers: a false “helper” (Svidrigailov) and a
true one (Sonia). Perhaps there are two different quests involved here:
the false quest that Svidrigailov represents, and the true, Christian one
identified with Sonia. Eventually, Raskol’nikov returns triumphant (in
the epilogue).22
Dostoevsky, whose susceptibility to oral stimuli resulted in an
auditory hallucination when he was very young, was also intensely
susceptible to sound. Walking through the woods, the child
Dostoevsky thought he heard someone calling “wolf”, and wolves did
indeed roam this area. The peasant Marey comforted him, “blessing
him with the cross and crossing himself, and then sending him home
20
He is at once sensitive to oral usage and cut off from others. Perhaps he can hear
better than he can listen (at least, until the epilogue, when he and Sonia communicate
on a non-verbal, spiritual level). Caryl Emerson has commented on Raskol’nikov’s
inability to listen in The First Hundred Years of Mikhail Bakhtin (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1997), 140-141.
21
Mikhniukevich touches on Russian folklore in Dostoevsky, but not from this
perspective. V.A. Mikhniukevich, “F.M. Dostoevskii-khudozhnik i russkoi fol’klor”,
Tvorchestvo F.M. Dostoevskogo: iskusstvo sinteza: Monografiia (Ekaterinburg:
Izdatel’stvo Ural’skogo Universiteta, 1991), 89-124.
22
And we remember, as my student Joseph Rodriguez has pointed out, that
Raskol’nikov is quite literally suspended between two worlds.
Significance of Orality 43
23
My thanks to Martin Bidney for sending me an offprint.
24
The significance of oral usage appears cross-culturally and would seem to be
universal. Thus we read in Michael Chamberlain that in Islam “The sense that
transmission established a tangible link between the auditor and the Prophet is why
elderly transmitters were valued so highly”. Michael Chamberlain, Knowledge and
Social Practice in Medieval Damascus 1190-1350. Cambridge Studies in Islamic
Civilization (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 139. Emphasis added. I
would like to thank my husband William Tucker for this reference.
44 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
He drew the axe all the way out, swung it with both hands, barely
aware of himself and almost without any effort, almost
mechanically, brought the butt down on her [the pawnbroker’s]
head […] In one hand she continued to hold the ‘pledge’. Now he
struck again with all his strength, still with the butt and still on the
crown of her head (PSS 6: 63).25
25
Raskol’nikov’s “mechanical” action recalls Svidrigailov’s words on socialism: “man
in socialism becomes a man mechanically”. Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Notebooks for
Crime and Punishment, ed. and tr. Edward Wasiolek (Chicago: The University of
Chicago Press, 1967), 194.
26
So important was this scene from Balzac (when Rastignac and Bianchon discuss
murdering the old mandarin) that Dostoevsky inserted it into his famous Pushkin
speech. See also Boris Georgievich Reizov, Balzac: sbornik statei, (Leningrad:
Izdatel’stvo Leningradskogo Universiteta, 1960). In How the Russians Read the
French: Lermontov, Dostoevsky and Tolstoy (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin
Press, 2009), Priscilla Meyer deals with this same issue. I would like to thank Priscilla
Meyer for generously sharing her work with me.
Significance of Orality 45
among other things, he muses about the fairy-tale hero Tsar Gorokh,
himself the subject of the oral tradition, not the written text (PSS 6:
6).27 Incidentally, Dostoevsky’s careful attention to sound in the
speech patterns of his characters and his descriptions are facets of his
attention to detail that marks this novel. The old chestnut that
Dostoevsky—the “Johann Sebastian Bach” of prose literature—was a
careless stylist must be considered as a mark of superficial or careless
reading, as Victor Peppard observes (1988: 143).
This heightened susceptibility to oral usage, as both a
verbalizer and a listener, will hasten the beginnings of Raskol’nikov’s
later redemption when Sonia recites the passage from the Book of
John about Christ raising Lazarus from the dead. Instead of reading
the germane verses himself, Raskol’nikov insists that Sonia read to
him. She does, albeit nervously and unwillingly at first. He receives
this important text, so relevant to his own fate and his return to the
“living” following the brutal murders, aurally (PSS 6: 250). The story
of Lazarus from the Gospel of John refutes the earlier semi-quoted
text from Balzac: the overheard conversation between the student and
the soldier about murdering the old mandarin in China. Thus, notes
Priscilla Meyer (2009), does Dostoevsky employ the biblical text to
repudiate the French one. In place of death, we have a return to life.
Nor should we forget—as William Darden has pointed out to me—
that Lazarus is the patron saint of the hopeless, which works here for
both Sonia—who retains her faith in spite of terrible circumstances—
and Raskol’nikov, who will return to faith, bolstered by his childhood
memories of ritual and belief.
27
For a discussion of the role of Tsar Gorokh in Crime and Punishment, see James L.
Rice’s marvelously astute “Raskol’nikov and Tsar Gorox”, Slavic and East European
Journal 25:3 (Fall 1981): 38-53. Among other interesting and important points in his
essay, James Rice notes that the verb ogoroshit’ (related to the noun gorokh [‘pea’])
means ‘to give a stunning blow [on the crown of the head]’, certainly apt in the
context of Crime and Punishment. Rice, “Raskol’nikov”, 46. The song Raskol’nikov
hears earlier (about the drunk “caressing his wife”) has an additional couplet, “I
walked down Gorokhovaya (Pea) Street/And didn’t even find a pea (gorokhu)”,
leading “back”, notes James Rice, “to the diminutive, vulnerable, and ultimately
undiscoverable self (Gorox) one does not dare to acknowledge or confront”. Rice,
“Raskol’nikov”, 49. In a related scene, Raskol’nikov thinks about the moon in his
dream (on the pawnbroker, already dead): “ ‘Ekh, there’s so much quiet because of
the moon (mesiats)’,—mused Raskol’nikov,—‘it (‘he’) is probably riddling riddles
now’ ”. (PSS 6: 213).
46 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Sonia reads aloud that Lazarus has been dead for four days.
Significantly, Dostoevsky, notes Belov (1985: 177), does not cite the
Gospels exactly, word for word. In Dostoevsky’s text, the line reads:
“Byl zhe bolen nekto Lazar’, iz Vifanii […]” (“Indeed there was sick a
certain Lazarus, from Bethany [….]”). In the Gospel according to John
(John 11:1), this line actually reads “Byl bolen nekto Lazar’ iz Vifanii”
(“There was sick a certain Lazarus, from Bethany”). This inexactness
fits in with the orality of the novel, as well as with Sonia’s obvious
reliance on her memories of the Gospels as essentially a text accessed
aurally as opposed to visually. Perhaps this was how Dostoevsky
himself preferred to receive the Gospels. The emphatic particle zhe
(meaning roughly ‘and’, ‘as for’, ‘indeed’) reinforces and fits in with
Sonia’s passionate involvement in this scene.28 That zhe emphases the
surrounding text emphatically stresses her application of the biblical
text for Raskol’nikov’s specific situation. Zhe reminds the reader of
the link between Lazarus, dead for four days, and Raskol’nikov
himself, “dead” within the context of the novel to the Orthodox
community, for the same period of time.
The number “four” is repeated in the structure of the novel,
with this episode occupying all of Part IV, Chapter Four. John is the
fourth Evangelist.29 “[Sonia] energetically stressed the word: four”
(PSS 6: 251; emphasis in original).30 In John 11:23, Jesus tells Martha
that her “brother will rise”, a comment with special significance for
Raskol’nikov, given his separation from the Orthodox community and
the significance of the word “brother” in the larger Orthodox Christian
context. The scene illuminated by a solitary candle where ‘a woman
who has gone astray’ (bludnitsa, Dostoevsky uses the biblical term
28
That Sonia is “sent out on a quest” (actually, of course, pushed into prostitution) by
her step-mother Katerina Ivanovna resonates with numerous tales in the Russian oral
tradition. Typically, the young step-daughter is ordered to go to Baba Yaga on some
trumped-up pretext, actually to get her killed off. Of course, Katerina Ivanovna’s
desperation caused by horrible poverty in no way marks her as the wicked stepmother
of myth, but the basic pattern is present.
29
See the discussion in G.V. Kogan, “Vechnoe i tekushchee: (Evangelie
Dostoevskogo i ego znachenie v zhizni i tvorchestve pisatelia)”, Dostoevskii i
mirovaia kul’tura 3 (1994): 27-42.
30
As a doubling of the number two, the number four also fits in with the duality
inherent in the oral tradition. On dualities, see Marjorie Yovino-Young, Pagan Ritual
and Myth in Russian Magic Tales: A Study of Patterns (Lewiston, NY: The Edwin
Mellen Press, 1993), esp. 53, for “doubled doubles”.
Significance of Orality 47
31
We encounter this same emphasis on the immediacy of orality and negativity, and
perhaps even the inaccuracy, of the written word in The Master and Margarita by
Dostoevsky’s great twentieth-century literary descendant, Mikhail Afanasievich
Bulgakov.
48 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
32
For a discussion of the significance of the dream in Russian popular belief, see W.F.
Ryan, The Bathhouse at Midnight: An Historical Survey of Magic and Divination in
Russia (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999), 151-156. As
Ryan observes (151): “[…] the biblical mode of dream interpretation may be
specifically reinforced in folklore [….]”.
33
See also Liza Knapp’s comment that “the specific activity of washing is [normally]
symbolic of purification”. Liza Knapp, The Annihilation of Inertia: Dostoevsky and
Metaphysics (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1996), 77. Nastas’ya, for
instance, brings Raskol’nikov water in a white cup. (PSS 6: 92). As we read in
Revelations 22:1: “And he showed me the pure water of life, clear as crystal,
proceeding from the throne of God and the Lamb”.
Significance of Orality 49
34
Dostoevsky himself followed this route in the period just before he began writing
the novel. See B.N. Tikhomirov, “Iz nabliudenii nad romanom “Prestuplenie i
nakazanie”, Dostoevskii: materialy i issledovaniia 13 (St. Petersburg: Nauka, 1996):
235-236.
35
This same oppressive heat, as Richard Freeborn notes, figures in Dostoevsky’s
earlier novel Unizhennye i oskorblennye (The Insulted and the Injured). Richard
Freeborn, The Rise of the Russian Novel: Studies in the Russian Novel from ‘Eugene
Onegin’ to ‘War and Peace’ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 177.
F.D. Reeve points out that “[t]he image of the garden” symbolizes paradise. When he
passes the Yusupov Gardens and “plans” on how he would expand them, he
“appropriates to himself […] the role of divine gardener, charged with beautifying and
harmonizing the earthly city, viz. Petersburg”. F.D. Reeve, The Russian Novel (New
York: McGraw-Hill, 1966), 177.
36
For a discussion of the phenomena of dreams and daydreams in Crime and
Punishment, see J.Thomas Shaw’s fine essay “Raskol’nikov’s Dreams”, Slavic and
East European Journal 17:2 (Summer 1973): 131-145.
50 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
37
Stagnant water represented in Luzhin’s name and in the dream figures in the
negative image of inertia, itself the subject of Liza Knapp’s excellent The Annihilation
of Inertia: Dostoevsky and Metaphysics (Evanston: Northwestern University Press,
1996).
38
My thanks to Caryl Emerson for this typically astute observation. Private
correspondence. Perhaps we can also consider the canals as Peter’s anti-baptismal
water.
Significance of Orality 51
Raskol’nikov came out of the shed onto the very bank, sat down
on logs piled near the shed and began to gaze at the wide and
empty river […] There was freedom over there, and other people
lived there […] as though the age of Abraham and his flock had
not yet passed (PSS 6: 421).
39
For an extensive treatment of foreshadowing, sideshadowing and backshadowing,
see Gary Saul Morson’s fine Narrative and Freedom: The Shadows of Time (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1994).
52 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
40
Acceptance on faith figures centrally in, for instance, Caravaggio’s dramatic
paintings The Supper at Emmaus and The Conversion of Saint Paul and is basic to
belief in the Resurrection.
Significance of Orality 53
or not the events of this dream actually took place. Dostoevsky leaves
no doubt in an earlier draft, where the horse killing is clearly a
memory and not a dream at all (Shaw 1973: 145 n. 7). One might
speculate here that the dream format enables the author to circumvent
and undermine Raskol’nikov’s rational machinations, foreshadowing
his delirious lack of focus on the way to murder. The dative case
accomplishes the same function grammatically.
Another related and particularly important topic is the dream
killing itself.41 The peasant Mikolka brutally butchers an old nag (a
klyacha, also clearly identifiable with the old pawnbroker, but also
with the overburdened Lizaveta), beating her steadily especially on the
head and overloading his cart that she is too weak to pull. He calls her
“my property” (literally, moë dobro, ‘my goods’, with an obvious pun
on the word dobryi, designating ‘moral good’.42 A horrified old
bystander labels Mikolka a leshii, a forest spirit (PSS 6: 48). Cowering
after the murders, Raskol’nikov hears “leshii” again (PSS 6: 69). The
leshii was not to be trifled with. He was capricious at best, and, in
some regions, clearly resembled the devil (Ivanits 1989: 65-70). And
the devil was a palpable presence. As Paul Friedrich notes, “More
immediate than the one beneficent God, however, was the devil,
conceptualized as God’s brother, in a remarkably dualistic system, and
the host of water nymphs, hobgoblins, demons, and other spirits that
41
Two significant dreams follow the murders and are related to them. In the first,
Raskol’nikov has a nightmare that the landlady is being beaten. This dream is related
to the horse nightmare by both noise level and also the narrator’s comment that
Raskol’nikov “quivered like an over-driven horse”. PSS 6: 90-91. In the second
nightmare later in the novel, Raskol’nikov hits the pawnbroker who refuses to die.
PSS 6: 212-214. That dream will be treated in the chapter on iconic underpinnings of
the novel. For a discussion of dreams in Crime and Punishment, see Shaw,
“Raskol’nikov’s Dreams”, 131-145. See also Temira Pachmuss, “the Technique of
Dream-Logic in the Works of Dostoevskij”, Slavic and East European Journal 4:3
(Autumn 1960): 220-242; and Raymond J. Wilson III, “Raskol’nikov’s Dream in
Crime and Punishment”, Literature and Psychology 26:4 (1976): 159-166 (which
focuses on the horse dream).
42
Priscilla Meyer observes that “horse beating was a routine event and appeared often
in literary texts, several of which have been suggested as a source for Raskolnikov’s
horrifying dream […] Balzac’s Un début dans la vie, Nekrasov’s poem ‘About the
Weather’ […] and its probable sources, Victor Hugo’s poem ‘Melancholia’ […] and
his Les Misérables”. Meyer (2009): 10 (pagination from ms. copy). In comparable
fashion, Raskol’nikov himself turns gifts from his loved ones—a watch from his
father and a ring from his sister—into “goods” at the pawnbroker’s. See PSS 6: 9.
Does the watch “quantify” eternity?
54 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
peopled the houses, streams, trees, and other objects in the animistic
world.”43 (This temporally backward glance at Russian popular belief
will resurface in the description of Svidrigailov, below.)
Mikolka is clearly not to be trifled with either and prevails.
Dostoevsky’s choice of a dream killer is significant as well as striking.
Raskol’nikov’s theory of the “superman” (echoing Pisarev) entitled to
kill anyone who stands in his way as he tries to create a “perfect”
world constitutes the basis not only of his crime, but of the larger
nihilist movement as well. Mikolka, a peasant, also “wants a piece of
the action”. He considers himself one of the elect, and he has the
support of the people in the wagon, which we can expand within the
framework of the dream to stand for the entire world (PSS 6: 47-49).
Now is the time to recall another “Mikolka’s” hat comment at the
beginning, his physical dynamism relative to the intelligentsia, and his
inherent “power” to commit violent acts.
That Raskol’nikov is at once the boy, the horse, and Mikolka
is arguably true.44 But the larger issue here, it seems to me, is the role
that Mikolka (the demotic form of Nikolai) plays in Dostoevsky’s
continuing “dialogue” with the radical thinker Pisarev. Mikolka’s urge
to drive the horse under impossible conditions can be equated with the
concept of forced progress (forward motion in time) under Utopian
Socialism, and may well be aimed at the Utopian Socialists’ (negative)
ideals. Furthermore, if an uneducated rube like Mikolka can be as
much a superman as an intellectual or a political figure can, then it
would seem that Raskol’nikov’s—and Pisarev’s—theory is in tatters
even before it can be put into action. And if Mikolka in his intrinsic
Russianness can unthinkingly elevate himself by exploiting raw
43
Paul Friedrich, “Semantic Structure and Social Structure: An Instance from
Russian”, Paul Friedrich, Language, Context, and the Imagination. Essays by Paul
Friedrich. Selected and Introduced by Anwar S. Dil (Stanford: Stanford University
Press, 1979), 139-140. I am most grateful to Paul Friedrich for having sent me a copy
of his illuminating essay. Eve Levin reminds us that popular (narodnaia) religion
must be treated in conjunction “with the official Christianity of the elite” and that
dvoeverie (dual belief) and “popular religion” can be considered synonyms. (E.V.
Anichkov holds the same view.) Dvoeverie i narodnaia religiia v istorii Rossii
(Moscow: Indrik, 2004), 8, 12, 17. Many thanks to Eve Levin for having apprised me
of her valuable book.
44
As in W.D. Snodgrass’s essay “Crime for Punishment: The Tenor of Part One”, The
Hudson Review XIII:2 (Summer 1960): 239. Cited in Raymond J. Wilson III’s
“Raskol’nikov’s Dream”, 159.
Significance of Orality 55
power, then there were never any grounds to this theory to begin with.
Perhaps Mikolka reminds Raskol’nikov that bloody violence
underwrites all the elevated theorizing and exposes the potential of its
violence (PSS 6: 50).45 (And “Mikolka”, too, takes suffering on
himself [PSS 6: 270-271], perhaps thereby redeeming the monster of
the nightmare, and foreshadowing to Rakol’nikov’s later redemption.)
All of this indeed proves to be the case as the novel plays out, with
Dostoevsky exploiting the non- or extra-rational medium of the dream
to demolish the rational basis of his opponents’ arguments. And two
central characters—Raskol’nikov and Svidrigailov—have their “final
judgments” in dreams. For Rakol’nikov, this dream will occur in the
epilogue (the subject of Chapter Six). For Svidrigailov, it will take
place just before his suicide (and be treated in Chapter Three).
While Luzhin stands for the puddle, the stagnant water of materialism
and disbelief endemic to St. Petersburg, Svidrigailov is identified with
the devilishly evil and even more dangerous watery realm of the
bathhouse.46 (And, arguably, Svidrigailov functions as much in mythic
time as in the time-frame of the novel.) Because Dostoevsky links
Svidrigailov’s disbelief in the afterlife—and, by extension, in God—
with the sorcery and devilry inherent in the oral tradition and
condemned as evil by the Orthodox Church, the fantastic imagery of
the bathhouse figures importantly here (Ivanits 1992: 138-148).
(Moreover, “Russian thought associates the devil”, observes Stephen
Hutchings (1997: 133), “both with the abstraction of pure reason—
man setting himself over, and apart from God—and with mimicry—
man setting himself apart, to mock and mimic God”. We see the first
in Raskol’nikov, the second in Svidrigailov.) Dostoevsky’s adherence
to the doctrine of pochvennichestvo, defined as a reconnection to the
Russian pochva (‘soil’), looms large here, too. (Frank 1995: 500).
Dostoevsky reconnects his target readers to the oral tradition
45
For a twentieth-century examination of brutality underlying theory, see Isaac
Babel’s short story masterpiece “Moi pervyi gus’ ” (“My First Goose”), from his
collection Red Cavalry.
46
He lives, as Ponomareva has observed, “[…] outside good and evil [….]”. G.B.
Ponomareva, Dostoevskii: ia zanimaius’ ètoi tainoi (Moscow: Akademkniga, 2001),
131.
56 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
intimately linked with the Russian folk, and the Russian pochva. This
is realized literally toward the end of the main body of the novel,
when Raskol’nikov kisses the earth (PSS 6: 405), as discussed in
Chapter Three. Dostoevsky manipulates the emotional reactions of his
readers through their memories of Russian popular belief, especially
as this lore is related to Russian Orthodoxy. His attack is two-pronged:
through both Russian Orthodoxy and popular belief (the oral
tradition). He chooses constructs or entities that work in both worlds.
Along with barns and forges, bathhouses were dominant
constructs in East Slavic pre-Christian religious practice, as clan (or
family) temples. With the coming of Christianity, they were driven
underground to become dwelling places for the demonic, writ large in
popular lore as the earthly domain of evil forces where “devils and
other unclean spirits gathered. People prayed to God in church, but to
the forces of evil in the bathhouse” (Lotman and Uspenskij 1984: 9). It
was not protected by an icon, and, Linda Ivanits reminds us, “peasants
removed their [protective, amulet] crosses while bathing” (1992: 143).
The bathhouse demon ruled over this structure, but it was also the
dominion of the wizard, the koldun, who can be identified with
Svidrigailov. A bathhouse was especially perilous after midnight, the
witching hour (Ryan 1999: 50-51). Lest we miss the point,
Svidrigailov opines about the bathhouse as an alternative to heavenly
eternity. “Just why”, Svidrigailov asks Raskol’nikov in their brief
conversation about life after death, “[must eternity] invariably be
enormous? And what if, instead of all this, just imagine, there’ll be
one little room [like Raskol’nikov’s?] something like a village
bathhouse, sooty, and with spiders in all the corners, and that’s all
eternity is”. Bathhouses, as Dale Pesmen cogently observes (2000: 95-
112, esp. 111-112), are liminal zones incorporating not only “meeting
and promiscuity”, but also dualities:
dirt and purity, power and equality, heat and cold, sobriety and
drunkenness, health and sickness, communion with others and
contact with one’s own “deepest” needs […] These elements and
contexts, especially when they meet, are “Russian” […] In
narratives, the baths are a place of change [….].47
47
Many thanks to Paul Friedrich for having reminded me to consult Dale Pesmen’s
fine study.
Significance of Orality 57
48
Dostoevsky links the bathhouse with hell directly in his Notes from the Dead House.
“When we entered the door to the bathhouse itself, I thought we’d entered Hell”. F.M.
Dostoevskii, Zapiski iz mërtvogo doma, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v tridtsati tomakh,
ed. V.G. Bazanov et al., 4 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1972): 98.
58 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
not in drops, but lashed the earth in whole streams. The lightning
bolts flashed constantly, and you could count to five with each
one. Wet to the skin [in Russian, the expression is ‘wet to the
49
For a fascinating discussion on the links between Perun and Elijah, see Yuri I.
Marmeladov, Dostoevsky’s Secret Code: The Allegory of Elijah the Prophet, tr. Jay
MacPherson (Lawrence, KS: Coronado Press, 1987), 2, 4, 9. Marmeladov observes
that the great thunderstorm toward the end of the main portion of the novel occurs “on
or near the feast day of Elijah”. Marmeladov, Secret Code, 10.
50
Caryl Emerson has reminded me that Svidrigailov is very complex and is consumed
by despair. He has, as Dostoevsky himself wrote, “moments of deep despair [….]”.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Notebooks for Crime and Punishment, ed. and tr. Edward
Wasiolek (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1967), 197. Of course, he is an
especially complicated and, in some ways, compelling villain/devil. But he’s also
terrifying, and to a particular end.
Significance of Orality 59
…kov Bridge in the direction of the Petersburg side. The rain had
stopped but the wind was roaring. He was beginning to shiver and
for a moment he looked at the black water of the Little Neva (PSS
6: 388).
51
Storms, particularly thunderstorms, were associated with Elijah, who rumbled across
the heavens in his chariot. Yuri Marmeladov notes that “[w]hen thunder rumbled
overhead in pre-Revolutionary Russia, it was a common cliché to remark: ‘There goes
Elijah the Prophet in his chariot across the clouds’ ”. Yuri Marmeladov, Secret Code,
1. In other words, Dostoevsky’s target reader would most likely have made that same
association of storm and Elijah.
52
Lest we think that dvoeverie (‘dual belief’) was confined to the Slavic East, we
should consider a parallel fusion of pagan and Christian religions in England. “In the
Reformation all heads were chopped off the statues lining the walls [in the Lady
Chapel of Ely Cathedral], but Green Men were left intact because of their pagan
fertility origins”. Peter Brooks, “The Aspiring East”, In Britain (April/May 2005): 15.
Emphasis added. I would like to thank my aunt, Anne Cour, for her generous
subscription to In Britain.
60 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
to the church” and “sorcerers [were] recognized by the fact that they
went to the bathhouse instead of to church”.
The bathhouse is also identified with political rebellion or
imposture. In an historical song from the Time of Troubles (the smuta,
1598-1613), the imposter, the False Dmitrii, visited the bathhouse
instead of church: “But that thief Grishka the Unfrocked went to the
bathhouse” (B.A. Uspenskij “Tsar’ ”, 1984: 273-274). Perhaps the
Time of Troubles figures importantly for Dostoevsky in contemporary
Russia, too, as a dangerous, transitional period. The evil of the
bathhouse is ancient, predating Christianity, and it evokes a deep fear
going far beyond the puddle revulsion inspired by Luzhin. The
political anti-behavior linked with the bathhouse touches not only
Svidrigailov. With his own “royal imposture” a factor in at least his
first murder, Raskol’nikov, too, is in grave danger of being sucked
into the hellish whirlpool of destruction that the bathhouse ultimately
betokens. That he instead confesses, however awkwardly, sends a
powerful signal to Dostoevsky’s intended, target reader.
When Svidrigailov performs a rare good deed (giving money
for the orphaned Marmeladov children [PSS 6: 334], he wants Dunya
to know. (Perhaps this represents a desperate attempt to reconnect
with the humanity he’s been separated from in the wake of her final,
definitive rejection.) And Dostoevsky gives him a devilishly terrifying
handsomeness that resonates most unpleasantly with the bathhouse
symbolism.
53
Svidrigailov is also associated with the number seven. His name is related to this
number (as Leslie Johnson has pointed out). This number, as my student Joseph
Rodriguez has reminded me, has special significance in numerology and in the Bible.
(Leslie Johnson has observed that it denotes the breaks between periods of time.
Leslie A. Johnson, The Experience of Time in Crime and Punishment [Columbus:
Slavica Publishers, 1984], 97.) Joseph Rodriguez has also called my attention to the
repetition of the number seven for Svidrigailov: seven years of marriage, seven days
in St. Petersburg, Marfa Petrovna’s ghost that reminds him to set a seven-day clock.
Seven also has its non-biblical side. Seven, Ryan notes, is “common in spells”. Ryan,
Bathhouse, 314. Seven in this context ties in with Svidrigailov as a wizard or a
demonic figure.
54
See also Russell Zguta’s Russian Minstrels: A History of the Skomorokhi
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1978), 4-5, 8-9, 28-31, 60-61, 110-
111. Caryl Emerson and Chester Dunning discuss the skomorokhi in “Introduction:
Reconsidering History and Expanding the Canon”, (3-24), 16-17. Caryl Emerson
notes that Maxim the Greek “denounced the skhmorokhi as tools of Satan [….]”,
which certainly resonates with Svidrigailov. Caryl Emerson, “The Ebb and Flow of
Influence: Muffling the Comedic in the Move toward Print”, (192-232), 216. Chester
Dunning, Lidiia Lotman and Antony Wood all note that “the skomorokhi [were]
wandering minstrels [consider Svidrigailov’s ramblings] who were linked with
Russia’s pagan past and with witchcraft and sorcery”. Chester Dunning with Lidiia
Lotman and Antony Wood, “Notes to Pushkin’s Comedy”, (454-510) 472 n. 88. All
the above citations are from Chester Dunning with Caryl Emerson, Sergei Fomichev,
Lidiia Lotman and Antony Wood, The Uncensored Boris Godunov, 2006.
64 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Conclusion
55
One is reminded here of the role that the oral tradition plays in, for instance, Ivan
Aleksandrovich Goncharov’s 1859 novel Oblomov. His nanny’s recapitulated tales
from the oral tradition, which the young Oblomov hears instead of reading, are central
to the chapter “Oblomov’s Dream” and to the novel as a whole.
Significance of Orality 65
having tweaked the belated epistolary novel in his very first published
work Poor Folk (1846). Perhaps this combination of Western and
Russian genres will help us to better understand and appreciate the
form and the role of the unjustly criticized epilogue, the subject of the
final essay in the present study.
Dostoevsky’s counter argument isn’t really a rational
argument per se, but rather a blow to his reader’s emotional solar
plexus. Instead of just responding with a rational line of reasoning,
Dostoevsky turns that rational argument against itself, much as he did
two years earlier in Notes from Underground. While his opponents
assume a reasoned basis for human behavior, Dostoevsky reminds the
reader through the very form of Crime and Punishment that human
beings at bottom aren’t rational at all. He guides them to access his
“higher” truth in the same way they receive religious “truth”: through
orality and visual images. To this end, he presents not only the mental
processes and resultant actions of Raskol’nikov, but also the fate of
Svidrigailov. Dostoevsky exploits the young, target reader
emotionally, just as he exploits the novel form itself, in order to bring
Russia back from the edge of a dangerous precipice, saving it along
with his hero from the dangers of disbelief. The ways in which he
does this will be dealt with in the succeeding chapters.
Chapter Two
In Crime and Punishment, the religious theme that would dominate all of
Dostoevsky’s subsequent fiction emerges as a central element for the
first time. Dostoevsky embedded this theme not only in the architecture
of the city and the behavior of his characters, but also in their clothing
references and the clothing itself. He redirected the inherited focus of the
physiological sketch, in which a character’s apparel was principally a
socio-economic indicator, to invest clothing with intense spiritual power.
No single motif more aptly captures the essence of an individual than the
clothing with which he covers his body. Clothing now came to
symbolize a character’s spiritual state, specifically, his/her acceptance or
rejection of Christ.1 The symbolic use of cloth/clothing has
traditionally been an accepted practice in the Western tradition. We
1
John Jones has commented briefly on Katerina Ivanovna’s green shawl, which Sonia
takes with her to Siberia. John Jones, Dostoevsky (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1983), 237. T.A. Kasatkina discusses the religious significance of Sonia’s green shawl
and burnoose in the epilogue. T.A. Kasatkina, “Ob odnom svoistve èpilogov piati
velikikh romanov Dostoevskogo”, Part One, Dostoevskii i mirovaia kul’tura 5
(Moscow: 1995): 21. This chapter is based on a paper originally delivered at the South
Central Modern Language Association 1998 annual meeting, in New Orleans. In
revised form, it was published in the Slavic and East European Journal 44:2 (Summer
2000): 253-265 and subsequently reprinted in Bloom’s Modern Critical
Interpretations: Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, edited and with an
introduction by Harold Bloom (Philadelphia: Chelsea House Publishers, 2004), 215-
229. I would like to thank the anonymous readers for their helpful comments and
encouragement. I would like most especially to thank the late editor of the Slavic and
East European Journal, Stephen Baehr, for his enormously valuable suggestions and
his patience and gentle prodding, and Harold Bloom for having selected my essay. I
am particularly indebted to my husband William Tucker and to Sandra Sherman,
Joseph Candido, the late Brian Wilkie and Beth Juhl for their comments, suggestions,
and help. I very much appreciate the Slavic and East European Journal editors’
permission to reprint this essay.
68 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
2
Noel Robertson, “Fate”, The Oxford Classical Dictionary, ed. N.G.L. Hammond and
H.H.Scullard, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970), 430-431. Penelope
from The Odyssey both weaves and unweaves to delay forced remarriage to one of her
unwanted suitors.
3
Thomas Hood’s “Song of the Shirt” was translated into Russian by M.L. Mikhailov
and D.D. Minaev in 1860, well before Dostoevsky wrote Crime and Punishment.
A.N. Nikoliukin, “Hood, Thomas”, Great Soviet Encyclopedia, ed. A.M. Prokhorov,
3rd ed., English tr. Rachel Berthoff et al. 7 (New York: MacMillan, 1975), 535.
Religious Symbolism of Clothing 69
4
In Sue’s The Mysteries of Paris, La Goualeuse learned to sew in prison. Eugène Sue,
The Mysteries of Paris, 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Henry T. Coates & Co., s.d), 1, 25.
5
As Hope Christiansen has noted to me, Balzac and Émile Zola represent the same
phenomenon in French literature.
6
In his discussion of Dickens’ impact on Dostoevsky, Grahame Smith states that “the
pupil clearly outstripped the master […]. Victorian domesticity […] forbade the
rigorous examination of character in its fullest depths and screened off the wild and
unpleasant aspects of humanity in a way that effectively prevented the creation of
character on a deeper level”. Grahame Smith, Dickens, Money, and Society (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1968), 122.
7
For a discussion of the role of cloth in Orthodox Christianity, see Ewa Kuryluk,
Veronica and Her Cloth: History, Symbolism, and Structure of a “True” Image
(Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1991), 4. Ewa Kuryluk also discusses cloth as shroud on
78, and cloth/clothing in greater detail in her chapter “Cloth”, 179-198.
8
Not that Dostoevsky was the only Russian writer to focus on clothing. Early on in
Aleksandr Pushkin’s The Captain’s Daughter, Pugachev saves Grinev, remembering
the timely gift of a hareskin coat. Aleksandr Pushkin, Sobranie sochinenii v desiati
tomakh, ed. D.D. Blagoi et al. IX (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1960),
300, 302, 356, 373, 391-392. But it is chance, not charity, that figures most
significantly here, and the coat is an instrument of “Providence”, as discussed in
70 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
between the central characters in the novel and their attire. A character’s
attitude toward clothing in Crime and Punishment functions variously as
a marker for charity or hoarding.11 Charity is expressed by donating or
repairing clothing, trading in used clothing, and sometimes even making
do with poor-quality clothing. These all denote caritas (love, esteem,
affection) and agape (love of mankind).12 Shared clothing is linked
directly with the Mother of God, whose veil (pokrov) “sheltered her
body in life, so now she spiritually sheltered her followers”.13
References to clothing—denoting material wealth opposed to
spiritual riches—are infrequent yet momentous in the New Testament,
which operates as a crucial backdrop for Crime and Punishment. The
‘coat’ in the English translation of the Bible is actually a rubashka
(‘shirt’) in the Russian version, echoed in Lizaveta’s link with shirts and
perhaps serving Dostoevsky as a Russian spiritual counterpart to Hood’s
economic argument in his “Song of the Shirt”. Had Luzhin read the
Gospels attentively—or even at all—he would surely have recalled the
message in Matthew 5:40, where we are exhorted to give away our outer
garment to the man who successfully sues for our shirt.14 (Luzhin
obviously considers himself one of the elect and resembles Raskol’nikov
here.) Luke 6:29 echoes this sentiment, expressed yet again in the form
of clothing: “And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also
the other: and him that taketh away thy outer garment forbid not to take
thy shirt also”.
11
Charity is central to Orthodoxy. John Chrysostom preached the necessity of giving
charity to the poor, and charity is combined with agape, love for the poor being
synonymous with alms giving. G.P. Fedotov, The Russian Religious Mind. Kievan
Christianity: The 10th to the 12th Centuries (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1960),
219, 222, 269,
12
I am grateful to Donald Engels for pointing out these distinctions to me. These
references are vital because they touch on essential issues in Christianity: caritas
(love, charity) and sacrifice versus pride, selfishness, predation. Harriett Murav has
written about the link between the Gospels and Crime and Punishment but has not
included clothing in her comments. See Harriett Murav’s Holy Foolishness:
Dostoevsky’s Novels and the Poetics of Cultural Critique (Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 1992), 60-61.
13
George Heard Hamilton, The Art and Architecture of Russia, 3rd ed. (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1983), 146.
14
Grinev’s gift to recalls this passage from Matthew and functions as an ironic subtext
to Luzhin’s miserly selfishness. Stephen Baehr is the source of this typically keen and
helpful observation. Moreover, one makes cloth “whole” in the spiritual sense
(echoing Veronica) by dividing it in two and giving half away.
72 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
15
Caitlín Matthew notes the association of St. Sophia with fire in Sophia Goddess of
Wisdom: The Divine Feminine from Black Goddess to World-Soul (London: The
Aquarian Press, 1991), 291. See also Evgenii Trubetskoi, Tri ocherka o russkoi ikone:
umozrenie v kraskakh dva mira v drevno-russkoi ikonopisi. Rossiia v eë ikone
(Moscow: InfoArt, 1991), 52.
16
I am grateful to Dennis Slattery of the Pacifica Graduate Institute for this timely
suggestion.
Religious Symbolism of Clothing 73
bonds with others and extends charity and agape. The apocryphal St.
Veronica, said to have wiped Christ’s face with a cloth (surely part of her
own clothing) when he fell on his way to Calvary, comes to mind here
(Farmer 1992: 477).17 That this piece of clothing retains Christ’s image
following Veronica’s charitable act denotes its significance as an
emblem of the divine love represented among men by the philanthropic
gesture, a gesture retained in Veronica’s memory and soul, as well as on
her clothing.18 Clothing as a realization of the memory of a charitable act
plays a significant role in Crime and Punishment, when Nastas’ya
reminds Raskol’nikov that the murdered Lizaveta once fixed a shirt for
him (discussed below).
Kenotic humility—which echoes Christ’s incarnation—
functions as an important and related principle of Russian Orthodoxy. It
is
Throughout the novel, Sonia and Lizaveta represent through clothing the
acceptance of kenotic humility.
Hoarding or taking clothing denotes rejection of the Gospels and
functions as a negative marker. Characters who dress too well have
17
The legend of Veronica is also part of Orthodox apocrypha, as attested in the
Chronographia of Johannes of Malala X, 306-308, cited in Samuel Macauley
Jackson, ed., The New Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge XII (New
York: Funk and Wagnalls, 1912), 166. See also Ewa Kuryluk, Veronica and Her
Cloth, for further commentary. I am grateful to Joseph Candido for reminding me
about St. Veronica.
18
Nor should we forget that cloth also functions in icon painting. Icons were painted
on boards. As George Hamilton notes, “When the panel was thoroughly seasoned, it
was often covered with a linen cloth upon which was laid a fine gesso ground. The
design was drawn on this [….]”. George Heard Hamilton, The Art and Architecture of
Russia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 104. Konrad Onasch and
Annemarie Schnieper further note (in Icons: The Fascination and the Reality, tr.
Daniel G. Conklin [New York: Riverside Book company, Inc., 1995], 233) that “a
layer of cloth called a pavoloka was placed over [a] layer of glue. All sorts of
materials were used for a pavoloka, from women’s scarves to expensive linens; the
cloth layer on an icon by Andrei Rublev was taken from a patterned table cloth, for
instance”. Alexandra Heidi Karriker has remarked to me that linen was not always
employed in the production of icons, but it certainly could be. Private conversation.
74 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
He was badly dressed, such that someone else, even a man used to it,
would have been ashamed to go out into the street in such rags [....]
And meanwhile, when one drunk, who was being hauled off down
the street in an enormous cart pulled by an enormous dray horse [all
of which will be echoed in his dream]—for some unknown reason—
19
The prostitute as societal victim comes right out of French literature. Albert Joseph
George, The Development of French Romanticism: The Impact of the Industrial
Revolution on Literature (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1955), 185. Edna St.
Vincent Millay recapitulates self-sacrifice in the creation of clothing in her 1922
poem, “The Harp Weaver”.
20
There is a possible link here between Raskol’nikov and the iurodivye (‘fools in
Christ’), who typically went around in rags, perhaps pointing ahead to his future
redemption. Ewa Thompson, Understanding Russia, 1-2.
Religious Symbolism of Clothing 75
shouted to him all of a sudden while he was going past: “Hey you
there, you German hat wearer [hatter]”! (PSS 6: 7)21
21
The epithet “German” links him with the “German” (foreign) clothes associated
with the reforms of Peter the Great and, by extension, with Peter himself, and with the
city of St. Petersburg. For a brief comment on “German” clothes, see Nicholas V.
Riasanovsky, The Image of Peter the Great in Russian History and Thought (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1985), 247.
76 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
22
Baedeker informs us that “[n]early one-tenth of the male population of St.
Petersburg wear some kind of uniform, including not only the numerous military
officers, but civil servants, and even students, schoolboys, and others”. Cited in
Robert A. Maguire and John E. Malmstad, “Notes”. Andrei Bely, Petersburg
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978), 310. Like Raskol’nikov, Ivan
Karamazov from The Brothers Karamazov was a university student. See F.M.
Dostoevskii, Brat’ia Karamazovy, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v tridtsati tomakh, ed.
V.G. Bazanov et al, 14 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1976), 14.
Religious Symbolism of Clothing 77
[H]e wiped everything clean with some laundry that was hanging to
dry on a clothes line strung across the kitchen […]. Then, as much as
the dim light of the kitchen would allow, he examined his coat,
pants, boots […] Then a dark thought suddenly entered his head:
that, maybe, all of his clothing was covered with blood […] (PSS 6:
65-66, 72)24
23
This passage is almost identical in the earliest redaction of the novel, demonstrating
that Dostoevsky developed his shirt image early on. See PSS 7: 64. I am grateful to
Brett Cooke for his reminder to consult the earlier redactions.
24
Benedict Carey has noted that “researchers call [the] urge to clean up the ‘Macbeth
effect’, after […] bloodying her hands when her husband, at her urging, murders King
Duncan”. “Lady Macbeth Not Alone in Her Quest for Spotlessness”, The New York
Times (12 September 2006).
25
John Jones asserts that these bits of odd cloth “belong with the extremely important
disjunctive flotsam of the book: paintpots, old rope, the odd sock, boots […], frayed
blood-soaked strips torn from trouser bottoms and coat pockets, an axe-sling in
ribbons […]”. The present author maintains that cloth plays a unique role because of
its overriding religious purpose. Jones, Dostoevsky, 204. My student Jonathan
Perrodin has astutely reminded me that Christ was buried in strips of cloth. See John
11:43-44, Matthew 27:59, Mark 15:46 and Luke 23:53 for specific Gospel references
to Christ’s burial.
78 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
In the first place, it was evident and even too noticeable that Pëtr
Petrovich had earnestly rushed to make use of his several days in the
capital to make time to outfit himself and adorn himself in
anticipation of his bride, this, however, being highly innocent and
proper. Even his perhaps too self-satisfied consciousness of his
pleasant change for the better could have been forgiven, since Pëtr
Petrovich was on the verge of being a bridegroom. All his clothing
had just come from the tailor and everything was good, even though
it was perhaps too new and too evident in its obvious purpose (PSS
6: 113).
26
Luzhin’s philosophy of acting according to what seem to be his own best interests
fits in well with the materialism of one of Dostoevsky’s favorite targets:
Chernyshevsky. For a discussion of the materialism that Chernyshevsky admired and
Luzhin parodied, see Robert Anchor, The Enlightenment Tradition (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1967), 9-10, 107, 109.
27
As Liza Knapp observes, the message from “The Sermon on the Mount” is: “Do not
be anxious about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor about your
body, what you shall put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than
clothing?” (Matthew 6:25). Liza Knapp, Annihilation of Inertia: Dostoevsky and
Metaphysics (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1966), 65.
80 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
28
I would like to thank Olga Cooke for sharing her observations on Little Nell. For an
examination of this theme in Dickens, see F.S. Schwarzbach, Dickens and the City
(London: Athlone Press, 1979). Donald Fanger’s Dostoevsky and Romantic Realism:
A Study of Dostoevsky in Relation to Balzac, Dickens, and Gogol (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1965) contains a fine treatment of Dickens’ impact on
Dostoevsky.
82 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
29
Shortly before the murders, Raskol’nikov encounters out on the street this same
combination of victimized, poorly-dressed young girl-victim and dandyish, well-
dressed sexual predator. Significantly, he calls this man a “Svidrigailov”. PSS 6: 40.
Religious Symbolism of Clothing 83
30
In his twelfth-century “Sermon on the First Sunday After Easter”, (“Slovo Kirilla
Turovskogo v novuiu nedeliu posle Paskhi”), Kirill of Turov links spring (symbolized
by flowers) with Easter and salvation. Adolf Stender-Peterson, in collaboration with
Stefan Congrat-Butler, Anthology of Old Russian Literature (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1954), 119-120. See also Dmitrij Čiževskij, History of Russian
Literature from the Eleventh Century to the End of the Baroque (‘S-Gravenhage:
Mouton, 1962), 86-87. Dostoevsky’s contemporary Russian reader familiar with Kirill
of Turov would also have been aware of Hilarion’s “Sermon on Law and Grace”.
Dostoevsky recapitulates Hilarion’s opposition of law—Raskol’nikov, who has
created his own—with grace, embodied in Lizaveta and Sonia. For this sermon, see
Stender-Peterson, Anthology, 109-113, and also Čiževskij, History, 36-39.
84 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Her scarlet lips seemed to burn and seethe [...] It suddenly seemed to
him that her long black lashes appeared to quiver and wink, as
though they were going to lift, and from under them there peered out
a sly, sharp little eye, which gave a wink that was somehow not
childlike, as if the little girl weren’t sleeping but pretending. Yes,
that's how it was, her little lips parted in a smile [...] now this was
laughter [...] There was something infinitely hideous and outrageous
in that laughter (PSS 6: 393).32
31
Liza Knapp suggests that the “specific activity of washing is [normally] symbolic of
purification”. Liza Knapp, The Annihilation of Inertia, 77. Svidrigailov’s nightmare
reverses this symbolism.
32
Svidrigailov is responsible for the deaths of his wife Marfa Petrovna and servant
Filip, his actions in counterpoint to those of Sonia and Lizaveta and even, eventually,
Raskol’nikov. PSS 6: 175, 219-220.
Religious Symbolism of Clothing 85
33
“In his numerous articles, book reviews, translations, and compilations of Western
treatises on politics and science”, Irina Paperno informs us, “Chernyshevsky was an
ardent propagandist of materialism in epistemology and aesthetics, utilitarian ethics,
and the politics of anti-liberalism […] What Is To Be Done? is a social as well as an
emotional utopia […]”. Irina Paperno, Chernyshevsky and the Age of Realism: A
Study in the Semiotics of Behavior (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988), 22-23.
Dostoevsky parodies What Is To Be Done? savagely in Crime and Punishment, notes
Paperno, in Chernyshevsky, 19. Late in What Is To Be Done?, Vera Pavlovna’s girls
are members of a sewing co-operative, a detail not lost on the ever-alert Dostoevsky.
Nikolai Chernyshevsky, What Is To Be Done?, tr. N. Dole and S.S. Skidelsky (Ann
Arbor: Ardis, 1986), 392-397.
86 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
34
As Charles Passage notes in Character Names in Dostoevsky’s Fiction (Ann Arbor:
Ardis, 1982), 67.
35
Work with cloth and clothing was one of the limited options available to girls and
young women in the West, as well as in Russia. See Colin Heywood, Childhood in
Nineteenth-Century France: Work, Health, and Education among the ‘Classes
Populaires’ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). These conditions find
literary reflection in Eugène Sue’s novel Les Mystères de Paris.
36
For a discussion of Saint-Simon’s and Fourier’s impact on Dostoevsky, see Joseph
Frank, Dostoevsky: The Years of Ordeal, 1850-1859 (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1990), 46. For all his early attraction to Western social thought, Dostoevsky
Religious Symbolism of Clothing 87
nevertheless “maintained that the social institutions of the Russian peasantry provided
‘more solid and moral foundations’ for the solution of Russian social problems
‘than…all the dreams of Saint Simon and his school’ ”. Joseph Frank, Years of
Ordeal, 229.
37
Stephen Baehr further notes that “[s]ewing machines were sometimes linked in
literature of the nineteenth-century with the liberation of women”. Stephen Baehr,
“The Troika and the Train: Dialogues Between Tradition and Technology in
Nineteenth-Century Russian Literature”, Issues in Russian Literature Before 1917:
Selected Papers of the Third World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies,
ed. Douglas Clayton (Columbus: Slavica Publishers, 1989), 97.
88 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
More to the point, both Sonia and Lizaveta are poor—at least in
part—because of their acts of charity and their closeness to the teachings
of Christ. The opposite of Raskol’nikov, the humble Lizaveta totally
lacks pride and thereby anticipates Stinking Lizaveta from The Brothers
Karamazov. Her poverty is directly connected with Christian humility.
Three different observers concur here, Raskol’nikov, the narrator, and
the student Raskol’nikov overhears in the tavern, before the murders.
The narrator presents her from three different points of view. Lizaveta is
a
She pays with her life for her devotion to her sister, their bond
symbolized by the pawnbroker’s icon and crosses.39
Why is Lizaveta always pregnant? Corresponding to her used
(shared) clothing, her body functions as a literal marker for charity (as
noted elsewhere in this study) and echoes the kenosis and the Passion of
Christ (PSS 6: 65). Yet she somehow remains pure in the Russian
Babylon. Perhaps Lizaveta’s pregnancies can best be explained as a
literal, physical manifestation and result of her charity (caritas),
extending eventually to her ultimate sacrifice as an innocent. Imbued
with humility, Lizaveta has transformed eros into agape. She is typical
among Dostoevsky’s prostitutes and/or childlike or even retarded
women—Liza from Notes from Underground, Sonia, Stinking Lizaveta
from The Brothers Karamazov—for practicing agape stripped of all
38
Dostoevsky directly links clothing with charity when the merchant woman in
goatskin shoes—like Lizaveta’s—gives Raskol’nikov a coin, discussed above (PSS
6:89). In her fine study of the holy fool (iurodivyi), Ewa Thompson has observed that
Isaakii the Anchorite wore the undressed hide of a goat. Ewa Thompson,
Understanding Russia, 7-8.
39
The narrator wants the reader to see Alyona as Jewish: She’s as “rich as a yid”
(bogata kak zhid), Raskol’nikov overhears in an early tavern scene before the murders
(PSS 6: 53). We readers are astonished along with Raskol’nikov to discover that she’s
a religious Orthodox believer.
Religious Symbolism of Clothing 89
At this moment the door quietly opened and a young girl [devushka,
not devka] entered the room [....] This was Sophia Semënovna
Marmeladova [....]. This was a modestly and even poorly dressed
girl, still very young, almost resembling a little girl, with a modest
and attractive manner, with a clear but somehow frightened face. She
was wearing a very simple house dress, [...] only in her hands, like
yesterday, she had an umbrella (PSS 6: 181).40
40
Perhaps Dostoevsky wants the reader—and Raskol’nikov—to view her as a figure
totally divorced from eros, a much more difficult proposition in the case of a mentally
normal woman. More to the point, Sonia has literally transformed eros into agape, or
perhaps we might also consider that she is associated with eros solely because of
agape. The awkward-looking Lizaveta may be continually pregnant to make her an
object of ridicule and salacious joking. Here we have associations with ‘humiliating
oneself in imitation of Christ’ (iurodstvo), as well as charity: she was a “girl who
cain’t say no” because of always giving to others. Dostoevsky himself suggests as
much in his drafts, where pregnancy is more of an issue. See PSS 7: 79-81, and also
Edward Wasiolek (1967: 96-97). More importantly, Lizaveta’s perpetual pregnancies
may be a reminder that she, like Sonia (and everyone) is a sinner in need of salvation.
My deepest appreciation to the late Stephen Baehr, who encouraged me to explore this
issue further.
41
Pavel Florensky discusses Sophia’s direct connection to the Church in Stolp i
utverzhdenie istiny: Opyt pravoslavnoi feoditsei v dvenadtsati pis’makh (Berlin:
90 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
woman in the goatskin shoes and the girl with the green umbrella
backshadows and foreshadows through the image of the umbrella—here,
an “item of clothing”—to the parallel coupling of Sonia (umbrella) and
Lizaveta (goatskin shoes). All of this serves as a reminder that there are
no “minor” details in Dostoevsky’s great novels!42
’s clothing confirms her unchanged state of purity. Yet even Sonia has
a moment when selfishness gets in the way of her usual charitable
impulse, and she refuses to give something away. Significantly, that
“something” takes the form of clothing, the symbol of acquisition and
an economic marker in the material world of the nihilists and the
Utopian Socialists. Quite naturally, Lizaveta figures in this small but
crucial episode that encapsulates the central issues of the novel. The
two women are always joined together, even after Lizaveta’s death:
Why, one may ask, did Sonia act in so uncharacteristically selfish a way,
even though her joy at having something pretty to wear seems almost to
have justified her actions? Katerina Ivanovna, the stepmother who in
desperation forced Sonia into prostitution, is the very person who wants
the clothing earned at such enormous cost.44 Sonia’s immediate negative,
Rossica, 1929), 350-351. T.A. Kasatkina also identifies Sophia with the Mother of
God in “Sofiologiia Dostoevskogo”, Dostoevskii i mirovaia kul’tura 17 (2003): 75.
42
Which, as Hope Christiansen has so aptly reminded me, is also quite true of Gustave
Flaubert.
43
We encounter Katerina Ivanovna’s collars and cuffs still earlier, in Marmeladov’s
drunken confession to Raskol’nikov. PSS 6: 19. Clearly these small items are her last
vestiges of respectability, expressed, of course, through clothing.
44
It would be instructive to remember the relationship between the self-sacrificing
Lizaveta, whom Dostoevsky recalls here, and the pawnbroker sister who probably
Religious Symbolism of Clothing 91
Conclusion
pushed her out into the street to bring in a few roubles. The stepmother who forces
Sonia out into the street to be a prostitute recalls the wicked stepmother from the oral
tradition (see Chapter One) who sends her stepdaughter out on a dangerous errand
(“quest”) in hopes that the girl will be killed (will never return!). See Jack V. Haney,
The Complete Russian Folktale: Russian Wondertales. I. Tales of Heroes and
Villains, ed. and tr. with an introduction by Jack V. Haney, Vol. 3 (Armonk: M.E.
Sharpe, 2001), xliii.
45
Diane Oenning Thompson has dealt with the significance of memory in her The
Brothers Karamazov and the Poetics of Memory (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1991).
46
John Jones points out that “the main and mystic burden of creative, regenerative
suffering” falls on Sonia. John Jones, Dostoevsky, 233.
92 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
47
Clothing as economic marker is tied in with numbers: holy (Sonia’s) juxtaposed to
profane(d) (Svidrigailov’s, Luzhin’s). See Jung Ah Kim, “Number Symbolism in the
Story of Sonia”, Canadian-American Slavic Studies 37:4 (Winter 2003): 377-394.
Chapter Three
1
And London can readily be seen as a metaphor for evil in Dickens. The present
chapter is based on a paper delivered at the annual conference of the American
Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies in Toronto, Canada, November,
2003. I would like to thank Robert Belknap for his helpful and gracious comments.
2
Although Pushkin also gives us the workaday world of daytime St. Petersburg in
Eugene Onegin.
94 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Even Russians who had never set foot there would have known
the city well from its role as a literary setting, an issue to be discussed
below.3 The urban population in Dostoevsky’s work generally, and in
Crime and Punishment in particular, is an important issue related to the
urban physical structure. Just as Dostoevsky shows us lower-class
neighborhoods at the expense of the imposing ones, St. Petersburg’s
“paradnye komnaty”, its parlors, as it were, he populates these poorer
districts with residents who conform to its socio-economic limitations
(Fanger 1965: 133). And, according to Burton Pike (1981: 94):
Two features of the image of the city in Crime and Punishment are
especially striking: it is restricted to a limited topographical area,
consisting mostly of one of St. Petersburg’s seedier neighborhoods,
and the naturalistic realism with which Dostoevsky describes this
small part of the city makes it expand to fill almost the entire space
of the novel.
3
Ponomareva shows us a photograph of the thirteen steps leading down from
Raskol’nikov’s room. G.B. Ponomareva, Dostoevskii: ia zanimaius’ ètoi tainoi
(Moscow: Akademkniga, 2001), 140.
4
As de Jonge observes, “[…] less than a third of its inhabitants were St. Petersburg
born. This makes the city a suitable medium to render the alienation and rootlessness
which Dostoevsky felt to be so characteristic of his age. He saw the traditional values
of grass-roots Russian culture, community and family […] being destroyed by the
centrifugal, disintegrative pressures of modern society. City life was the incarnation of
those divisive forces”. Alex de Jonge, Dostoevsky and The Age of Intensity (New
York: St. Martin’s Press, 1975), 61. G.B. Ponomareva (in her Dostoevskii, 134) labels
Petersburg Raskol’nikov’s “co-participant”.
Iconic Images 95
5
For an excellent discussion on the face as iconic image in Dostoevsky’s prose, see
Konstantin Barsht, “Defining the face: observations on Dostoevskii’s creative
processes”, in Catriona Kelly and Stephen Lovell, eds., Russian Literature,
Modernism, and the Visual Arts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), esp.
23-29, 32-33, 54-55.
6
From the preface to the manuscript podlinnik, from the collection of E.E. Egorov
(Department of Manuscripts, Lenin State Library, Moscow, fund 98, No. 1866). Cited
in Boris Uspenskij, The Semiotics of the Russian Icon, ed. Stephen Rudy (Lisse: The
Peter de Ridder Press, 1976), 10, 22 n.19.
96 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
against the atomism7 of urban life, a state especially pernicious for his
“target reader”.
There are other important issues peculiar to the history and
cultural definition of St. Petersburg to consider in addition to the
cityscape. As similar as St. Petersburg may have seemed, on the surface
of things, to Balzac’s Paris or Dickens’ London, two cities with ancient
pedigrees, Dostoevsky’s capital was different from its peers in crucial
ways. First of all, it was established late in the day, and by imperial fiat.
As the modern capital (founded in 1703) of the Russian Empire, this city
was a “window on the West” that opened Russia up to European
influence. A modern metropolis may not be jarring in the context of the
“new Europe” of the Americas—with the planned capital cities of
Washington, DC and Brazilia—but it certainly struck a discordant note
in the “old” Europe, including Russia, even by the latter part of the
nineteenth century.
We must also bear in mind that St. Petersburg, which
encapsulated Peter the Great’s whirlwind if partial transformation of
Russia into a semi-modern country, was one of two Russian capitals, the
other being Moscow. They were antipodes of each other. Moscow was
the traditional “wooden” city, but Petersburg was constructed of stone, at
least as far as the most important buildings were concerned. The very
name “Petersburg” resonates not only with St. Peter and Peter the Great
but also with petra (Greek for stone). Wooden Moscow was not only
significantly older than St. Petersburg, but also intrinsically Russian,
lacking the foreign, specifically, the Western, accretions that
distinguished its rival to the north. While Moscow had “forty times
forty” churches and streets that were laid out in traditional medieval
fashion, St. Petersburg was bisected with long, straight avenues, the most
prominent among them being, of course, the famous Nevsky Prospect.
This dichotomy between the two capitals is symptomatic of the great
split in Russian society in the wake of Peter, between the traditional,
Orthodox, wooden Russia on one hand, and a modern, worldly, stone
new society on the other.
Nor should the popular, traditional view of Peter himself be
forgotten here, especially since it resonates with the oral tradition. Peter
was well known for his blasphemous versions of church rites (Lotman
7
For a somewhat more detailed comment on atomism, see Raymond Williams, The
Country and the City (New York: Oxford University Press, 1973), 290.
Iconic Images 97
10
Although it must be said that Gogol’s St. Petersburg is hardly treated in a “realistic”
manner.
11
Not that St. Petersburg is the only Russian city to have secular and Orthodox
dominions. We get the same sense of bifurcation plus unification in the great trade
city of Novgorod: “the secular life of a once-grand commercial city; and the religious
life of the same city, which was itself in some sense a giant icon, a sacred space”.
Iconic Images 99
picture of a St. Petersburg in which the devil lights the street lamps, from
“Nevsky Prospect”, and a devilish tailor crafts a witch-coat in “The
Overcoat”. But Gogol, unlike Dostoevsky, never develops the same kind
of thoroughly systematic and, most significantly, readily discernible
pattern of religious symbols that permeates the work. And Gogol is
never positive.
In Crime and Punishment, St. Petersburg’s very streets, squares,
buildings, staircases and rooms are endowed with religious—
specifically, iconic and cruciform—symbols and structures tied in with
the Orthodox images that permeate and define this novel.12 Sacred and
profane architectural structures contend in a struggle for hierarchy.
Frequently concealed, sacred constructs nonetheless exert enormous
power and eventually prevail over their profane counterparts. That they
are “hidden in plain view”, to borrow from Gary Saul Morson, serves as
a reminder that the majesty and teachings of Christ, typically expressed
as parables, are accessible through faith, not reason, and are readily
apparent to believers. Dostoevsky is attempting, it seems to me, to
remind his target audience that beneath the apparent surface reality—the
urban geography—of a seemingly Western city, there is an intrinsically
Russian foundation (“hidden in plain view”). This foundation is
intimately identified with Orthodox belief, arguably the central element
in Russian culture.
Not functioning just as urban thoroughfares, streets form
intersections or crossroads. Buildings are not merely dwelling places but
also iconic compositions, interlaced with staircases like the ladders
commonly found in Orthodox religious painting. As Donald Fanger
(1965: 196) has aptly remarked, these staircases are “half-public, half-
private, uniting into great and artificial groups the various closed worlds
of rented rooms and apartments”. The world of this novel is—
comparably—half-public, and half-private, with particularly
Raskol’nikov at once self-contained and exposed to the reader. So does
this physical reality illustrate the interior world. The rooms within them
have odd shapes that recall iconic or cruciform structures—whether
Holland Cotter, “Russian City’s Sacred and Secular Visions”, The New York Times
(18 November 2005).
12
Caryl Emerson notes that “[Dostoevsky] was for more attuned to the healing effects
of nonverbal communication—silence, icons, genuflections, visual images—than he
was to the alleged beneficent effect of words”. The First Hundred Years of Mikhail
Bakhtin (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 147; emphasis added.
100 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
13
For a fine treatment of these constructs, see Ganna Bograd’s “Metafizicheskoe
prostranstvo i pravoslavnaia simvolika kak osnova mest obytaniia geroev romana
Prestuplenie i nakazanie”, unpublished paper. I would like to thank Deborah
Martinsen for not only bringing this essay to my attention, but also generously giving
me a copy.
Iconic Images 101
14
Pavel Florensky speaks of God as “Creator of the visible and invisible” in his
Ikonostas (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1995), 37. Can this construct not also be extended to
icons and iconic ladders? I am grateful to Vicki Polansky for the reminder to consult
Florensky.
15
Richard Borden states that the image “obtains in Russian culture far more
significantly than we are accustomed to in the West, given the centrality of icon
veneration in the Russian Orthodox Church and, more importantly, in the popular and
historical consciousness of the Russian people. In the Eastern tradition—and in the
popular imagination—the portrayals of saints in icons constitute no mere plastic
representation of the sanctified. They embody, rather, a “true image”—one made
102 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
(metaphorically) “not by human hands”, but immediately, that is, from the living
image of the sanctified, whose representation remains fixed for all time—à la
Veronica’s Cloth or the Shroud of Turin—and comprise nothing less than an
incarnation of spiritual essence”. Richard C. Borden, “Making a True Image:
Blackness and Pushkin Portraits”, in Catharine Theimer Nepomnyashchy, Nicole
Svobodny, and Ludmilla A. Trigos, eds., Foreword by Henry Louis Gates, Jr., Under
the Sky of My Africa: Alexander Pushkin and Blackness (Evanston: Northwestern
University Press, 2006), 187-188. Emphasis added.
16
As George Hamilton suggests, “Russian painting, in contrast to European painting,
had been for centuries concerned, not with the conquest of space or of movement, but
with the discovery of the mystical world which lies beyond sense experience”. George
Heard Hamilton, The Art and Architecture of Russia, third edition (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1983), 101.
17
Stephen Hutchings has importantly observed that “A narrative icon is thus, not a
visual icon in narrative form, but an iconic system translated into imagic logic within
narrative fiction”. Stephen C. Hutchings, Russian Modernism: The Transfiguration of
the Everyday (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 240 n. 79.
18
Roger Anderson notes that Dostoevsky adapted “some visual and homiletic
properties of the icon to the composition of Crime and Punishment”. Roger Anderson,
“The Optics of Narration: Visual Composition in Crime and Punishment”, in Roger
Anderson and Paul Debreczeny, eds., Russian Narrative & Visual Art: Varieties of
Seeing (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1994), 85.
Iconic Images 103
19
Clint Walker (in his “”Psyche, Soma and Raskolnikov’s Sickness Revisited: Mind
as Microcosm in Crime and Punishment”, unpublished paper, American Association
for the Advancement of Slavic Studies [Salt Lake City, 12 November 2005]: 12)
observes that Sonia “is associated with St. Mary of Egypt, a prostitute who converted
to Christianity and withdrew to the Egyptian desert”.
20
Like Christ, Sonia is sold for “thirty pieces of silver” (PSS 6:17), “exploded” when
Svidrigailov reveals to Raskol’nikov that Marfa Petrovna “bought” him for 30,000
roubles, i.e. “pieces of silver”. PSS 6: 218.
21
For a discussion of the staircase as threshold in Mikhail Bakhtin, see Gary Saul
Morson and Caryl Emerson, Mikhail Bakhtin: Creation of a Prosaics (Stanford:
104 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Pastry ladders, with seven rungs for the seven heavens, were baked
as part of the funeral ritual, to enable the dead to climb to heaven.
Similar bread ladders were also baked in several regions of Russia
for feast days which had obvious upwards connotations, such as the
Ascension, Raising of Lazarus [especially important in Crime and
Punishment], St. John Climacus.22
23
Florensky speaks of God as “Creator of the visible and invisible” in Ikonostas, 37.
As Kurt Weitzmann observes, “From about the eleventh century onward we
repeatedly find frontispieces in manuscripts with monks climbing and falling from a
ladder […] Devils interfere to impede the ascent of some monks, dragging them down
into the open mouth of Hell”. Kurt Weitzmann, The Icon: Holy Images—Sixth to
Fourteenth Century (New York: George Braziller, 1978), 88. For a vivid Byzantine
icon with a ladder and flailing monks, see Weitzmann, Plate 25. This same imagery
enriches the Russian icon. In Kostroma, in the Monastery of St. Ipaty, “one [icon]
showed a monk ascending a ladder, each rung representing a sin”. Jeffrey Taylor,
“Escape to Old Russia”, The Atlantic 298, 3 (October 2006): 132-133. Many thanks to
my husband William Tucker for showing me this essay.
106 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
“If they ask me, maybe I’ll tell them”, he thought […] “I’ll go in, fall
on my knees and tell them everything…”, he thought, going up to the
fourth floor. The stairs were narrow, steep and awash in dirty water
[the St. Petersburg motif, linked to canals] (PSS 6: 70, 74-75, 84-85).
24
Perspective in painting in the West can be traced to Filippo Brunelleschi. See Mark
Lennox-Boyd’s fascinating Sundials: History, Art, People, Science (London: Frances
Lincoln, 2006), 73. I would like to thank my husband William Tucker for this
marvelous book.
25
Hope Christiansen notes that ladders also abound in Stendhal’s (Marie-Henri Beyle’s)
novels, marked by “verticalities”. For a fine treatment of verticality in Stendhal, see
Frederick Littleton Toner’s “Vertical Movement in the Completed Novels of Stendhal”
(Ph.D. thesis., University of Kansas, 1988), esp. 4-5, 12, 24-26, 49, 54, 56, 58, and 167.
For a specific reference to Stendhal’s “ever-present ladder”, see 96. Many thanks to Hope
Christiansen for having brought this dissertation to my attention. But, as with clothing,
Dostoevsky invests the physical, material world, realized here architecturally, with
powerful religious symbolism.
26
As Hope Christiansen has cogently observed to me, Balzac moves his characters up
higher and higher in his pension as they get poorer.
Iconic Images 107
reader’s reaction. “But my God”, she declared. “What a little closet he’s
living in”! Shortly afterwards, she identifies the room as part of his
problem: “ ‘What an evil room you have, Rodia, like a coffin/tomb’ […]
‘The room’? He answered abstractly. ‘Yes, the room was a great
enabler’” (PSS 6: 170, 178).27 Mother may on the surface of things be
looking to her son’s financial difficulties (and, superficially, emphasizing
economics), but her comments considered in combination with his
response are also in keeping with the religious underpinnings of the
novel.
Why does Dostoevsky house Raskol’nikov in such a terrible
little cell? The extreme poverty represented by living up so high may
have been yet another way to elicit the sympathy—and ire—of the target
reader, who would have reacted angrily to the overt economic issues that
the room signifies. No single anecdote demonstrates more cogently that
the young nihilist reader would focus on economic issues than the
reported reaction of Dmitrii Pisarev, who stated in an essay about Crime
and Punishment that “Raskolnikov’s crime was really caused by hunger
and malnutrition” (Frank 1966: 35). In other words, Pisarev, of course,
blamed Raskol’nikov’s poverty. In presenting economics as an overt
cause, Dostoevsky was able to elicit the sympathies—and the reaction—
of his target reader, drawing him in while at the same time undermining
that reader’s rational argument by forcing him to respond emotionally.
By emphasizing the fact that Raskol’nikov lives right up under
the eaves, Dostoevsky not only shrinks his room but also squashes it.28
This crushing lowers the ceiling and gives the illusion of a room placed
low, under something, as though under the stairs—or a ladder.
Dostoevsky elicits this reaction in spite of the fact that Raskol’nikov of
course lives on the very top floor, above the stairs. Not until late in the
novel do we—and, significantly, the target reader—see clearly that
Raskol’nikov is crushed by nihilism and by separation from the
Orthodox community, and not by poverty at all. After all, it doesn’t
oppress Sonia, Polen’ka, or Razumikhin. Because Raskol’nikov’s
room—which we see at the very beginning—seems to be below a
staircase (or “ladder”), it serves as a counterpoint to Svidrigailov’s room
that literally is below the stairs and functions here as a “control” to
Raskol’nikov’s. Their rooms help to tie these characters together.
27
Raskol’nikov’s coffin-like “closet” reinforces his connection to Lazarus.
28
Raskol’nikov’s vertically compressed room recapitulates the Underground Man’s
own situation.
108 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
He entered and asked the ragamuffin who met him in the hallway for
a room. Looking Svidrigailov over, the ragamuffin shook himself
awake and immediately led him to a distant room, stuffy and
cramped, somewhere down at the very end of the hallway, in the
corner, under the stairs […]. [Svidrigailov] lit a candle and examined
his hotel room in greater detail. It was a tiny cell […]. One part of the
wall and ceiling were cut obliquely, as is usual in mansard rooms,
but above this jamb ran the staircase (PSS 6: 388; emphasis added).
Iconic Perspective
29
As noted to me cogently by Paul Friedrich.
30
Even though the icon is flat, it functions as a construction. As Linda Proud observes,
“The iconographer is not painting, he is building. The wooden panel has been
prepared with a plaster surface and sanded repeatedly. He has drawn the image, an
image he has made many times before. The holy light of heaven has been burnished
down in gold leaf on the background […] Stage by stage the image builds. In the end,
with the highlights being applied, the spirit permeates the flesh, both in the maker and
the made. This is an icon”. Linda Proud, Icons: a Sacred Art (Norwich: Jarrold
Publishing, 2004), 1.
31
In comparable fashion, Dostoevsky’s “vortex time” pulls the reader into the text.
110 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
framed in terms of his ego, which becomes the “I” (or “eye”) that
sees outward into an immense world […] [W]e might imagine him at
the ‘vanishing point’ in a diagram which traces the point of view of
realistic drawing in which all objects converge on him”
(O’Donoghue 1998: 101).
32
Cited in Jacqueline Zubeck O’Donoghue, Murder in the Name of Theory:
Theoretical Paradigm and Ethical Problems in Works by Dostoevsky, Gide, and
Delillo. Ph.D. thesis (Rutgers University, 1998): 101.
33
James West notes that Oskar Wulff first “introduced the term ‘reverse perspective’
(‘die umgekehrte Perspektive’) into the discussion of early Christian art” in 1907, and
that “Florenskii used its Russian equivalent (‘obratnaia perspektiva’) in 1967. See
James West’s “The Romantic Landscape in Early Nineteenth-Century Russian Art
and Literature” in Russian Narrative & Visual Art: Varieties of Seeing, ed. Roger
Anderson and Paul Debreczeny (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1994), 34.
Iconic Images 111
He’s only partially correct. All of these shining surfaces are also
associated with Lizaveta: the small icon on the wall, and the larger
“icon” of the gleaming room—that, very importantly, reflects light—at
sunset. The room and its Orthodox fittings link Lizaveta with Alyona
and bring Alyona into the Orthodox Church.34 The obraz is coupled by
extension with the human faces that Raskol’nikov will shatter during the
commission of the murders. “That’s how the sun will be shining then”,
he reflects, that is, at the time of the murder(s) (PSS 6: 8; emphasis in
original). Place is important too. That’s how the sun will be shining here,
in the presence of the smaller icon, the larger “icon” of the room, and the
heavenly icon lamp of the setting sun. Deep inside, he seems to sense
that he will commit murder in the symbolic presence of God. This iconic
scene is an opening frame to the “icon” of the epilogue, by the Irtysh
River, when Raskol’nikov has “come back to life”.
A little girl, Sonia’s elder stepsister Polen’ka, figures
importantly in the second of these scenes. Her name has particular
significance. It is the nickname for Polina, the Russian for Pauline.
Pauline is the feminine of Paul, Christian messenger to the Gentiles
(previous non-believers). Sonia (Sophia, Heavenly Wisdom) has sent
her. Just as the icon is a visual “messenger” coming ultimately from
God and leading the viewer, through inverse perspective, back to Him,
so is Polen’ka an envoy in Raskol’nikov’s St. Petersburg, helping him
make a circular journey back to faith.35
Marmeladov has just died as the result of a terrible accident,
and Raskol’nikov is on his way out from the Marmeladovs’ miserable
quarters. He descends the stairs, which continue to figure significantly
beyond the immediacy of the murder scene and Raskol’nikov’s
impulse to get his (legal, civic) confession over with. His brief
encounter with Polen’ka will provide a first impetus for his later civic
and religious confessions, and his redemption. With a cry of
“Poslushaite! Poslushaite”! (‘listen’, but also ‘attend’, ‘hearken’ or
‘obey’), she runs after him. She pauses one step above him, partially
34
As George Hamilton has observed about two churches, the Ascension at Konetsgore
and St. Clement at Una: “In both churches the composition of masses was worked out
in what might well be called inverse perspective, since it progressed from the
relatively near and small, the staircase and arched openings on the landing, to the
remote and large, the huge central mass of the octagon”. Hamilton, Art and
Architecture, 177. Eastern theologians, notes Stephen Hutchings, “customarily
associate grace with light, suggesting that it is in this way that humans experience
grace’s infinite energy, thus confirming the connection between the fallen world and
vision, and again explaining why icons take visual form”. He refers as well to the
“narrative icon”. Stephen Hutchings, Russian Modernism, 36-37. Emphasis in
original. The murders reverse inverse perspective, repulsing the reader.
35
In striking contrast to the behavior of children relative to Svidrigailov’.
Iconic Images 113
erasing their unequal physical stature and putting their faces close
together. “He placed both hands on her shoulders and with a kind of
happiness he gazed at her. It was so pleasant for him to look at her—
he himself didn’t know why”. Polen’ka, having been sent by Sonia,
becomes an interceder once removed. Polen’ka and Raskol’nikov talk
about love within a family (coming to include him).
“Do you [the formal ‘you’, a mark of his respect for her] love
your sister Sonia”? “I love her more than everybody else”!
Polen’ka pronounced with a kind of special firmness, and her
smile suddenly became more serious. “And will you love me”?
Instead of an answer, he saw her little face nearing his and her
plump lips naively protruding to kiss him. Suddenly her arms, as
skinny as matchsticks (literally spichki, ‘matches’), hugged him
very hard, her head rested on his shoulder, and the little girl
quietly started to cry, pressing her face harder and harder against
him. “I’m sorry about papa” (PSS 6: 146).
began to laugh, threw herself on him and hugged him tightly again
(PSS 6: 147).36
36
Polen’ka verbally includes Raskol’nikov into her “Orthodox community”; more to
the point, he wants her to draw him in (verbal inverse perspective, like the biblical
usage associated with Lizaveta, who will “behold God”) (PSS 6: 249). This is a
reference, of course, to Matthew 5:8: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will
behold God”.
Iconic Images 115
38
The text of this apocryphal tale was published in N.K. Gudzy, Khrestomatiia po
drevnei russkoi literature, Moscow: Prosveshchenie, 1955), 92-98. A brief
introduction and English translation of this tale can be found in Serge A. Zenkovsky,
ed., Medieval Russia’s Epics, Chronicles, and Tales (New York: E.P. Dutton, 1963),
122-129.
Iconic Images 117
So does Sonia, with her childlike face and tiny frame. Her
evident poverty masks a deeper spiritual significance. When we first
encounter her after her father’s fatal accident, Sonia is dressed
prostitute-style:
She was in rags too, her clothes were cheap, but adorned street-
fashion […] [Sonia] was wearing a colored silk dress, bought at
fourth-hand, and inappropriate here […] and a ridiculous round
straw hat with a bright, flame-colored feather” (PSS 6: 143;
emphasis added).39
Recalling the fire Saint Sophia flames with, the feather is a clear-cut
iconic marker. It has disappeared by Sonia’s next appearance, but the
association has already been made.
Sonia has just dropped in, and she reacts awkwardly in the
presence of Raskol’nikov’s mother and his sister Dunya:
39
For the association of St. Sophia with fire, see Caitlín Matthews, Sophia Goddess of
Wisdom: The Divine Feminine from Black Goddess to World-Soul (London:
Aquarian, 1991), 291. Evgenii Trubetskoi notes this same association, referring to the
“fire St. Sophia flames with”. Evgenii Trubetskoi, Tri ocherka o russkoi ikone
(Moscow: InfoArt, 1991), 52. So do Tat’iana Kasatkina (“Sofiologiia Dostoevskogo”,
Dostoevskii i mirovaia kul’tura 17) (Moscow: 2003), 74; and Sadassi Igeta,
“Slavianskii fol’klor v proizvedeniiakh F.M. Dostoevskogo: ‘zemlia’ u
Dostoevskogo: ‘Mat’ syra zemlia’—‘Bogoroditsa’—‘Sofiia’, in Japanese
Contributions to the Ninth International Congress of Slavists , ed. Shoichi Kamura
(Kiev, September, 1983), (Tokyo: Japanese Association of Slavists, 1983), 75-88.
André von Gronicka presents a contrary view, linking the feather with “Mephisto’s
realm even if not in his power”. The Russian Image of Goethe: Goethe in Russian
Literature of the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press, 1985), 133.
118 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
of both characters. We also recall the image of the match, reinforcing fire
imagery associated with St. Sophia. Poverty is a superficial issue here,
since, far more importantly, Sonia represents Sophia, Heavenly or
Divine Wisdom and a significant entity in Russian Orthodoxy.40 Three
major Orthodox churches were named for her: the great Hagia Sophia in
Constantinople, St. Sophia in Novgorod, and, the mother of Russian
churches, St. Sophia in Kiev. Sophia is linked by extension to the
Mother of God and ultimately, as a personification of wisdom, to Christ.
Iconic representations of Sophia, although rare, do exist. In one striking
image, she “sits on a throne surrounded by the five circles of heaven”.
Wisdom also appears as the “Angel of the Lord […] with a starry band
which recalls the very end of creation” (Matthews 1991: 292-294). We
are alerted to Sonia’s crucial role—especially for Raskol’nikov—
through her name, even though we originally encounter her as the young
woman pulled by economic circumstance into the whirlpool of
prostitution. As with Raskol’nikov, her name works on two levels: the
worldly and the Orthodox.
Sonia’s combination “of image and word, speech and presence”
underscores her iconic significance for Raskol’nikov (Slattery 1994-
1998: 26). In her melding of the visual and oral, she extends a two-
pronged appeal to Raskol’nikov, and also to Dostoevsky’s most
important (young) readers. Sonia and Raskol’nikov visit each other’s
rooms. It is she who comes first to invite him to her father’s funeral.
Then, much later, he visits her. She lives in a peculiarly squashed, oddly
shaped room that, as Ganna Bograd (s.d.: 7-8) has observed, looks like
the Orthodox cross;41 more about her room below. (In effect, Sonia and
Raskol’nikov have “traded crosses” with their respective visits.42) Three
40
Pavel Florensky wrote that “if Sophia is the Church, then the soul and conscience of
the Church, the Church of Saints, is chiefly Sophia […]”. P.A. Florenskii, Stolp i
utverzhdenie istiny: Opyt pravoslavnoi feoditsei v dvenadtsati pis’makh (Berlin:
Rossica, 1929), 350-351. Cited in David M. Bethea, “Florensky and Dante:
Revelation, Orthodoxy, and Non-Euclidean Space”, Judith Deutsch Kornblatt and
Richard F. Gustafson, eds., Russian Religious Thought (Madison: The University of
Wisconsin Press, 1996), 124.
41
Roger Anderson has commented on the “distortion of architectural angles [in
Sonia’s room], so common in [the] inverse perspective” of the icon. Roger Anderson,
“The Optics of Narration”, 95.
42
As Paul Friedrich has observed, “ritual siblinghood […] was sealed by exchanging
the cross worn around the neck [….]”. Paul Friedrich, Language, Context, and the
Imagination. Essays by Paul Friedrich. Selected and Edited Anwar S. Dil (Stanford:
Iconic Images 119
women are associated with the Orthodox cross: Alyona the pawnbroker,
Lizaveta, and Sonia. Sonia and Lizaveta have one each. Following the
murders, Sonia wears Lizaveta’s cross and has two. She will give her
own, original cross to Raskol’nikov to wear (PSS 6: 324). Ironically,
Raskol’nikov is Dostoevsky’s instrument for revealing Alyona’s medal
and crosses—symbolizing her religious belief—to the reader:
Suddenly he noticed that there was a cord around her neck, he pulled
it, but the cord was strong and didn’t break […] In his impatience he
swung the axe again to cut the cord right there on her body […] on
the cord were two crosses, cypress and copper, and, besides that, a
little enameled icon (PSS 6: 64).
Stanford University Press, 1979), 138. Many thanks to Paul Friedrich for having
generously shared his work.
43
Also noted in Hamilton, Art and Architecture, 177. For a valuable discussion of the
cruciform layout of buildings in Crime and Punishment, see Antony Johae’s
“Towards an Iconography of ‘Crime and Punishment’ ”, in Harold Bloom, ed.,
Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment: Bloom’s Modern Critical
Interpretations (Philadelphia: Chelsea House Publishers, 2004), 243-256.
120 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
the reader too. We have already been alerted that her room has positive
and significant Christian associations from the information that she rents
from the Kapernaumovs (the Capernaum family), a name that recalls not
only the Gospels (Capernaum) but also, in contemporary usage, the
brothel (McDuff 1991: 634-635). We see here Sonia’s double role in the
novel. But the reader has already encountered the same Orthodox
construct in Dostoevsky’s description of Sonia’s face, anticipating the
sacred space of her room. She has a “very thin and pale little face, rather
irregular, rather sharp, with a sharp little nose and chin” (PSS 6: 183,
248; emphasis added). Most significantly, we’ll remember her face on a
sensory, non-rational level, which is precisely the way Dostoevsky
wants to appeal to/reach his target reader.44 Anticipating her cruciform
room, Sonia’s face becomes an icon that draws Raskol’nikov in. The
structure of her room alerts the reader for the momentous event to
follow: the intimate scene when Sonia reads to Raskol’nikov about
Lazarus’ return to life. And her pallor—as Raskol’nikov observes about
her hands—is transparent, linking her with the flame of the candle (and
St. Sophia) (PSS 6: 242).45 Arguably functioning as inverse perspective,
transparency (and fire) draws in the reader’s eye.46
Dostoevsky evidently considered the scene centered on the
reading of Lazarus sufficiently important to merit almost an entire
chapter (Part IV, Chapter Four). (If we can consider this scene one of
the dramatic high points of the novel, then the [target] reader is
“resurrected” along with Lazarus—and Raskol’nikov himself.)
Building on the iconic imagery first presented in the brief but crucial
episode between Raskol’nikov and Polen’ka, Dostoevsky first has
Raskol’nikov “confess” without words to his friend Razumikhin. A
lamp, “foreshadowing” to the candle in the scene with Sonia
immediately following, functions as an iconic marker.47
“Don’t come to see me. Maybe I’ll come here… Leave me, but don’t
leave… them. Do you understand me”? […] “Once and for all, never
ask me anything about this. There’s nothing for me to answer you”
[…] Some kind of idea had slipped out, a hint, as it were, something
44
She, as my student Lael Simons has noted, resembles an incarnated icon.
45
Thanks to Caryl Emerson for the reminder about Sonia’s “transparent” skin.
46
One is tempted here to remember the lines from Goethe’s Faust: “through suffering
to the light”.
47
For a discussion of the analogous iconic role of lamps and candles, see Uspenskij,
Semiotics, 21 n. 17.
Iconic Images 121
“You don’t get money every day, do you”? Sonia was more
embarrassed than before. “No”, she whispered with an agonized
effort. “The same thing’s going to happen with Polechka”, he
suddenly said. “No! No! That can’t be, no”! Sonia loudly
screamed like a person in despair, or as though someone had just
wounded her with a knife. “God, God won’t allow such a horror”!
(PSS 6: 246).
48
Harriett Murav further notes that “Leslie Johnson identifies an iconic presence in
Lizaveta […] who, she writes, ‘functions both for Sonia and Raskolnikov as an icon
or image of eternal life’ ”. Leslie A. Johnson, The Experience of Time in Crime and
Punishment (Columbus: Slavica Publishers, 1984), 113. Cited in Murav, Foolishness,
185 n. 15.
122 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
On the chest of drawers lay some kind of book. Every time he went
back and forth, he noticed it; now he picked it up and took a look at
it. It was the New Testament in Russian translation. The book was
old, second-hand, in a leather binding [akin to second-hand clothing;
see Chapter Two] (PSS 6: 248).
He brought the book over to the candle [that is, to the icon] and
began to leaf through it. “Where’s the part about Lazarus’? he asked
her suddenly. Sonia persistently gazed at the floor [literally, at the
ground, v zemliu, an image repeated when Raskol’nikov kisses the
earth of the Haymarket] and didn’t answer (PSS 6:405; emphasis
added).
Sonia had read the passage about Lazarus’ return to life to Lizaveta.
Together, she and Lizaveta constituted their own miniature congregation,
a religious community—juxtaposed to the secular commune—realized
literally in the shape of Sonia’s (church) room, which Lizaveta must
have visited.
Then she reads aloud from John, Chapter Eleven, about the
raising of Lazarus, so relevant for Raskol’nikov’s return to faith and life.
Sonia realized as Sophia “is the watchful and protective mother linking
the living with the dead” (PSS 6: 250-251; Joanna Hubbs 1988: 237;
emphasis in original). This definition of Sophia/Sonia is particularly apt
when we consider whom she read to before: a murder victim who
“would see God” and her murderer (Raskol’nikov) who attempted to kill
his faith but would be resurrected into belief. That she knows this
passage so well marks it as central in her own life; belief in the
Resurrection sustains Sonia during her terrible moments out in the street.
The candle end had long since burned low in the crooked
candlestick, dimly illuminating in this poverty-stricken room the
Iconic Images 123
murderer and the “woman who has gone astray”, who had come
together so strangely to read of the eternal book (PSS 6: 248-252).49
The “woman who has gone astray” immediately resonates with the
Gospels (as does Raskol’nikov’s reference to Luzhin casting a stone at
Sonia) (PSS 6: 232), drawing the reader in to what may be defined as
“verbal” inverse perspective (particularly since this scene is timeless, in
sync with the “eternal book”). Echoing the lamp from Raskol’nikov’s
earlier scene with Razumikhin, the candle recalls the icon, reinforcing
the iconic architecture of Sonia’s room. Dostoevsky manipulates time
here through his lexicon, using words like bludnitsa (‘a woman who has
gone astray’) and eternal book to freeze this crucial encounter, perhaps
to resonate with perpetual, biblical time and to separate this scene from
Western, linear time.50
This static yet intense little scene is yet another iconic reference,
dramatizing the skewed outlines of her room. Dostoevsky creates an
iconic scene by emphasizing the shape of the room, the presence of the
candle, the position of the two actors on this stage, and the Bible. Holy
text equals holy image. Because her room is a “church”, any act within it
acquires sacred status and significance. When she gives her own cross to
Raskol'nikov to wear, Sonia not only brings him back into the embrace
of the Christian community but also gives him back the church from his
childhood, that ancient building, fallen into decay and with its icons
(literally, images, obraza) without frames, that we encountered back in
his dream of the horse (PSS 6: 46).
The final iconic scene within the main body of the novel is set
right before Raskol’nikov’s confession in the police station (when he
wavers and starts to leave without doing what he came for [PSS 6:
409]). Sonia told him to bow down to the earth and ask forgiveness for
the murders. This scene abounds in iconic images and iconic
perspective, illuminated by an iconic light:
49
Thanks to Paul Friedrich for reminding me that bludnitsa should be rendered rather
as “woman who has gone astray” than as “harlot”.
50
And we encounter this same temporal “freezing” at the end of the epilogue, when it
seems that “time stopped” for Raskol’nikov, watching the nomads across the Irtysh.
PSS 6: 421.
124 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
(The narrator conflates this blood puddle with the dirty water imagery
that recurs in the novel and is associated with St. Petersburg.)
Dostoevsky equates blood soaking into the floor with blood soaking into
the earth. Now is the time for the target reader to recall the original
biblical murder from Genesis and its aftermath. Cain is jealous of Abel
and kills him, but God “hears” the blood: “And the Lord said to Cain
(Genesis 4:9-10), ‘where is Abel, thy brother’? He said, ‘I don’t know.
Am I after all my brother’s keeper’? And He said: ‘What hast thou done?
The voice of thy brother’s blood calls to me from the earth’ ”. When
Raskol’nikov kisses the earth, he absolves himself of blood-guilt
stretching all the way back to Cain, and resolved in the Crucifixion of
Christ.
In popular Russian belief, the earth is linked with Mother Damp
Earth (Mat’ syra-zemlia), which would eventually figure as Bogozemlia
(Divine Earth) in later Orthodox teaching (post-dating Dostoevsky)
(Rosenthal 1996: 159). Mother Damp Earth wielded great power in
popular lore, “disgorging from east to west a river of fire, which bears
away the souls of sinners into Hell (ad or peklo), where they are flung
into cauldrons of boiling pitch” (Warner 2002: 51). Mother Damp Earth
is the earth personified. She has a “face”, and a face is an image/icon. An
abuse against Mother Earth was tantamount to an abuse against one’s
own parents (Uspenskij “Obscenities” 1984: 298; emphasis in original).
In other words, he who offends Mother Damp Earth has broken one of
the Ten Commandments. The dual belief (dvoeverie) of the Russian
peasant is clearly at work here, and Dostoevsky obviously posits
Orthodoxy as the religious faith of the Russian people.
When he kisses the earth, Raskol’nikov is in effect kissing the
image of Mother Damp Earth. Through this image, her gender, and
her stature in popular (folk) belief, Mother Damp Earth recalls the
Mother of God. As Gleb Uspenskij observes (“Obscenities” 1984:
299),
51
For a comparable linkage in Alexei Remizov, see Stephen Hutchings, Russian
Modernism, 217. We find the same association of the Mother of God (the Virgin
Mary) with Mother Earth in Catholic Poland. See Małgorzata Anna Packalén, “The
Femmes Fatales of the Polish Village: Sexuality, Society and Literary Conventions in
Orzeszkova, Reymont and Dąbrowska”, tr. Ursula Phillips. In Knut Andreas Grimstad
and Ursula Phillips, eds., Gender and Sexuality in Ethical Context: Ten Essays on
Polish Prose (Bergen: Slavica Bergensia 5, 2005), 65-66.
Iconic Images 127
as an icon, the ground literally embodies belief in the unseen world and
serves as a concrete realization of faith.
The crossroad figures importantly in this iconic scene. Like
staircases/ladders, crossroads are liminal constructs connecting two
worlds. Here, they not only stand for the cross but also signify a
threshold between Raskol’nikov’s earlier flirtation with nihilism,
disbelief and Utilitarianism and his re-immersion in Orthodox
Christianity. In popular belief, crossroads were frequently haunted by
demons. Linda Ivanits (1989: 40, 120) informs us that suicides, barred
from interment in a consecrated graveyard, were typically buried at the
crossroad. By this point in the novel, Svidrigailov has already committed
suicide (PSS 6: 395). His last moments and demise link him with
demons (Ivanits 1989: 48), the bathhouse and the crossroad, but Sonia's
instruction to Raskol’nikov enables him to redeem this liminal and
potentially Christian symbol from the forces of evil.52 Raskol’nikov’s
kiss reinforces the cruciform symbolism of the crossroad, setting him on
a course toward his eventual redemption in the epilogue. His kiss
redeems him from the hell of Svidrigailov’s disbelief and links him with
Lazarus and the Resurrection. This scene functions as a closing frame to
the consecrated graveyard of his horse dream, where he sees/recalls the
gravestones of his grandmother and little brother and rice with raisins
arranged on top in a cross (PSS 6: 46). Because Raskol’nikov’s kiss
connects the crossroads with the (kissed) cross (Fedotov 1960: 183, 194,
197, 258, esp. 275-295, 307), he is ready to rejoin the Church and the
community of believers (sobornost’). The final iconic scene, set in the
epilogue, will complete that process. This scene will be treated briefly,
since the epilogue is the focus of a separate chapter.
In the epilogue, Sonia—who has followed the imprisoned
Raskol’nikov to Siberia—is clearly identified with the Mother of God.
The peasant convicts who cannot tolerate Raskol’nikov and his
“atheism” call her “Matushka” (Little Mother. Significantly, they also
call her Sophia, not Sonia:
52
For a discussion of the crossroads, see Bograd, “Metafizicheskoe prostranstvo”.
128 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
and would turn to look at her as she walked, and would praise her;
they would even praise her for being so small, and they didn’t know
how to praise her enough. They would go to her to be cured (PSS 6:
419).
In other words, Sonia can heal through faith, tying her to the Mother of
God. Dostoevsky reinforces this link between Sonia and the Mother of
God by placing her and Raskol’nikov into an iconic pose. Raskol’nikov
sits near the bank of the Irtysh and gazes out at the river and beyond, at
the nomads in the distance. “Suddenly Sonia turned up next to him. She
approached almost inaudibly and sat down next to him […] She was
wearing her poor, old burnoose and green shawl […] She smiled at him
affably and joyfully but, according to her habit, shyly stretched out her
hand to him”. Extending her hand was Sonia’s typical gesture, and he
would take it “with loathing”. But on this occasion, perhaps influenced
in part by the bit of song (standing for the liturgy) that he has just heard,
he holds on to her (PSS 6: 421). Their clasping of hands is the physical
manifestation of a newly discovered bond of love, realized here as an
iconic pose. Once Raskol’nikov takes Sonia’s hand, their pose replicates
an iconic representation of the Mother of God with the Christ Child.
Christ holds the hand of the Mother of God with one of His, raising the
fingers of His other hand in blessing. The Kievo-Bratsk icon (from 1654)
is an example of this image (Kasatkina 1995: 23). Their everyday
physical gesture recapitulates the inclusive perspective inherent to the
icon, causing this perspective device to work across the icon as well as
in front of it. The viewer is pulled into this scene along with Sonia and
Raskol’nikov, at one with the handholding pair of the “image”.
Every one of the iconic references in the novel serves to draw
Raskol’nikov back to Orthodoxy (through “inverse perspective”), and
back to Russian traditional values and images, away from the
temptations of Western secular culture. From the earliest iconic scene
with Polen’ka to the final one in the epilogue, the icon is associated with
agape, Christian love juxtaposed to the sterility of rationalism and
materialism. The most potent visual image in Russian Orthodoxy, and in
Crime and Punishment, is the icon. Dostoevsky recreates icons through
inclusive perspective, poses replicating holy images, and iconic
structures (such as the staircase) to remind the target reader of his native
culture, especially Orthodox culture. Like orality—including song—
icons too attract through the senses rather than rationally. Designed to
work through the emotions, this appeal is in itself an anti-rational
Iconic Images 129
53
This destruction of the iconic image—an anti-Christian gesture—should not be
confused with true iconoclasm. Iconoclasm dates back to the eighth century, when the
Byzantine Emperor Leo III banned icons on the grounds that they were idols
prohibited by Scripture. Joan M. Hussey, ed., The Cambridge Medieval History. Vol.
IV, The Byzantine Empire. Part I, Byzantium and its Neighbours (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1966), 65-66.
130 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
He drew the axe all the way out, swung it with both hands, barely
aware of himself, and almost without an effort, almost mechanically,
brought the butt down on her head. It was as though he had no
strength. But as soon as he brought the axe down, strength was born
in him anew […] The blow landed on the very crown of her head,
made easier by her short stature. She cried out, but very weakly, and
suddenly sank to the floor, although she still managed to raise both
hands to her head (PSS 6: 63).55
In effect, she embraces her own fatally wounded head. This action
backshadows to Raskol’nikov’s embrace of the nag’s head in the
dream and foreshadows to the death of her half-sister Lizaveta, which
follows shortly.
54
Mikolka “confesses” to the murder, and Porfiry Petrovich further identifies him as
an Old Believer, or raskol’nik (‘schismatic’). For a discussion of this identification,
consult A.L. Bem, Dostoevskii: psikhoanalisticheskie ètiudy (Berlin: Petropolis,
1938). Reprint (Ann Arbor: Ardis Publishers, 1983), 145-148.
55
And there’s a lot of blood, which “poured out as if from an overturned glass”. PSS 6:
63. Profanation of the Eucharist equals an anti-iconic act. Harriett Murav (2007: 82)
comments on Dostoevsky’s lexical assault in this passage, which acts like a verbal
anti-icon, repelling the reader instead of drawing him or her in.
Iconic Images 131
And we remember the first icon of the novel, hanging on the wall as
witness to these murders. With his axe, Raskol’nikov has shattered
two images in the presence of an iconic image. Nor is this the only
icon in the apartment. Going into the small bedroom, Raskol’nikov
encounters more, a lot more. “He immediately ran […] into the
bedroom. It was a very small room with an enormous icon case with
icons” (PSS 6: 63). The entire room has been transformed into an icon
case. Christ is always present, but the icon brings Him physically,
literally, into the room. It is important to remember that Alyona
herself is the only one of the two half-sisters who had any significant
disposable income. That she chose to spend so much of that income on
icons speaks to her intense—although not readily apparent—faith, and
to her future redemption.56
Perhaps now is the time to discuss the murder weapon. Why
does Raskol’nikov use an axe? The central issue here is: what actually
is Raskol’nikov’s target within the larger iconic framework of Crime
and Punishment. The axe is the weapon of choice when splitting wood
and produces a lot of blood (a “puddle”). By having Raskol’nikov kill
with the axe, Dostoevsky reminds his readers—who would of course
have recalled that icons are painted with egg tempura paint on a
wooden board—that his hero is not merely committing murder. He
also destroys two iconic images with his axe.57 The iconic significance
of wood is realized further in Raskol’nikov’s “pledge”, his lure before
the actual murders. The “pledge” itself is made of wood, carefully
56
With her unappealing appearance and personality, Alyona recalls the convicts of
Notes from the Dead House. Perhaps Dostoevsky is reminding us not to judge people
on the basis of externalia.
57
Of course, an axe was a common tool because people heated with wood. See Robert
L. Belknap, “The Plot of Crime and Punishment”, Stanford Slavic Studies 4:1 (1991):
289. But the anti-iconic significance of the axe should also be taken into consideration
here, as should be the important fact that the axe is a tool intimately associated with
village life and “desecrated” here in the urban environment. My student Jonathan
Perrodin has astutely reminded me that the 730 steps Raskol’nikov takes on his way to
the murder(s) recall the onset of iconoclasm in the Byzantine Empire, in 730. For a
discussion of this topic, see Henry Maguire, Art and Eloquence in Byzantium
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), 9; and Glenn Peers, Subtle Bodies:
Representing Angels in Byzantium (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001),
13-14.
132 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Because the head is again the focal point receiving the blows, this
dream recapitulates the original crime. It serves as a reminder that
violence directed against another person is tantamount to desecrating
an icon, a divine image.59 The combination of noise plus the presence
of another perpetrator for this “icon smashing” makes Raskol’nikov
feel that he is in the midst of horrific violence, a sense that will
resurface during his “germ dream” (to be discussed in the epilogue
chapter).
The association of the murderer’s axe with crushed or split
“wood” leads into another anti-iconic scene, another nightmare. In his
dream, he returns to the pawnbroker’s apartment and the scene of his
crimes. The front room looks the same but for two crucial differences:
it is illumined by moonlight (“an enormous, round, copper-red full
moon looked straight through the window”) instead of sunlight, and
the icon is no longer on the wall. “Suddenly a dry momentary crack
resounded, as though someone were breaking a small splinter of wood
58
For an excellent discussion of the “pledge”, see Leonid Karasev, “Kak byl ustroen
‘zaklad’ Raskol’nikova”, Dostoevskii i mirovaia kul’tura 2 (1994): 42-50. We
encounter the same combination of wood plus metal in the axe.
59
And, quite appropriately, the anti-iconic Svidrigailov puts in his first physical
appearance in the wake of this icon-shattering dream. PSS 6: 214
Iconic Images 133
[T]he old woman was sitting all doubled up and with her head
hanging down, so there was no way he could make out her face,
but this was she. He stood over her: “She’s scared”! he thought,
quietly freeing the axe from the loop and he hit the old woman on
the crown of her head, once and yet again. But it was strange: she
didn’t even stir from the blows, as though she were made of wood
[backshadowing to the noise of the breaking splinter that he heard
earlier, and to the icon].
He will keep trying to see her face. She will lower it even further and,
as if to spite him, will quietly laugh at him (PSS 6: 213; emphasis
added). Through this dream, we backshadow to the actual murder/s as
dream-like states.
The cloth is, of course, her shroud, associated with symbolic
baptism in the River Jordan and with her own funeral.60 Several
questions remain: why has the icon disappeared, and why can’t
Raskol’nikov see her face? The crack of the splinter (as though split
with an axe) and new information that the pawnbroker seems to be
made out of wood are related to both of these issues. The faces of the
original victims—Alyona and Lizaveta—were also “icons”, as
Raskol’nikov is just beginning to realize on at least a subconscious
level (which may well be the level that counts, segregated as it is from
rational thought). Lizaveta is not present here—perhaps because she’ll
“resurface” during his visit to Sonia. The dream-pawnbroker keeps
turning her face away from him as a subconscious reminder that her
image is being withheld from his sight. Because, as Shanti Elliott has
observed (2000: 62), “the inclination of the saint’s head in the icon
communicates relationship with the viewer […]”, Raskol’nikov
experiences a sense of being severed from the Orthodox community.
Uspenskij states (1976: 60) that “the faces in icons, as a rule, are
60
See Ryan, Bathhouse, 239, for a brief discussion of shrouds and their significance.
134 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
turned toward the viewer (the person praying) irrespective of their real
position in space […]”. His inability to look the image in the face—a
face withdrawn from his view—is what Raskol’nikov finds more
disturbing than any other facet of this dream. He himself “turns away”
following the murders, his action foreshadowing to this nightmare.
When Nastas’ya recalls that Lizaveta once performed a charitable act
for him, “Raskol’nikov turned toward the wall […]” (PSS 6: 105).
Alyona’s hidden image mockingly anticipates the unholy image that
haunts Raskol’nikov. This image is definitively realized in
Svidrigailov’s abrupt appearance immediately after this dream, so that
he seems to be part of the nightmare.61
Svidrigailov
61
“As eerie as the dream is Svidrigailov’s materializing out of it, so that Raskol’nikov,
aware now that he was dreaming, wonders whether the appearance of this, the last
important character to be introduced, is a continuation of the dream. Svidrigajlov is
Raskol’nikov’s nightmare, and he appears as though out of a nightmare”. Shaw,
“Raskol’nikov’s Dreams”: 138.
62
And when Svidrigailov mentions the Mother of God in passing—the Raphael and
Sistine Madonnas—is this not also anti-iconic? PSS 6: 369.
Iconic Images 135
63
Ewa Kuryluk touches on masks in Veronica and Her Cloth: History, Symbolism,
and Structure of a “True” Image (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1991), 205-208.
64
This kind of information could be found in the Volkhovnik (“The Book of the
Wizard”). See Ryan, Bathhouse, 123, 127-128
136 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
appeal quickly turns to horror. Not even the association with Trinity Day
saves this scene:
In Siberia, W.F. Ryan recounts (1999: 81, the witch was associated
with the magpie, which had the evil eye and could cause suicide,
resonating here with Svidrigailov’s cold gaze. That connection
extends to this suicide. Dostoevsky links Svidrigailov with unclean
forces through the bathhouse (treated in Chapter One), and here,
through a young girl’s suicide. Perhaps her death by drowning has
transformed her into a rusalka, “who, in folk belief”, notes Linda
Ivanits, “was often the spirit of a drowned maiden”. She “was
especially dangerous during Trinity Week, and was imagined with
light flowing hair, sometimes crowned by a wreath” (Ivanits 1989: 75-
81). Dostoevsky’s contemporary Russian reader familiar with the
leshii (‘forest demon’) would also know all about the rusalka. Rusalki
were virgins (as originally Svidrigailov’s victim was). They were
associated with water, specifically rivers, and could be very dangerous
since they might drown those who invaded their realm. Rusalki,
Joanna Hubbs notes (1988: 28) could be beautiful, but their beauty
was unholy, anti-iconic. Svidrigailov’s young victim was forced into
this liminal zone, this hideous fate, yet another indication of how far
Svidrigailov stands from the community of Orthodox believers.
Whereas Raskol’nikov attempts to shatter the iconic image
with an axe during the murder and in the nightmare with the
“wooden” old woman, he eventually overcomes these split icons
Iconic Images 137
The epithet “unchildlike” links both girls, with the hope and innocent
beauty characteristic of childhood replaced by death on one hand, and
depravity on the other. The drowned maiden morphed into a rusalka.
As exemplified by Polen’ka, the image of a child was linked with the
Mother of God and anticipated the iconic scene between Sonia and
Raskol’nikov. In this scene with Svidrigailov, however, a little girl’s
face becomes a mask like his. She is his mirror image, a witch. The
mask marks her as demonic, the opposite of the icons of the Mother of
God, innocence infected with evil. (Perhaps the second girl is a more
horrific transformation of the first one, now definitively hellish.
Dostoevsky reverses inverse perspective here, pushing the horrified
reader out of the picture.) Where Raskol’nikov shatters two icons with
an axe, Svidrigailov transforms the icon into a mask—a satanic face—
an “image” possessed. He will perform one more anti-iconic act when
he wakes up from his final nightmare and commits suicide.
138 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
“Vat you need here”? he pronounced, all the time without stirring
or shifting position. “Well nothing, brother, hello”! answered
Svidrigailov. “Zis not the place”. “I, brother, am going to foreign
parts”. “To foreign parts”? “To America”. “To America”?
Svidrigailov pulled out the revolver and cocked the trigger […]
He put the revolver to his right temple. “Zis not the place, zis not
the place”! Achilles roused himself, dilating his pupils more and
more. Svidrigailov pulled the trigger (PSS 6: 394-395).
65
We are reminded here that baptism is a liminal state denoting/physically realizing
faith in Christ and the Resurrection (aptly captured in John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s
Progress, where death and baptism are conflated at the end). Here, Svidrigailov
crosses over to death in an anti-baptismal (suicidal) scene, with his suicide a parallel
to the near-suicide by drowning (with its own anti-baptismal overtones) earlier in the
novel.
Iconic Images 139
Ryan (1999: 408; emphasis added), forbade contact with Jews, who
were lumped together, interestingly enough, with “mixed bathing,
going to horse-races, mimes, animal shows, […] [and] wearing comic,
satiric, or tragic masks”. Here a mask (Svidrigailov) is combined with
a Jew, with the Jew’s face considered intensely anti-iconic. We get
this same unfortunate combination of Jew and iconic desecration when
the Jewish jokester Lyamshin is associated with a mouse put into a
“large icon of the Mother of God”, in Dostoevsky’s later novel
Demons (PSS 10: 252-253).
That Dostoevsky himself could be a vicious anti-Semite is an
unfortunate fact well attested to not only in fictional swipes, but also
in his Diary of a Writer from the 1870s. But Dostoevsky was at least
somewhat inconsistent about the Jews, at once smearing them with
trying to take over the world and pushing for “legislation extending
rights to Jews and attack[ing] the anti-Semitic tirades of [Ivan
Sergeevich] Aksakov’s [newspaper] Den’ (Day)” (Morson 1983: esp.
307).66 It seems to me that the overriding issue here is not
Dostoevsky’s own anti-Semitism, however complicated and
reprehensible it would have been, but his reason for putting Jews and
“icons”, or, in the case of Svidrigailov’s suicide, a Jew (and Jewish
anti-icon) and the “anti-icon” Svidrigailov represents, together. Then,
it seems, we should look to Dostoevsky’s target reader. Orthodox
Russians absorbed not only the Gospels and the lore of the oral
tradition—with which Svidrigailov is strongly connected—from their
earliest childhoods. Dostoevsky’s contemporary Russian readers were
immersed in anti-Semitism as part and parcel of Russian culture.67
66
Luzhin is also linked with “yidness”, as in Razumikhin’s comments, PSS 6: 156.
Dostoevsky identifies materialism—associated with borrowed philosophical
currents—with the Jews, surely in an attempt to elicit a negative reaction on the part
of his target audience.
67
As a case in point, Vasily Vasilievich Rozanov maintained—post-Dostoevsky—that
the “Jews of the world were assembled in a secret ‘cabal’ that was profoundly anti-
Christian and anti-Russian”. Judith Deutsch Kornblatt, “Russian Religious Thought
and the Jewish Kabbala”, in Bernice Glatzer Rosenthal, ed., The Occult in Russian
and Soviet Culture (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997), 91. Jewish “anti-
Russianness” clearly fits in quite closely with Dostoevsky’s own anti-Semitic
outbursts, as noted by Gary Saul Morson. For a discussion of anti-Semitism as
Russia’s special gift to modern societies, see Steven G. Marks, How Russia Shaped
the Modern World: From Art to Anti-Semitism, Ballet to Bolshevism (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2003), 66, but esp. 140-175, the chapter aptly titled
“Destroying the Agents of Modernity: Russian Anti-Semitism”. We encounter a
140 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Conclusion
For sheer dramatic intensity, very few scenes in world literature can
match the crucial candle-lit episode in Crime and Punishment where
Sonia reads to Raskol’nikov from the Gospels about the raising of
Lazarus. It is a redemptive episode comparable in its power to the
horrific murder scenes—scenes that it parallels—at the beginning of the
novel. “The candle-end had long since burned low in the crooked
candlestick, dimly illuminating in this poverty-stricken room the
murderer and the woman who had gone astray (bludnitsa) who had
come together so strangely to read the eternal book” (PSS 6: 248-252).
That she reads from Lazarus, who rose from the dead after four days in
the tomb, is especially important for the twin motifs of death—whether
spiritual or physical—and the subsequent regeneration that underlie
Fyodor Dostoevsky’s great novel. And the Lazarus story is crucial as a
symbolic key for Raskol’nikov’s own four days between murder and his
first hesitant steps toward recovery. So essential is the tale of Lazarus
for Raskol’nikov’s eventual redemption that it occupies all of Part IV,
Chapter 4, in Dostoevsky’s novel, with a significant repetition of the
number four) which figures as temporally comparable to
Raskol’nikov’s own period in “hell”).
Yet, for all its passionate dramatic force and its central
importance for understanding Crime and Punishment, the story of
Lazarus—however crucial it may be—is not the only biblical tale to
play an important role in the novel. The twin motifs of death and
regeneration, and of loss and return; and the miracle of love associated
quite rightly with Lazarus also figure as central to one of the most
moving and significant parables of the New Testament: “The Parable of
144 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
the Prodigal Son”.1 Both the story of Lazarus and “The Parable of the
Prodigal Son” include “journeys”.2 The “journey” for Lazarus is a
temporal one over a period of four days, from death and decay to a
return back to life. The journey of the Prodigal Son is spatial
(geographical) but also temporal and spiritual, for he returns home with
a new understanding, appreciation, and love for Father. We know quite
well how important “The Parable of the Prodigal Son” was for
Dostoevsky personally, since, as Joseph Frank notes (2002: 748;
emphasis added), Dostoevsky on his death bed “requested […] that the
parable of the Prodigal Son be read to [his] children” and that his
children should turn to God “if they should ever commit a crime (a
prestuplenie) […], to trust God as their Father, plead with Him for
forgiveness, and be certain that He would rejoice in their repentance,
just as the father had done on the return of the Prodigal Son”. And, as
the Elder Zosima reminds his “children” in The Brothers Karamazov
(PSS 14: 267), “Don’t forget also the parables of Our Lord, mainly from
the Gospel of Luke (such have I done) [….]”.
1
As Askol’dov has observed, all of Dostoevsky’s novels reprise the “Parable of the
Prodigal Son”. S.A. Askol’dov, “Dostoevskii kak uchitel’ zhizni”, in V.M. Borisov,
A.B. Roginskii and E.L. Novitskaia eds., O Dostoevskom: Tvorchestvo
Dostoevskogo v russkoi mysli 1881-1931 godov. Sbornik statei (Moscow: Kniga,
1990), 253. Many thanks to Caryl Emerson and Ksana Blank for bringing
Askol’dov’s essay to my attention. This chapter is based on a paper delivered at the
2000 Conference of the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic
Studies, in Denver. I would like to thank Caryl Emerson for her helpful and
constructive comments. Bocharov treats the Prodigal Son motif in post-revolutionary
Russian fiction but not in Dostoevsky. A. Bocharov, “Vremia vozvrashcheniia,
bremia vozvrashcheniia”, Oktiabr’ 4 (April 1984): 186-192. Robin Feuer Miller
(Dostoevsky’s Unfinished Journey [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007])
discusses parables in Dostoevsky’s work but refers only in passing to Lazarus in
Crime and Punishment. Tat’iana Kasatkina briefly mentions the Prodigal Son but
does not develop the theme. Tat’iana Kasatkina, “Filosofskie i politicheskie vzgliady
Dostoevskogo”, Dostoevskii i mirovaia kul’tura 8 (1997): 170. I would like to thank
Paul Friedrich for making very helpful comments on this chapter.
2
Brett Cooke has reminded me of similarities between the legend/myth of the
Wandering Jew and “The Parable of the Prodigal Son”. According to the legend, the
Wandering Jew Ahasuerus refused to let Jesus rest on the way to the Crucifixion. As
a punishment, he was forced to roam the earth until the Second Coming. Gustave
Doré, who illustrated Dante’s Inferno, would also depict the Wandering Jew. For a
brief but thorough summation of the legend, see R. Edelmann, “Ahasuerus, The
Wandering Jew”, Galit Hasan-Rokem and Alan Dundes, eds., The Wandering Jew:
Essays in the Interpretation of a Christian Legend (Bloomington: Indiana University
Press, 1986), 1-10.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 145
The tale of Lazarus and “The Parable of the Prodigal Son” are
obviously intended as object lessons for their common audience. Given
their intent, they have stylistic points in common. Like the story of the
raising of Lazarus, “The Parable of The Prodigal Son” is easily
accessible to believers and would-be believers alike. Both works are
designed as oral instructions to be read aloud or recited (and this is
precisely what Sonia, Raskol’nikov’s spiritual guide, does with the
story of Lazarus). Both are sufficiently vivid that we can literally
visualize these tales, which relates them to the “visible” iconic
substructure of Crime and Punishment, as discussed in the third chapter,
on the significance of the iconic image. Finally, both touch equally on
related themes important to believers. The raising of Lazarus addresses
the return to life synonymous with a return to faith. Belief in life after
death central to Christian belief, the role that the community of
believers plays, and their faith in God and in the divinity and majesty of
Christ figure importantly here. Divine power and the Resurrection are a
central focus of “The Parable of the Prodigal Son” as well, linked here
with the infinity of divine love for sinners, and the equality of all sinners
before God. Three central components of Orthodox Christian belief are
represented in both pieces: the power of God and Christ, the miracle of
the life after death, and the limitless magnitude of God’s and of Christ’s
love for all, especially, as far as Dostoevsky was concerned, for all
Russian Orthodox believers. That the Resurrection denotes—by
extension—the presence of the divine links it, therefore, with the all-
encompassing agape of Christ, and with Christian love within the
context of the Christian community. The theme of Resurrection
connects “The Parable of the Prodigal Son” intimately with the tale of
Lazarus. The reader’s—or listener’s—immediate assumption upon
encountering “The Parable of the Prodigal Son” is that it deals with a
return within life to Father who rewards the prodigal materially. But
might both “The Parable of the Prodigal Son” and the tale of Lazarus be
two versions of the same “story”, that story being a return to the Father
following death and resurrection, with the “material rewards” actually
symbolizing and anticipating the heavenly reward of being in the
Divine presence? If this is the case, then “The Parable of the Prodigal
Son” constitutes what is in effect an alternate version or interpretation
of the tale of Lazarus. Most importantly for the present essay, “The
Parable of the Prodigal Son”—like the tale of Lazarus—can be read as a
subtext to Crime and Punishment and the great issues it addresses: faith
146 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
3
Many thanks to Paul Friedrich for alerting me to this passage.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 147
God and Christ. And, like the icon with its inverse perspective, the
parable draws the reader who is also and most significantly a
“listener” into the tale, or the “picture” in words. Norman Perrin
(1976: 7-8; emphasis in original) states that
These parables were originally oral texts, comparisons made or
stories told by Jesus to small groups of his contemporaries. They
were immediate texts, by which I mean that they were created for
the context in which they were delivered […] But now their original
oral, immediate, and highly personal meaning was necessarily lost.
They were still held to be texts with meaning, but now that meaning
had to be found anew in them as written texts circulating in the
early Christian communities in the Hellenistic world.
The word “parable” is derived from the Greek word parabolē, meaning
‘a placing side by side, comparison, analogy’ (‘beside casting’), with
the implication that two kinds of things are set next to each other to
compare them (Brown 1967: 984). Harold Bloom (2005: 30) notes that
The word “parable” comes through French from the Latin for
“comparison”, thus leading to such meanings as “similitude”,
“proverb”, and “mystical saying”, but it is primarily an imagined
short narrative whose lesson or point is spiritually moral.4
Parables are comparisons, like the parallels we have in the present novel
between characters and biblical archetypes, for instance. Parables were
designed to be “revelatory”, to reveal a truth to the listener. They were
designed as metaphors5 that would present a lesson in such a way that a
listener could relate it to his/her own everyday life. “The Gospels”, adds
Harold Bloom (2005: 12), “were not intended as what we call
biography, but as conversionary inspiration”. This certainly is true of
the parable, intended to teach a specific lesson to the listener or reader.
And it is also arguably true in Crime and Punishment, intended to teach
a crucial lesson to Dostoevsky’s target readers. We may, indeed, read
the novel as a whole as an extended parable (just as Petersburg—and,
by extension, Russia—can be “read” as an enormous iconic graph). And
the very names or designations for characters that Dostoevsky uses in
4
I would like to thank my husband William Tucker for bringing Harold Bloom’s
book to my attention.
5
Jean Zumstein, “Parable”, in Jean-Yves Lacoste, ed., Encyclopedia of Christian
Theology, Volume 3, P-Z (New York and London: Routledge, 2005), 1184.
148 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
6
Charles W.F. Smith, The Jesus of the Parables (Philadelphia: Westminster Press,
1948), 297; C.F.D. Moule, “The parables of Jesus and the Lord of faith”, Religion in
Education, 28 (1964): 60-64. Cited in Edward A. Armstrong, The Gospel Parables
(New York: Sheed and Ward, 1967), 11, 197 n. 12.
7
Pul’kheria Raskol’nikova uses the perfective verb form posetilo (“attended”) instead
of the imperfective poseshchalo, implying a sudden visitation from the dangerous
realm of unbelief.
150 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
8
Thanks to Paul Friedrich for helping me clean up this argument!
9
I would like to thank Harold Schefski for generously sending me an offprint of his
valuable and excellent essay.
10
Emilio Brito, “Kenosis”, in Jean-Yves Lacoste, ed., Encyclopedia of Christian
Theology. Volume 2, G-O (New York and London Routledge, 2005), 853. Many
thanks to Paul Friedrich for his suggestion to expand my definition of kenosis.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 151
11
While Lev Tolstoy attempts to reconnect with the peasants through a shared rural
and agricultural inheritance, Orthodoxy stays out of the picture. See, for example,
Levin’s reaping scene from the novel Anna Karenina.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 153
12
For a brief, yet important, summary discussion of this issue, see Steven G. Marks,
How Russia Shaped the Modern World: From Art to Anti-Semitism, Ballet to
Bolshevism (Princeton: Princeton University Press), 2003, 65-66.
154 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
the ironic twist that she ends up happily married with three children.
Dunya, overcome with grief and guilt, visits her father’s grave at the
end of the tale. Ivan Turgenev also made use of the Prodigal Son theme
with the characters Arkadii and the “nihilist” Bazarov in his novel
Fathers and Sons. These works share a common thread with each other,
as well as with Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment.
Western influence is crystallized in the potent image of St.
Petersburg in “The Stationmaster”, where it stands for overwhelming,
seductive power linked with elevated military rank.13 In Turgenev’s
Fathers and Sons, St. Petersburg looms in sinister fashion on the
horizon and is literally embodied in the character of Bazarov, the
nihilist. Dostoevsky forces his characters into the St. Petersburg
maelstrom of vice and disbelief, coming full circle with Misery-
Luckless Plight in depicting Russian society—symbolized by the
youth—caught between traditional mores and Orthodox belief on one
hand, and the temptations of an increasingly secularized society on the
other. Each of these works shares with “The Parable of the Prodigal
Son” the twin motifs of the journey away from accepted traditions, and
the return to those same traditions at the end, even though the youth
from Misery-Luckless Plight comes back to Orthodoxy with extreme
reluctance. By the time this poem was written the Orthodox Church had
clearly lost the hegemony it had enjoyed earlier. Perhaps this new
attitude toward Orthodoxy, which came to be seen as an aspect of
Russia’s Westernization/modernization in the seventeenth century, is
one reason for the presence of parodic and ironic elements in this work,
as Norman Ingham has so aptly noted.14 In any case, “The Parable of
the Prodigal Son” represents a “journey”, whether literal or symbolic,
13
Pushkin examines the same themes of dominance and (forced) submission that
would later be central to Dostoevsky’s own work.
14
For two particularly valuable treatments of Misery-Luckless Plight, see Norman
Ingham’s essays “Irony in Povest’ o Gore i zlochastii”, Slavic and East European
Journal 24:4 (Winter 1980): 333-349; and “Parody in Povest’ o Gore i zlochastii”,
Slavic and East European Journal 27:2 (Summer 1983): 141-157. I would like to
thank Norman Ingham for graciously bringing both of these important and fine
essays to my attention. For a perceptive discussion of Pushkin’s short story, see J.
Thomas Shaw, “The Stationmaster and the New Testament Parable”, J. Thomas
Shaw, Collected Works (Idyllwild, CA: Charles Schlacks, Jr., 1999). See also G.V.
Starostina, “Roman F.M. Dostoevskogo ‘Prestuplenie i nakazanie’ i stat’ia F.I.
Buslaeva ‘Povest’ o Gore i Zlochastii, kak Gore-Zlochastie dovelo molodtsa vo
inocheskii chin”, Russkaia literatura 3 (2004): esp. 145-147, 155-156, 159-160.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 155
away from home and into an alien world, capped by a journey back to
the point of origin. And, because it is a journey, the parable moves
forward temporally as well as spatially, just as we see in its later
Russian expressions: Misery-Luckless Plight, “The Stationmaster”,
Fathers and Sons, and, finally, Crime and Punishment.
15
Dostoevsky’s personal copy of the New Testament had pencil marks in the margin.
While he singled out some verses in the Gospel of Luke for this treatment, there are
none from Luke Chapter 15, in spite of its evident importance in Crime and
Punishment. Noted in Geir Kjetsaa, Dostoevsky and His New Testament, Oslo:
Solum Forlag A.S. (Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey: Humanities Press, Inc., 1984),
esp. 23-25.
16
This is the same juxtaposition that we encounter in Hilarion’s eleventh-century
“Sermon on Law and Grace”. See Dmitrii Čiževskii, History of Russian Literature
from the Eleventh Century to the End of the Baroque (S’Gravenhage: Mouton, 1962),
36-39.
156 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
There is a clear association here between the lost sheep, and the straying
sinner, and a transformation of the sheep from a material possession to a
lost or wandering “child”.
The tale about the woman who loses a silver coin, frets about it,
and then is overjoyed when she recovers it follows the story of the lost
sheep.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 157
The shepherd’s joy at recovering the lost sheep and woman’s joy upon
finding the lost drachma are but earthly manifestations of divine joy
when the sinner, “found” again, has returned to the heavenly fold.
Dostoevsky, himself the author of contemporary parables, well
understood the connection here in the Gospel according to Luke.
Since the loss of an object of great value causes immense pain,
how much greater then is the joy experienced upon recovery. The
shepherd’s happiness when finding the lost or stray sheep reflects to at
least an extent a father’s elation upon the safe return of his son. The
sheep, however beloved, is still property, a material possession. But
these emotions associated with material loss and recovery pale before
the great bereavement experienced when a “child” leaves home to go
into the “wilderness, the darkness”, which follows almost immediately
upon the introductory tales (Luke 15:11-32).
Readers or listeners—Dostoevsky’s target audience—familiar
with this well-known parable would also recall the short preface: “There
approached Him [Jesus] all the tax collectors and the sinners to listen to
Him” (Luke 15:1). From the very beginning, the most significant issues
contemporary to “The Parable of the Prodigal Son” recur in the St.
Petersburg environment of Crime and Punishment. The materialism of
Judean tax collectors resurfaces as the rapacious capitalism of
contemporary St. Petersburg, embodied in Alyona’s and Luzhin’s
predatory greed, the prostitution of women, and the seduction of young
men by Western materialist (atheist) thought. Acquisitiveness is echoed
in the brutality of Mikolka (from the horse nightmare), as well as in the
constant reminders of percentages and money scattered throughout the
novel. Similarly, Jesus addresses a combined audience of money
handlers and sinners, materialists and disbelievers who would seem to
bear an uncanny resemblance to their nineteenth-century Russian
descendants: these were young adherents of Utopian Socialism,
Utilitarianism, and nihilism who were ready to turn their backs on the
Orthodox Church: the very audience that Dostoevsky was trying to
158 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
The Parable
He said further, a certain man had two sons. And the younger of
them said to his father: “Father”! [otche, the vocative case] Give
me the portion of the inheritance that is due to me. And the
Father divided his inheritance for them. Upon the passage of
several days, the younger son, having gathered everything, went
to a distant country and there squandered his property, living in a
profligate manner. And when he had spent everything, a great
famine began in that country, and he began to be in want.
Penniless, and forced to herd and eat with the swine, the Prodigal Son
has finally had enough and decides to go back home.
“I will arise, I will go to my father and tell him! ‘Father’! [We see
here once again the vocative case of father, otche, linking Father
with the vocative case used with ‘God the Father’, Bozhe, or
Gospodi, ‘Lord’] I have sinned before heaven and before thee. And
I am no longer worthy to be called thy son; take me as one of thy
hired servants” (Luke 15:18-19).
Edward Armstrong states that the prodigal son’s economic woes are not
in and of themselves calamitous. Dostoevsky himself emphasizes this
issue repeatedly, showing us Polen’ka’s, Sonia’s, and Lizaveta’s piety
in the face of withering poverty, or Razumikhin’s or Nastas’ya’s
unselfish sharing, whether of clothing or food. It is rather the Prodigal
Son’s “unfaithfulness to the standards of conduct in which he had been
brought up” that is tragic (Armstrong 1967: 170; emphasis added). This
“unfaithfulness” is precisely what we encounter in Crime and
Punishment, where Raskol’nikov’s economic situation is not at the
heart of the problem, but his deviation from “the standards of conduct in
which he had been brought up” is the central concern. Distant memories
of these “standards”, recalled in his earliest exposure to the values and
ideals of Orthodox Christianity as recapitulated early on in the horse
nightmare, represent the “home” he will be drawn back to throughout
the course of the novel and will eventually return to at the end, in the
epilogue.
The Prodigal Son sets off for home to throw himself at Father’s
feet, having first rehearsed his speech, so certain is he of punishment
and rejection on Father’s part. So does the sinner despair of God’s
acceptance: “The thread of love between father and son”, asserts
Edward Armstrong (1967: 171), “remained unbroken”, because God’s
love for us endures when, in remorse, we turn to Him. Although the son
does not count on Father's immense sorrow over his departure and
equally great joy at his return, the reader or, more likely, the listener,
has been prepared in advance for these reactions by the parables of the
lost sheep and the silver coin. The listener’s anticipation of Father’s
reaction draws that listener into the parable, much as inverse perspective
does in the icon. Dostoevsky, it seems to me, relies on this same sort of
anticipation, recalled from their own memories of this parable, on the
part of his readers. Just as the son is welcomed home, so will
Raskol’nikov be welcomed back into the Orthodox community of
believers. “And when he was still far away, his father caught sight of
him and took pity upon him; and having run up fell upon his neck and
kissed him” (Luke 15:20).
Father bestows his finest worldly goods on the young man:
the best clothing and a ring. The fatted calf is slain in his honor. The
emphasis here is not really on materiality, however, but rather on
worldly goods as the physical manifestations of Father’s love. Love,
the fundamental gift, comes first, and Father's expression of love is
160 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
17
Vladimir Propp, Morfologiia skazki (Moscow: Nauka, 1969), 40-44, 48-50, 53-54,
56. Also in English translation as Morphology of the Folktale, tr. Laurence Scott,
introduction by Svatava Pirkova-Jakobson; 2nd edition, tr. Louis A. Wagner, new
introduction by Alan Dundes (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1968), 26-27, 43,
55-56. We see this return in the novel when Sonia embraces Raskol’nikov in the
wake of his confession. PSS 6: 316.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 161
18
Which we also, as Paul Friedrich has reminded me, find in Islam.
162 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
19
The image of the swine figures significantly, of course, in Dostoevsky’s Demons.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 163
environs are really this decrepit, or if this is how they seem within the
context of Raskol’nikov’s nightmare.
His early reverence is deep and evident, but soon to be tested when he
witnesses Mikolka beating the mare. Dostoevsky seemingly stacks the
deck against Raskol’nikov here, the age and decrepitude of the church
and priest linking Orthodox Christianity with the past and death, not the
future and life (although death as prefiguring the Resurrection plays a
central role here). Raskol’nikov’s eventual repudiation of his childhood
faith recalls the Prodigal Son's own abandonment of his native place.
Because the horse dream ends with Raskol’nikov and his father never
actually getting to the wished-for church, we might see this passage as
an attempted “homecoming” (Luke 15:15) foiled by bloodshed (in this
case, of the old mare). This dream can be read as a truncated
foreshadowing of the larger novel, with Raskol’nikov only truly
arriving at the church outside the main body of the text, in the epilogue.
As part of Raskol’nikov’s journey “home” to the Orthodox Church, the
killer Mikolka of the nightmare becomes transformed into the religious
schismatic Mikolka whom both Raskol’nikov and Porfirii encounter.
The “real” Mikolka’s schismatic belief represents in encapsulated form
the true Russia predating Peter and his reforms, and existing outside
Western notions of time propelled forward.
The issue of Raskol’nikov’s own father surfaces importantly
here. Father is ineffectual at preventing the nag’s murder, telling his
impressionable young son “ ‘Let’s go! Let’s go! […] Let’s go home!
[…] They’re drunk, they’re playing pranks, it’s none of our business,
let’s go!’ says father” (PSS 6:49). His father fails to provide a solution.
He is, as Kasatkina has commented (1994: 83-84), most inadequate in
the context of this crucial scene. To the extent that this or any father can
be identified with God, then God Himself also emerges here as inept, or
uncaring,20 making Raskol’nikov a precursor to Ivan Karamazov in
20
Along these same lines, Kasatkina cites the work of G. Ukrainskii, specifically
“Kto otets Raskol’nikova”. Kasatkina, “Kategoriia prostranstva v vospriiatii lichnosti
164 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
their shared desire to “correct” God’s flawed world. Home and what
“home” means link the parable and Raskol’nikov’s dream. Father
attempts to take his son home, but the only “home” where they seem to
function as a family is the church, specifically, the churchyard where
they visit their relatives’ graves. The graveyard itself symbolizes the
central tenets of Christian belief, which itself figures so prominently in
this novel: belief in God and Christ, and resurrection after death. This
tangible sign of God’s love plus a sense of community may be the
reason why Raskol’nikov as a child so “loved this church”. Father’s
“detour” away from their true home (the church) means that his son will
have to put off going home, all the way home, until the epilogue.
Now may be the time to do a little arithmetic as regards dates,
especially since Dostoevsky is careful to reveal Raskol’nikov’s age
from the very introduction to the novel. Since Raskol’nikov is twenty-
three at the time Crime and Punishment is set, in 1865, that means he
was born in 1842. He is seven years old at the time of the horse
nightmare, making the year in which that dream is set 1849, precisely
the year of Dostoevsky’s own arrest for his activities in the
Petrashevsky and Palm-Durov Circles. The dream year coincides with
the dramatic culmination of Dostoevsky’s own experience as a
“Prodigal Son” who flirted with Western thought during the 1840s.
Father can’t ever arrive at the church either. He may perhaps stand for
intellectuals of that period (the 1840s), aware of crushing social
problems but unable to deal with them in any meaningful way. And he
assumes the beating to be “ne nashe delo” (“not our business”) when, in
fact, every misfortune is everyone’s business. This man of the 1840s
surfaces later, in the novel Demons. Here he takes the form of Stepan
Verkhovensky, the “father” to the younger generation, including the
murderous (“lukewarm”) Stavrogin. Just as Dostoevsky would himself
return to the “church”, to the center of Orthodox belief (in Siberia,
among the peasant convicts) so, too, would Raskol’nikov (in the
epilogue). And, just as Joseph Frank (1990: 128-145) has observed
relative to Dostoevsky himself, Russian tradition and eventual
acceptance back into the Russian fold would prove to be the key for
Raskol’nikov.
The son then said to him: “Father! [otche] I have sinned against
heaven and before thee, and I am no longer worthy to be called thy
son”. And Father said to his servants [his rabam, ‘slaves’] “bring
the best clothing and dress him, and put a signet-ring upon his
finger and shoes [obuv’] on his feet. And bring the fatted calf and
slaughter it: let us eat and be merry”. […] “For this, my son was
dead and is alive again, was lost and was found.” And they began to
make merry” (Luke 15:20-24).
The ring Father gives his son in the parable is a link with family,
giving added significance to a ring Raskol’nikov pawned prior to his
“rehearsal” of the murder(s) (PSS 6: 8). And it’s a “magic” ring,
intended for protection.
The underlying identities of the father and son of the parable
are crucial here. If the son is everyman and Father is God, then where
and what is “home” and what does “returning” signify? Since a return
denotes restoration to one’s former state of innocence and belief—
one’s true “home”—coupled with divine forgiveness for past sins, it
can take place anywhere. The son’s desperate request to be forgiven
suggests that leaving home (rejection of God) is a great sin, and
implies strongly that God will forgive any sin, if the sinner repents
and returns to Him. God always denotes home, hence, the Prodigal
Son’s “home” is in the presence of God. So, too, is Raskol’nikov’s.
Raskol’nikov does not go back to his native village, and the
church of his childhood is far away in the past. But he does,
incrementally during the course of Crime and Punishment, return to
God, to the Church. His initial restoration comes not through Sonia, but
through a little girl, as noted in the chapter on the iconic image. He turns
to Sonia’s younger stepsister Polen’ka—more accurately they turn to
each other—following the murders, in the wake of Marmeladov’s
death. What better time than in the wake of a death to contemplate the
166 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
related issues that resonate most powerfully for Orthodox believers: the
community of believers, and eternal life. The reader gets a foretaste of
the centrality of children to religious issues in Dostoevsky’s work, a
development reaching its apex in The Brothers Karamazov. “Will you
love me”, Raskol’nikov asks Polen’ka, desperately attempting to
reconnect through her to humanity, specifically, to the Orthodox
community. Through her, he takes his first steps back to his original
childhood innocence.
wept and embraced her knees. At first she was terribly frightened
and her entire face became numb. She leaped from her place and,
shaking, looked at him. But just then, at that very moment, she
understood everything. Infinite happiness shone in her eyes; she
understood, and for her there was no longer any doubt that he loved
her, loved her infinitely, and that the moment had finally come (PSS
6: 421).
This was the copy of the Gospel that Sonia and Lizaveta read
together. Raskol’nikov has become a member of their congregation.
At last cleansed of the infection that beset him throughout the novel
and culminated in his final nightmare in the epilogue (to be discussed
in Chapter Six), Raskol'nikov begins, however tentatively, to return
to the Father.
How does “The Parable of the Prodigal Son” fit in with
Raskol’nikov’s gradual re-conversion to Orthodoxy during the main
action of the novel, capped by an epiphany and complete return to faith
in the epilogue? If the Prodigal Son parable can be read as an object
21
That he takes out the Gospel “mechanically” may also speak to Raskol’nikov’s
previous immersion in Utilitarian philosophy and nihilism, philosophies he never
truly supported and which he will miraculously and definitively reject in the final
scenes of the epilogue.
168 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
22
Deborah Martinsen’s comments are related to this essay in its original form as a
paper read at the November, 2000, annual conference of the American Association
for the Advancement of Slavic Studies.
23
And, of course, Hilarion’s “Sermon on Law and Grace”, noted in the chapter on
clothing, illustrates this shift.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 169
24
Perhaps Dostoevsky put Sonia’s retelling of the tale of Lazarus in Part IV, Chapter
4 to make it easy for the reader to reference, just as we remember the Bible according
to chapter and verse.
170 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
For his older son was in the field; and returning, when he neared the
house, he heard the singing and rejoicing; And calling one of the
servants, he asked: “What is going on here?” And he said to him:
“thy brother has come, and thy father has killed the fatted calf,
because he received him whole.” He was angry and would not go.
His father went out and summoned him. But he said in answer to
his father: “Lo, I served thee for many years and never transgressed
any of thy commandments; but thou hast never given me even a
kid” (Luke 15:25-30).
This passage figures in several important ways not only for “The
Parable of the Prodigal Son” as a whole, but, of course, for Crime and
Punishment as well. The older brother supposes that rewards—
apparently for him they are always material ones—are given for the
dutiful life well lived, which means that Father’s love translates into
riches. But we never read anywhere in Luke that Father does not love
the older son, whose initial mistake lies in assuming that wealth is the
most important thing, and whose second mistake consists of equating
love with material rewards. His third error is the assumption that “good
behavior” will be rewarded in the physical world with material goods.
He forgets that the true, most important reward is not material at all,
because it is not of this world. Perhaps the son who stayed behind
obediently but complained and expected more favorable treatment from
the Father is himself a prodigal son.25
25
I would like to thank my son, Robert Tucker, for this helpful and astute
observation.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 171
26
Thanks to Caryl Emerson for inspiring me to think about Svidrigailov, and the
reasons for his likely damnation.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 173
was lost and was found” (Luke 15:31-32). Father’s love for both sons
symbolizes God’s universal love, and “The Parable of the Prodigal Son”
makes this love both immediate and palpable. Father juxtaposes his love
to the older son's jealousy, which—like Raskol’nikov’s own
arithmetically determined formula—demonstrates the limitations of
human discernment in contrast to the limitless understanding of God.
Authors of the Parable and the present novel demonstrate quite vividly
that human judgment, restricted and flawed though it may be, can be
overcome by human faith in the unrestricted and perfect love of God
and Christ. The power of this love appears to be the central theme of the
Parable, as well as of Crime and Punishment. Both the older brother
and Raskol’nikov miss the very obvious point that material wealth
means nothing, but divine love is everything. They both misidentify the
true nature of wealth, mistakenly measuring it by the human scale of
material possessions rather than by the divine scale of faith and love.
Svidrigailov will make this error a fatal one.
In his anger at the pawnbroker’s stinginess, power, and fabled
wealth—defamed still further when the student in the tavern connects it
with the legendary riches of the Jews (PSS 6: 53)27—Raskol’nikov
recapitulates the older brother’s resentment at Father’s generosity to his
lost son. Father’s equal love for both brothers in Luke is echoed in
God’s love for the pawnbroker, expressed in the crosses worn under her
clothes, as well as by the great icon case of her bedroom (PSS 6: 63)
(discussed more extensively in the third chapter). While the argument
could be made that this icon collection could be linked with Lizaveta
rather than Alyona, Alyona (as noted above) is the sister with the
wherewithal to actually buy these expensive religious treasures. That
she would invest her wealth in icons speaks to her well-concealed but
nevertheless significant piety, as well as to her inclusion within the
Orthodox community.
Raskol’nikov discovers her crosses and personal, enamel
icon—worn on a card hanging from her neck—only in the wake of her
murder.
27
“She’s as rich”, declares the student in the tavern (in close conversation with the
soldier), as a ‘yid’ ” (noted above). Dostoevsky recapitulates this (perpetually!)
negative Jewishness in Svidrigailov’s suicide scene, also noted in the chapter on the
iconic. One assumes that the pawnbroker’s legendary wealth is linked with the real
wealth—itself the stuff of legends—of the famed Rothschild family.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 175
On the cord were two crosses, cypress and copper, and besides that
an enamel image; and together with them hung a small, greasy
chamois leather purse, with a steel clasp. The purse was crammed
full (PSS 6: 64).
Raskol’nikov notices the crosses and icon, but his mind is on the purse,
a microcosm of St. Petersburg materialism. (Money is materialism
distilled, concentrated.) Like the older brother of the Parable, he fails
initially to see beyond the immediate physical world symbolized by
money, the goods it can buy, and the power it denotes.
Dostoevsky’s juxtaposition of the crosses and the religious
medal with the purse filled with money is a masterful assessment of
humanity and human limitations. His characters are suspended (as
though on an iconic ladder!) between transcendent spiritual values and
immersion in the material wealth denoting the limitations of human
(rational) judgment. Their imperfect judgment is reflected particularly
in Russian society in young men’s flirtation with Utilitarianism,
Utopian Socialism, and nihilism. Like everyone else in Crime and
Punishment—including not only Raskol'nikov, but also such positive
openly religious characters as Sonia and Lizaveta—the pawnbroker too
is suspended between heaven (her crosses, enameled image, and icons)
and the literal symbol of her human material limitations (her purse).
Just as Father loves both sons equally in Luke, so, too, does
God appear to extend equal love whenever possible in Crime and
Punishment, even to those characters such as the pawnbroker who
seem, at first glance to the student in the tavern and Raskol’nikov, to be
God’s throwaways. Gradually, through his interactions with Nastas’ya
(who gives him food) Razumikhin (who gives him “shared”, used
clothing) and, especially, Sonia, Raskol’nikov begins to realize the
existence and the extent of this love. He becomes fully aware of the
power of divine love only in the epilogue, when sitting with Sonia on
the riverbank. But he demonstrates at least a partial realization of this
love all the way through the novel, suggesting that this awareness of
divine grace has actually been with him all along, a remembrance from
his earliest childhood in a pious family.
Why do characters engaged in bad behavior in “The Parable of
the Prodigal Son” and in Crime and Punishment seem initially to
prosper on an exterior, physical level? The younger brother from Luke
appears at first glance to gain far more, at least in terms of material
goods, than his older sibling. While Sonia sacrifices herself for want of
176 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
28
For a discussion of the Principle of utility, see James Steintrager. Bentham (Ithaca:
Cornell University Press, 1977), esp. 28-40.
Parable of the Prodigal Son 177
Conclusion
29
As seen also in Stavrogin’s estrangement from Russia, and in Ivan Karamazov’s
abandonment of home while his father is being murdered (more precisely, facilitating
his father’s murder).
Parable of the Prodigal Son 179
1
The notion of alterity follows quite naturally from the binary values of traditional
Russian culture. As Julie Buckler cogently observes, “Even the dramatic cultural
changes in Europeanizing eighteenth-century Russia can be seen as a simple
inversion of the old culture’s binary values, not unlike pagan Russia’s adoption of
Christianity in the tenth century”. Julie A. Buckler, Mapping St. Petersburg
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005), 12. Dostoevsky’s bifurcation of
contemporary Russians into sinners and the redeemed follows this binary model.
182 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
2
As in the 1835 story “Nevskii Prospect”, where the devil lights the streetlamps at
the end, or of course “The Overcoat”, in which Petrovich is quite obviously
described as and identified with the devil.
3
Ivan Turgenev’s A Sportsman’s Sketches deal with the gulf between gentry and
serfs. Artists also addressed this issue, as in G.V. Soroka’s painting of the view of
the dam on the Spasskoe Estate, in which the dam serves as a dividing line between
master and serfs. See Priscilla Roosevelt’s Life on the Russian Country Estate: A
Social and Cultural History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 219.
Priscilla Roosevelt discusses this subject in detail in Chapter Eight, “The Kingdom
Divided: Lord and Serf”, 218-242. Tolstoy must have been sorely conflicted over
Levin (from Anna Karenina), who spoke good French but avoided city life,
preferring to mow with his peasants.
Alterity or Otherness 183
4
The theme of Russia versus the West continued to be a hot topic into the twentieth
century. We encounter this conflict, for instance, in Andrei Bely’s novel Petersburg,
as well as after the revolutions of 1917, in, for example, Boris Pilnyak’s (Boris
Andreevich Vogau’s) innovative novel The Naked Year (1921).
5
While not set in St. Petersburg, both Demons and The Brothers Karamazov feature
central characters who spent their formative years in the capital.
184 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
6
For a brief yet valuable discussion of Slavophilism, see Abbott Gleason,
“Slavophilism”, Victor Terras, ed., Handbook of Russian Literature (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1985), 423-425.
7
Hugh Seton-Watson treats the Populists in The Decline of Imperial Russia: 1855-
1914 (New York: Praeger, 1952), esp. 139-143.
8
For a thorough discussion of Dostoevsky’s family background, see Joseph Frank,
Dostoevsky: the Seeds of Revolt, 1821-1849 (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1976), particularly “Part I: Moscow”, 3-66. Dostoevsky’s mother came from the
merchant class. His father became a military doctor following graduation from a
theological seminary. Frank, Dostoevsky: Seeds, 8-11.
Alterity or Otherness 185
9
Orlando Figes discusses this intriguing phenomenon in his aptly titled Natasha’s
Dance: A Cultural History of Russia (New York: Metropolitan Books, Henry Holt
and Company, 2002), xxv-xxix.
186 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
10
Of course, the pairing of opposites figured quite naturally in Pushkin’s verse, where
it was incorporated into the metric scheme (as well as in other aspects of his poetry,
such as rhyme). See, for instance, my “The Plot Rhyme Scheme of Pushkin’s Eugene
Onegin, New Zealand Slavonic Journal (1999): 35-49. For a discussion of authority
as embodied, in Pushkin’s work, in the statue, see the classic by Roman Jakobson,
Pushkin and his Sculptural Myth, trans. from the Czech and edited by John Burbank
(The Hague: Mouton, 1975).
11
Thomas E. Berry, “Perovsky, Aleksei Alekseevich”, Victor Terras, ed., Handbook
of Russian Literature (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), 337.
Alterity or Otherness 187
12
The rites are not properly observed in either segment of the story, making the
profanation of religion in this work a precursor to the comparable treatment of faith
in Dostoevsky’s later fiction.
13
As Jerzy Kolodziej has astutely noted to me.
14
That outcome is, of course, the wedding between Julian Mastakovich and the
young heiress, only eleven in the “Christmas Tree” segment of the story.
15
This doubling is intimately related to Mikhail Bakhtin’s concept of polyphony
particularly as it relates to Dostoevsky’s fiction. See Mikhail Bakhtin, Problemy
poètiki Dostoevskogo (München: C. Hanser, 1971). In English: Problems of
Dostoevsky’s Poetics, trans. R.W. Rotsel (Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1973).
16
Given that her name means “foreigner” in Greek, Varvara can also be considered
an outsider.
Alterity or Otherness 189
17
For a brief discussion of the superfluous man in nineteenth-century Russian
literature, see Joseph Frank’s Through the Russian Prism: Essays on Literature and
Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 217-218. See also Hugh
McLean’s “Superfluous Man”, in Victor Terras, ed., Handbook of Russian Literature
(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), 454-455.
190 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
18
Laura A. Curtis treats this issue in “Raskolnikov’s Sexuality”, Harold Bloom, ed.,
Bloom’s Major Literary Characters: Raskolnikov and Svidrigailov (Philadelphia:
Chelsea House Publishers, 2004), esp. 140; see also Frank Friedeberg Seeley, “The
Two Faces of Svidrigailov”, Harold Bloom, ed., Bloom’s Major Literary Characters:
Raskolnikov and Svidrigailov, 81-86.
19
In his brief yet interesting commentary on Crime and Punishment, V.I Mel’nik
suggests that Raskol’nikov is the double of Napoleon. V.I. Mel’nik, “K teme:
Raskol’nikov i Napoleon: (‘Prestuplenie i nakazanie’)”, Dostoevskii: materialy i
issledovania, 6 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1985): 230-231. Stephen Hutchings contends that
nineteenth-century fiction deals with issues of typicality, uniqueness, and identity,
and that realism has a “cult of the typical”. Stephen C. Hutchings, Russian
Modernism: The Transfiguration of the Everyday (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1997), 18-19.
Alterity or Otherness 191
20
For an excellent discussion of Notes from Underground, see James P. Scanlan,
Dostoevsky the Thinker (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2002), esp. Chapter Two,
“The Case Against Rational Egoism”, 57-80. See also Carol Flath’s incisive
breakthrough essay “Fear of Faith: The Hidden Religious Message of Notes
fromUnderground,” Slavic and East European Journal 37:4 (Winter 1993): 510-529.
21
Or, in the case of Pechorin, he will try to manipulate the outcome, sometimes with
striking if horrifying success.
Alterity or Otherness 193
22
As Tatyana Buzina comments, “otherness” plays out in the split between the
nobility, the dvoriane, and the peasants. Buzina addresses the “ ‘deepest abyss’ that
separates the narod (the folk) from the upper class of society. Here, social relations
fit into the most ancient and most important opposition in the human psyche: the
opposition of ‘self’ and the ‘other’. For the narod, the upper classes, the dvoriane,
are the quintessential ‘other’: they are the ‘other’ not only in terms of social standing,
education, and other privileges accorded by their noble birth, but also in terms of the
most fundamental categories of existence […] They are the ‘other’, while the
peasants are ‘self’ [….]”. Tatyana Buzina, Dostoevsky and Social and Metaphysical
Freedom, Studies in Slavic Languages and Literatures 22 (Lewiston: The Edwin
Mellen Press: 2003), 195.
194 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Raskol’nikov takes his initial steps back from the loneliness of being
an outsider when able to connect sympathetically with someone else
in a comparably low situation. Marmeladov is a Raskol’nikov grown
old, with his bitterness and resentment turned inward to devastating
effect. Were Raskol’nikov never to commit the murder(s) and
undergo suffering, we could eventually see him in a comparably low
situation. Marmeladov’s self-inflicted problems link him with his
young companion and inspire a degree of sympathy, as evidenced by
Raskol’nikov’s assistance. Sympathy prefigures the caritas and
agape exemplified by both Sonia and Lizaveta. Together,
Raskol’nikov and Marmeladov constitute a miniature community that
anticipates the microcosmic Orthodox community consisting of Sonia
and Lizaveta, and including, by extension, Alyona the pawnbroker.
Alyona appears to be an economically empowered insider, but she
emerges after the murders as a Christian insider instead. Her true
power comes from her crosses and icons, signifying her inclusion
within the Orthodox community as an insider, the only status that
counts. This realization takes a long time to reach Raskol’nikov, who
at first assumes Alyona to be an ultimate outsider in the form of a
blood-sucking insect: “ ‘I only killed a louse, Sonia, useless
Alterity or Otherness 197
“There are three roads for her”, he thought, “to throw herself into
a canal, to find herself in a madhouse, or…or, finally, to throw
198 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
But of course, she isn’t mad at all. It’s society that’s out of kilter,
particularly a society that has forgotten its Christian and indigenous
Russian roots.23 She becomes the insider and Westernized society the
outsider, precisely the central issue Dostoevsky presents to the target
reader. This realignment is dramatized in concentrated form in the
epilogue. Raskol’nikov himself will slowly come to this very
realization as the novel progresses. He will appreciate this epiphany
most intensely in the presence of and under the influence of Sonia. It
is she who functions as the representative voice of the Orthodox
Church within the parameters of the novel.
As Sonia picked up the Gospels, “[h]er hands were shaking,
her voice was not up to the task”. But she gains strength as the
recitation picks up momentum: “Her voice became as resonant as
metal [like Alyona’s enameled image, or a bell?]; triumph and joy
sounded in it and strengthened it” (PSS 6: 251).24 Since Sonia’s room
has already been described as a cross or church and the scene defined
as iconic, Dostoevsky has transformed her from the societal outsider
into an ultimate insider, within the limitless expanse of Russian
23
There is a comparable situation in the classic film The Queen of Hearts, about the
inhabitants—chief among them the character played by the great actor Alan Bates—
from an “insane” asylum in France. They emerge from the asylum as the last vestiges
of sanity amid the chaotic madness of World War I.
24
Leonid Karasev discusses the religious significance of metal in Crime and
Punishment in “Kak byl ustroen ‘Zaklad’ Raskol’nikova”, Dostoevskii i mirovaia
kul’tura 2 (1994): 42-50.
Alterity or Otherness 199
Orthodox belief. Earlier, she shared this vast sacred space with
Lizaveta. Now Raskol’nikov has been brought in—as a reluctant
insider—through the inverse perspective of the icon and the power of
the oral message of the Gospels.
Sonia’s spiritual strength directs Raskol’nikov once more,
when she tells him to kiss the crossroad at the Haymarket to start to
atone for the murders. She is now in control.
25
While Marmeladov is drunk and getting drunker in a tavern when first introduced
to the reader, Dostoevsky does not put him into a comparable role or position.
Dostoevsky spares him because Marmeladov never loses his religious faith (as
evidenced in Polen’ka’s later testimony) and indeed imparts Orthodox teachings to
the young (he functions here as the opposite of Svidrigailov, whose actions strip
them of belief).
26
I am reminded here of the terrifying void always implicitly present even in Gogol’s
most superficially amusing stories. In “The Nose”, for instance, the disappearance of
Kovalev’s nose leaves a flat place, i.e. a void. And the void always signifies the
terrifying absence of God, in a word: hell.
Alterity or Otherness 203
your sisters and brother, they have really been provided for, and
the money that’s due to them, given by me for each of them, has
been signed over to reliable hands […] Here are three five-
percent bonds worth all together three thousand. You take these
for yourself, just for yourself, and let this be just between us so
that no one even knows about it, whatever you may hear there”
(PSS 6: 384).
retains a kernel of belief in the light in spite of having been led astray
by fashionably nihilistic thought, Svidrigailov lacks any moral
foundation.
Perhaps now is the time to examine Svidrigailov’s and his
wife Marfa Petrovna’s odd and intricate marriage arrangement. Upon
Svidrigailov’s initial physical appearance in the novel, he regales the
just-awakened Raskol’nikov with this bizarre bit of family history.
Raskol’nikov has just emerged from a nightmare featuring the
murdered pawnbroker. She hides her face and cannot be killed,
displaying a horrifying parody of “immortality”. Svidrigailov’s
materialization at the very end of Part Three, fleshed out at the
beginning of Part IV, effectively splits him in two, between two
sections of the novel. Dostoevsky realizes structurally Svidrigailov’s
inherent and perilous duality and bezobraznost’ (‘imagelessness’,
‘ugliness’), already embodied in his mask-like face.
Marfa Petrovna “bought” Svidrigailov. That is, she paid off
his debts and in effect “bought him out for thirty thousand silver
roubles”. In return, he had to agree to follow a particular code of
conduct, an “oral contract”. Svidrigailov had to obey Marfa
Petrovna’s “Commandments”. First of all, he could never leave her
and had to remain her husband. He could never absent himself
without her permission. He was never to keep a permanent mistress.
He could cast eyes at the servant girls, but only with her confidential
knowledge. In other words, Marfa Petrovna could be a voyeur. One
particularly interesting tenet of this code, as regards Dunya, was that
he was not “allowed” to fall in love with a young woman from his
own class. If he did so—and we see that he did—he was to tell Marfa
Petrovna all about it. But nowhere did they agree that he was not to
kill her. She dies under suspiciously mysterious circumstances in the
bathhouse, Svidrigailov’s “realm” (noted above) (PSS 6: 215). The
superficially minor detail of Marfa Petrovna’s “code” figures
importantly in two arenas. First of all, it can be read as a parody of
the Great Code of behavior, of what is allowed or prohibited. That
code is, of course, the Ten Commandments, the set of divine laws
that Svidrigailov does not follow. His most grievous offense is, of
course, a refusal—or even an inherent inability—to follow the first
commandment, to believe in God (unless he has shrunk and
transformed God into a kind of spider living in a bathhouse). From
the standpoint of alterity, Svidrigailov has reversed “inside” and
206 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
“outside”, God and the devil(s), with a malformed heaven turned into
hell.
While the Ten Commandments seem to constitute an alien
code for Svidrigailov, Marfa Petrovna’s commandments are direct
and simple to understand. He must heed her or risk losing economic
support. But Svidrigailov disobeys her by falling in love with Dunya.
Dostoevsky’s careful contemporary reader, especially the one versed
in French literature, would easily have recognized this code. It is the
one underlying Pierre Ambroise François Choderlos de Laclos’
notorious eighteenth-century work Les liaisons dangereuses
(Dangerous Acquaintances).27 The married couple featured in
Laclos’ epistolary novel—where they are equally empowered as
double narrators—relish their sexually freewheeling life style by
indulging in virtually every kind of sordid undertaking. Debauching
an innocent virgin is one amusement. They certainly give
themselves—and each other—free rein to ruin the lives of others. The
part of the code specifically important for the present discussion is
one especially crucial stipulation: neither is “allowed” to fall in love.
Svidrigailov’s sham marriage to Marfa Petrovna recapitulates
the sexual, superficial intimacy, and social depravity that figure in
Laclos’ novel. These are the very models of behavior that
Dostoevsky associated with the West—specifically, France—in
Winter Notes on Summer Impressions. Combined with his a-Christian
charity and his links with the evil forces encountered in the oral
tradition, his marriage definitively marks Svidrigailov as a character
beyond the reach of salvation. And Dostoevsky, touching on
(ostensibly) charitable, social and economic issues, executes him in
the wake of this general condemnation. Each of these concerns
resonates in two dimensions, the Orthodox and the profane.
Svidrigailov always, inevitably, opts for the worldly, profane facet
over the Orthodox one, whether the immediate concern is charity or
the sanctity of marriage, one of the sacraments of the church. More
importantly, he deliberately skates on the physical surface and stops
short at penetrating into the deeper significance so readily perceptible
to a believer such as, for example, Sonia. His careless disregard of
27
A.D. Nuttall connects Svidrigailov’s eavesdropping on Raskol’nikov’s confession
to Sonia with, among other works, Les liaisons dangereuses, but he does not address
the basic premise of Laclos’ novel. See Nuttall’s Crime and Punishment: Murder as
Philosophic Experiment (Sussex: Sussex University Press, 1978), 57.
Alterity or Otherness 207
Conclusion
28
As Michael Holquist comments in “The Tyranny of Difference: Gogol and the
Sacred”, in Gennady Barabtarlo, ed., Cold Fusion: Aspects of the German Cultural
Presence in Russia (New York: Berghahn Books, 2000), 89. Many thanks to my
colleague Judith Ricker for her gift of this important book. Mircea Eliade discusses
the important of sacred space, that “makes it possible to obtain a fixed point and
hence to acquire orientation in the chaos of homogeneity” versus the “profane
experience”, which “maintains the […]relativity of space”. Mircea Eliade, The
Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion, trans. Willard R. Trask (New York:
Harcourt, Brace & World, 1959), 23.
29
We can see elements of carnival, with its reversal of hegemony/hierarchy (as
described by Bakhtin) at work here as well.
Chapter Six
1
For a discussion of this “kairotric moment, a point of conversion located outside the
ordinary human experience of temporality”, see Frank Kermode, The Sense of an
Ending (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967), 46-54; cited in Kate Holland,
“Novelizing Religious Experience: The Generic Landscape of The Brothers
Karamazov”, Slavic Review 66:1 (2007): 73. The present chapter is based on an
essay read at the XIIIth Symposium of the International Dostoevsky Society,
Budapest, Hungary, 3-8 July, 2007.
Epilogue 211
2
Richard Freeborn makes this same point in The Rise of the Russian Novel: Studies in
the Russian Novel from ‘Eugene Onegin’ to ‘War and Peace’ (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1973), 204.
212 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
3
As a related issue, Gary Rosenshield comments on Dostoevsky’s negative
association of the Western-style jury trial with “Western rationalism, formalism, and
legalism and the impersonal and bureaucratic institutions they engender” in “The
Imprisonment of the Law: Dostoevskii and the Kroneberg Case, Slavic and East
European Journal 36:4 (1992): 415-429. Cited in Susanne Fusso, Discovering
Sexuality in Dostoevsky (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2006), 83, 188 n.
7.
4
For a valuable discussion of genre bifurcation as it applies to Dostoevsky,
specifically, to The Brothers Karamazov, see Kate Holland, “Novelizing Religious
Experience”, 63-81.
214 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
beginning of Chapter One.5 He will lead his readers back to this river
later, in the epilogue. But his introductory paragraph reinforces
orality, with its basic linkage to the Russian narod, the folk, central to
important figures in the epilogue: Raskol’nikov’s fellow convicts.
Orality links this scene with traditional Russian culture, separate from
and alien to philosophical currents imported from the West.
[I]t was concluded that the crime itself could not have been
committed other than in a state of some temporary insanity, that
is, under the sick monomania of murder and robbery, without
any future goal or calculation for gain. This, by the way,
coincided with the latest fashionable theory of temporary
5
But we have an initial foreshadowing way back in Chapter One of the novel, when
Raskol’nikov decides to renounce his “accursed” plans for murder and sees the Neva
gleaming in the rays of the setting sun (PSS 6: 50).
Epilogue 215
8
Arguably, the old priest is linked with the old nag, and both anticipate the old
pawnbroker.
218 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
9
M.M. Bakhtin, Problemy poètiki Dostoevskogo. 3rd ed. (Moscow:
Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1972), 155. Cited in David Matual, “In Defense of the
Epilogue of Crime and Punishment”, Harold Bloom, ed., Fyodor Dostoevsky’s
Crime and Punishment (Philadelphia: Chelsea House, 2004): 106. As Caryl Emerson
comments that “[…] Bakhtin has almost nothing to say about the centrally important,
affirmative, ‘godly’ dialogue situations—if they happen to be wordless. Among these
Crucial scenes are Rakolnikov and Sonia on the banks of the Siberian River in the
epilogue of Crime and Punishment [….]”. Caryl Emerson, The First Hundred Years
of Mikhail Bakhtin (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 132.
Epilogue 219
10
As in the episode cited above, in Chapter Three, when Marmeladov and Polen’ka
are intimately linked through the Gospels.
11
We see echoes here of the same technique that Dostoevsky used two years earlier
in Notes from Underground.
12
That the epilogue does not appear in earlier drafts of Crime and Punishment
suggests that Dostoevsky apparently added it later, when he had already conceived
the novel in its final form. Perhaps we can conclude from this that Dostoevsky gave
the epilogue a privileged place as the ideal venue for Raskol’nikov’s redemption.
13
This kind of summation is certainly alien to, for example, Aleksandr Pushkin, who
concluded his novel in verse Eugene Onegin by leaving the scene along with
Tat’iana.
220 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
15
With her typically incisive analysis, Deborah Martinsen maintains that
“Dostoevsky suggests that readers see Raskolnikov’s unfeeling coldness as a defense
against his feelings of touchiness and hypochondria (symptoms of narcissistic self-
absorption and shame-sensitivity). Raskolnikov’s complex psychological profile
complicates reader response: we sympathize with his altruistic, moral self, manifest
in his dreams and spontaneous acts [which we see in the body of the text and hear
about in the epilogue], and respond uneasily to both warring factions of his egoistic
self—his irrational self, manifest in his emotional vulnerability, and his rational self,
which defends the emotional self through grandiose ratiocination”. Deborah
Martinsen, “Shame and Punishment”, Dostoevsky Studies, New Series V (2001): 57.
Epilogue 221
15
For a valuable discussion of the links between the reference to Abraham and the
Book of John, see Donald Fiene’s valuable “Raskolnikov and Abraham: A Further
Contribution to a Defense of the Epilogue of Crime and Punishment”, International
Dostoevsky Society Bulletin 9 (November 1979): 32-35.
Epilogue 223
dream when they see Raskol’nikov sitting next to the River Irtysh
(part of an iconic frame?) in the epilogue, watching the nomads in the
distance. The timelessness of this scene—noted in previous chapters
of the present study—contrasts starkly to Raskol’nikov’s obsession
with time and his inability to keep track of it at the beginning of the
novel, (before he has even committed the murders).16
As with Tat’iana’s pre-name day nightmare in Pushkin’s
Eugene Onegin (with monsters anticipating the name-day guests),
Raskol’nikov’s final, prison dream is linked at least superficially with
the masses of convicts who surround him and echo the guests at
Marmeladov’s wake (and, more distantly, the creatures of Tat’iana’s
nightmare). But Dostoevsky pulls an important switch, in keeping
with his employment of reversals in the form of alterity or
“otherness” in the novel. Alterity figures most importantly in the
Russian/Western dichotomy. Raskol’nikov initially, with great
enthusiasm, accepts Western thought and moral values as ‘his own’
(svoi) and gives short shrift to Russian traditional, particularly,
Orthodox culture, relegated to the realm of ‘other’, ‘alien’ (chuzhoi).
The peasant convicts who have no use for Raskol’nikov fall under
this latter rubric. Because they make their initial appearance as an
undifferentiated mass and are frightening and negative at first glance,
the convicts seem to be germ-like themselves. But these Orthodox,
intensely Russian believers cannot really be the germs of the dream.
The germs are instead linked with the rational ideas that have spread
in Russia to a dangerous extent, with the caveat that the germs have
actually proliferated, not from Asia, as in the dream, but from the
West.17 Raskol’nikov himself, a would-be Westerner now in Asian
exile, would seem to embody the germs within his own person. Quite
naturally, his dream takes place at the end of Lent (the Great Fast),
and Holy Week. Dostoevsky’s earlier references to the raising of
Lazarus—references most notably associated with Sonia—are
recapitulated at this point.
16
We encounter the same association of Siberian space with freedom in Notes from
the Dead House. PSS 4: 163.
17
In his 1862 essay entitled “Two Camps of Theoreticians”, Dostoevsky spoke of a
“potential for a cure from the national ‘sickness’ (bolezn’) or ‘plague’ (iazva)”, the
latter term figuring significantly in the epilogue. Clint B. Walker, “Psyche and Soma:
Metaphors of Transformation”, 42 n.79.
224 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
It seems that humans are hard-wired to yearn for new realms well
beyond the reach of our senses into which we can escape, if only
with our minds. It is possible that we need to rely on such
possibilities or the world of our experience would become
intolerable.
Epilogue 225
He kept pacing back and forth, silently, and not looking at her.
Finally he came up to her; his eyes flashed. He seized her by the
shoulders with both hands and looked directly into her crying
face. His gaze was dry, inflamed [desert-like, but also linked
with the flame of St. Sophia], sharp, his lips were quivering
violently. Suddenly he rapidly bent down and, having fallen to
the floor, kissed her foot (PSS 6: 246).
He didn’t even know himself how this had happened, but it was
as though something had suddenly seized him and had thrown
him at her feet. He wept [in contrast to his dry gaze] and
embraced her knees. At the first moment she was terribly
frightened, and her entire face became numb. She leaped up from
her place and, shuddering, looked at him. But at once, at that
exact moment, she understood everything (PSS 6: 421).
228 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
19
She is following here the model of William James, who speaks of “lysis”. William
James, The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature, intro.
Reinhold Niebuhr (New York: Collier Books, 1970), 156. Lysis, continues Miller
(2007: 152), “is composed of subliminal material”.
20
Kasatkina has noted the religious significance of Sonia’s outer garments (cited
above in my Chapter Two). See T.A. Kasatkina, “Ob odnom svoistve èpilogov”,
Part One, Dostoevskii i mirovaia literature 5 (Moscow: 1995): 21. My thanks to
Alexandra Kostina for generously sending me a copy of this essay.
21
For a discussion of the link between space and freedom, see Dmitri Likhachev’s
“Notes on the Essence of Russianness”, tr. Peter Tempest, Soviet Literature 2
(1981):129. See also James West, “The Romantic Landscape in Early Nineteenth-
Epilogue 229
Conclusion
Century Russian Art and Literature”, in Roger Anderson and Paul Debreczeny, eds.,
Russian Narrative and Visual Art: Varieties of Seeing (Gainesville: University Press
of Florida, 1994), 28-29.
230 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
the accretions of the Western novel form, clothing loses its (Western)
economic associations and retains only its biblical symbolism. Thus
does Sonia’s green shawl—paired with a burnoose—function as a
striking reminder of her links to the Gospels and her identification
with the Mother of God. Through biblical language and a third-
person narrator who penetrates Raskol’nikov’s thoughts alone,
Dostoevsky emphasizes verbal inverse perspective (as noted in
Chapter Three). This verbal inverse perspective anticipates and is
intimately related to traditional Russian religious literature—
specifically, the redemption of the sinner—addressed in Chapter Six.
And, as we recall from Chapter Three, the visual realm of the icon
finds a verbal correspondence in biblical references and in verbal
inverse perspective, through narration.
Dostoevsky’s juxtaposition of sacred and profane constructs
is realized most strikingly in the architecture of St. Petersburg. Here,
the urban environment is superficially Western in design, but, at its
heart, this capital retains the underlying iconic structures and
inclusive perspective inherent to Russian Orthodox Christianity. The
real Russia, lying just beneath the Western veneer, waits to be
rediscovered. In keeping with Dostoevsky’s dualities, the iconic and
anti-iconic are paired. Hence, for instance, Svidrigailov, who
embodies the demonic in the novel, eavesdrops outside Sonia’s
cruciform room, a symbol of the cross and, by extension, of the
church. The church and the bathhouse can both be found in the sordid
St. Petersburg cityscape. The saint or Mother Earth and the devil or
the wood demon—Sonia and Svidrigailov—co-exist uneasily within
St. Petersburg’s confines, as traces of Russian popular religion
surface to comfort or terrify Raskol’nikov and the reader. The iconic
attains its fullest realization in the epilogue, where the bathhouse has
been definitively transformed into the Irtysh River (synonymous with
the Jordan River of the Gospels). Dostoevsky uses the inclusive
perspective of the iconic to draw the reader visually into the final
encounter between Sonia and Raskol’nikov. When he embraces her
knees, falling at her feet in the process, his dramatic physical gesture
pulls the reader into this (iconic) picture, just as it did in the much
earlier scene when she read the Lazarus story to him. Raskol’nikov
crosses the “threshold” of the iconic frame and draws the target
reader with him. His action partially erases the connection between
prestuplenie (transgression, stepping across) and being a prestupnik
Conclusion 235
1
Joseph Frank cites Dostoevsky himself on this matter. In a letter written to the
family of his brother-in-law Dr. A.P. Ivanov, who had died suddenly, Dostoevsky
cautioned them to “[…] not give way to despair…Look, you believe in a future life,
just as all of you do, none of you has been infected by the rotten and stupid atheism
236 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
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272 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Esau, 155; Jacob, 51, 105, 155; Candido, Joseph, 6, 67n. 1, 73n. 17
Joseph, 51, 68; Ten Cap of Monomakh, 70n. 8
Commandments, 125, 201, 205, Capernaum, 120
206, 207; New Testament, 70n. Caravaggio, Michelangelo merisi da,
10, 71, 72, 78, 81, 87, 122, 143, 52n. 40; The Conversion of Saint
154n. 14, 155, 155n. 15; Paul, 52n. 40; The Supper at
Corinthians, 72; Colossians, 72; Emmaus, 52n. 40
Hebrews, 72; Luke, 71, 77n. 25, Carey, Benedict, 77n. 24
79, 144, 155-159, 163, 165, 170, caritas, 64, 71, 71n. 12, 79, 80, 84,
173-175, 177; Mark, 77n. 25, 85, 87, 88, 122, 130, 151, 196,
146; Matthew, 71, 71n. 14, 72, 204, 207. See also charity
74, 77n. 25, 79, 79n. 27, 89, carnival, 208n. 29
114n. 36, 118, 146; Paul, 52n. Carroll, Lewis (Charles Litwidge
40, 112, 150, 168, 169; Peter, Dodgson), 187; Alice in
68, 70n. 10, 72, 92; Epistle of Wonderland, 187; Tweedledum
Peter, 70n. 10; Revelations, 22n. and Tweedledee, 187
29, 48n. 33, 72, 74, 78, 82, 222; Carter, Stephen K., 17n. 17
Romans, 72; Thessalonians, 72 Catholicism, 31
Bidney, Martin, 43, 43n. 23 celestial ladder, 105
Blank, Ksana, 7, 144n. 1 Chaadaev, Pëtr Yakovlevich, 182;
The Blood of the Lamb, 72, 78, 83 Philosophical Letters, 182
Bloom, Harold, 5, 6, 67n. 1, 147, Chamberlain, Lesley, 12n. 5
147n. 4 Chamberlain, Michael, 43n. 24
bludnitsa (“a woman who has gone charity, 22, 69n. 8, 71n. 11, 71n. 12,
astray”), 46, 123, 123n. 49, 143, 71-76, 78, 82-85, 88, 88n. 38,
148, 155, 161, 166 89n. 40, 91, 151, 177, 204, 206,
Bocharov, A., 144n. 1 233. See also caritas
Bograd, Ganna, 106, 108, 118 Chekhov, Anton, 32n. 7, 60; “At
Borden, Richard, 101n. 15 Home”, 32n. 7; Vishnëvyi sad
Brazilia, 96 (The Cherry Orchard), 60
Brower, Daniel R., 11n. 2 Chernyshevsky, Nikolai, 12n. 5, 13,
Brown, Malcolm, 34 13n. 8, 13n. 9, 14, 15, 16, 25,
Brumfield, William, 12n. 5, 119 79n. 26, 84, 85n. 33, 87, 146,
Brunelleschi, Filippo, 106n. 24 148, 149, 150, 158, 176, 193,
Büchner, Ludwig, 24 197, 199, 200, 216n. 6, 220, 231,
Buckle, Thomas, 176 237; What Is To Be Done?, 13,
Buckler, Julie A., 30n. 4, 181n. 1 15, 16, 84-85, 85n. 33, 146, 149,
Bulgakov, Mikhail Afanasievich, 9, 150, 193, 199, 200, 220, 237;
47n. 31, 104n. 21; The Master Rakhmetov, 16
and Margarita, 9, 104n. 21 Christ, 10, 23, 25, 29, 31, 32, 45, 49,
Bunyan, John, 138n. 65, 148; A 67, 70, 72, 73, 74, 77n. 25, 78,
Pilgrim’s Progress, 138n. 65, 79, 80, 84, 85, 87, 88, 89n. 40,
148 99, 103, 103n. 20, 115, 116, 118,
Buzina, Tatyana, 193n. 22 119, 125, 126, 128, 131, 138,
Byzantium, 119 138n. 65, 145, 146, 147, 150,
161, 164, 168, 174, 177, 184,
Calvary, 73 198, 199, 208, 212, 224, 228,
Campion, Larry, 68 232; Passion of Christ, 88; The
Index 275
a Wedding”, 34n. 9, 188, 188n. 90n. 43, 91, 169, 197, 203, 228;
14; Julian Mastakovich, 188, Polen’ka Marmeladova, 44, 87,
188n. 14; Crime and 101, 107, 112-117, 121, 122,
Punishment, 5, 7, 10-12, 13-16, 128, 137, 151, 159, 160, 165,
18, 18n. 17, 21n. 25, 22, 22n. 28, 166, 169, 173, 191, 202n. 25,
24, 25, 30-33, 34n. 9, 35, 37, 43, 203, 213, 219, 219n. 10, 220,
45n. 27, 48, 52, 53n. 41, 64, 65, 230, 233; Sonia Marmeladova,
67, 68n. 3, 69-71, 73, 85n. 33, 15n. 2, 18, 21, 36, 39, 41, 42,
87, 91-95, 98-101, 102n. 18, 42n. 20, 44-47, 51, 52, 57, 59,
107, 108, 111n. 33, 115, 119n. 60, 67n. 1, 72, 73, 74, 80-92, 94,
43, 124, 128, 129, 131, 140, 143, 101-103, 107, 108, 110, 112,
144n. 1, 145, 147-161, 164, 165, 113, 115-119, 120-123, 127,
168-178, 181, 183, 188, 190- 128, 133, 134, 137, 141, 143,
192, 194, 198n. 24, 202, 207, 145, 148, 151, 155, 159-161,
209, 210, 212, 216, 218-220, 165-167, 169, 169n. 24, 171-
228, 230-233, 235, 236; Alyona 173, 175, 177, 189, 191, 194,
Ivanovna, 39, 74, 88n. 39, 95, 196-204, 206, 206n. 27, 207,
111, 112, 118, 124, 131, 131n. 209-211, 213, 216, 217-219,
56, 133, 141, 149, 156, 170, 171, 221, 223-230, 234, 237;
174, 189, 191, 194, 196, 201. Mikolka, 36, 53, 54, 55, 58, 129,
See also Pawnbroker; Filip, 84n. 130, 130n. 54, 157, 163, 229;
32, 172; Kapernaumov, 59, 120, Nastas’ya, 36, 48n. 33, 49, 73,
204; Klopstock, 85, 86; 76, 77, 134, 159, 175, 230;
Lebeziatnikov, 204; Lizaveta, Pawnbroker, 12n. 5, 35, 39, 44,
37, 51, 52, 53, 71-74, 76, 77, 79- 45n. 27, 53, 53n. 41, 53n. 42, 74,
81, 83n. 30, 84, 84n. 32, 87-91, 77, 79, 84, 88, 89, 90n. 44, 91,
111, 113, 114n. 36, 119, 121n. 94, 105, 111, 113, 118, 119, 132,
48, 122, 130, 133-135, 148, 150, 133, 140n. 67, 141, 148, 149,
151, 155, 159, 162, 166, 167, 162, 165, 169, 170, 172, 174-
169, 171, 173-175, 178, 194, 176, 194-196, 205, 217n. 8. See
196, 197, 199-202, 207, 224, also Alyona Ivanovna; Porfiry
233, 237; Pëtr Petrovich Luzhin, Petrovich, 19, 34n. 9, 58, 76,
12n. 5, 14n. 7, 15n. 12, 18, 18n. 111, 130n. 54, 176, 201, 212,
19, 21, 22n. 27, 49-51, 55, 58, 230; Rodion Raskol’nikov, 5,
62, 63, 71, 71n. 14, 74, 78, 79, 12n. 5, 13n. 7, 13n. 9, 15-24, 26,
79n. 26, 80, 82, 84-86, 89, 91, 27, 31-38, 40-46, 48-65, 71-82,
92, 92n. 47, 94, 123, 124, 139n. 83n. 30, 84-89, 90n. 43, 91, 92,
56, 157, 162, 172, 189, 194, 197, 94, 94n. 3, 94n. 4, 99-103, 105-
201, 233; Marmeladov family, 134, 136, 137, 140, 140n. 67,
35, 38, 40, 58, 62, 81, 84, 87, 143, 145, 148, 149, 151, 155,
112, 177, 180, 220; Semyon 156, 158-169, 171, 173-178,
Marmeladov, 35, 35n. 12, 38, 189-192, 194-205, 206n. 27,
58n. 49, 81, 90n. 43, 91, 94, 207-219, 221-230, 233, 234,
103, 112, 165, 173, 195, 196, 235, 237; Avdotia
197, 202n. 25, 219n. 10, 203, Raskol’nikova (Dunya,
223; Katerina Ivanovna Raskol’nikov’s sister), 18-19,
Marmeladova, 38, 39, 39n. 16, 19n. 21, 21, 40, 41, 50, 50n. 42,
40, 46n. 28, 80, 81, 86, 87, 90, 58, 62, 78, 80, 81, 86, 117, 153,
Index 277
154, 162, 172, 201, 205, 206, Poor Folk, 65, 187, 188, 192,
210, 211; Pul’kheria 202, 231; Bykov, 188-189;
Raskol’nikova (Raskol’nikov’s Makar Devushkin, 188, 192,
mother), 19, 21, 30, 31, 50, 80, 231; Varvara Dobroselova, 188-
86, 87, 106, 117, 149, 149n. 7, 189; “White Nights”, 188, 192;
162, 163, 210, 211; Dmitrii Winter Notes on Summer
Petrovich Razumikhin, 15, 18, Impressions, 14n. 9, 39, 183,
41, 44, 72, 75, 79, 80, 84, 85, 94, 206
107, 111, 114, 120, 121, 123, double characters, 186, 189, 194, 201
139n. 66, 146, 148, 159, 175, dream(s), 48-51, 53, 53n. 41, 55,
194, 195, 197, 201, 207, 210, 87n. 36, 129, 132, 134n. 61, 202,
211, 213, 230, 233; Arkadii 220n. 15, 225n. 18
Svidrigailov, 12n. 5, 18, 21, 22n. Duke of Marlborough, 38, 39n. 16
27, 36, 38, 38n. 15, 39, 40, 40n. Dunning, Chester, 63n. 54
18, 42, 44n. 25, 48, 49, 54, 55- dvoeverie (dual belief), 26, 54n. 43,
64, 65, 72, 74, 80, 82-84, 89, 91, 59n. 52, 125
92, 92n. 47, 94, 101, 103n. 20,
105, 107, 108, 112n. 35, 115, Egypt, 49n. 51, 103n. 19
119, 122, 127, 132n. 59, 134- Eliade, Mircea, 208n. 28
141, 160, 162, 169, 171, 172, Elijah the Prophet, 58, 58n. 49, 59n.
172n. 26, 174, 174n. 27, 177, 51
178, 190n. 18, 194, 201-207, Eliseev, G.Z., 13n. 9
208, 210, 213, 219, 224, 225n. Elliott, Shanti, 102, 103, 133
18, 228, 229, 233, 234; Marfa Emerson, Caryl, 7, 21n. 25, 36n. 13,
Svidrigailova, 63n. 53, 84n. 32, 42n. 20, 50, 50n. 38, 58n. 50,
172, 202, 205, 206; Zosimov, 63n. 54, 70n. 8, 99n. 12, 120n.
41, 44, 79; Demons, 11, 15, 24, 45, 144n. 1, 172n. 26, 218n. 9
34n. 9, 98, 126, 139, 140, 150, Engels, Donald, 6, 71n. 12
152, 162n. 19, 164, 176, 177, epilogue, 6, 27, 29, 32, 36, 41-43, 51,
183, 184n. 5, 192; Nikolai 52, 55, 58, 65, 67n. 1, 80, 81, 85,
Stavrogin, 126, 140, 164, 177, 101, 112, 123n. 50, 127, 128,
178n. 29, 192; Mar’ya 130, 132, 141, 149, 151, 159,
Timofeevna Stavrogina, 126; 162-164, 166, 167, 167n. 21,
The Diary of a Writer, 25, 139; 169, 175, 177, 191, 198, 200,
Marey, 42, 152; The Double, 203, 208, 209-230, 233-235, 237
186, 187, 188, 190n. 19, 192, epistemology, 85n. 33
202, 207; Golyadkin, 187-189, eros, 88, 89n. 40
192, 198; Golyadkin Junior, 187, Eucharist, 124, 130n. 55
189; The Drunks, 87; Epoch, 23; Everts, Janet Myer, 48
The Idiot, 15n. 12, 150, 183,
192; The Notebooks for Crime False Dmitrii, 62
and Punishment, 19n. 20, 58n. Fanger, Donald, 93, 94, 99
50; Notes from the Dead House, feather, flaming, 72, 115, 115n. 37,
57n. 48, 131n. 56, 183, 223n. 16; 117, 117n. 39
Notes from Underground, 12, Fedotov, G.P., 150
15, 16, 17, 18, 24, 29, 65, 88, Fiene, Donald, 222n. 15
150, 176, 183, 189, 191, 192, Figes, Orlando, 185n. 9
192n. 20, 219n. 11, 231, 232; Fitzgerald, Gene, 38n. 15
278 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Hood, Thomas, 68, 68n. 3, 71, 86; Johnson, Leslie, 63n. 53, 121n. 48
“The Song of the Shirt”, 68, 68n. Jones, John, 67n. 1, 77n. 25, 91n. 46
3, 71, 86 Jones, Malcolm, 20n. 24, 31, 48, 178
horse nightmare, 35, 36, 37, 43, 53n. Judaism, 48, 168
41, 115, 124, 157, 159, 164, 217, Juhl, Beth, 7, 67n. 1
225, 226 jury trial, 213n. 3
Hubbs, Joanna, 136
Hughes, Robert, 109 Karamzin, Nikolai Mikhailovich, 97;
Hugo, Victor, 53n. 42, 64, 69; Memoirs on Ancient and Modern
“Melancholia”, 53n. 42; Les Russia, 97
Misérables, 53n. 42 Karasev, Leonid, 25, 132n. 58, 198n.
Hutchings, Stephen, 14n. 10, 55, 57, 24
102n. 17, 106, 112n. 34, 115, Karriker, Alexandra Heidi, 7, 73n. 18
126n. 51, 190n. 19 Kasatkina, T.A., 80, 81, 90n. 41, 67n.
Hutchinson, John, 15 1, 117n. 39, 144n. 1, 163, 163n.
20, 228n. 20
icon(s), iconic, 7, 14, 27, 31, 35, 35n. “Kashchei Bessmertnyi” (“Kashchei
11, 36, 42, 47, 52, 53n. 41, 56, the Deathless”), 221
75, 80, 88, 94-141, 165, 171, Katkov, Mikhail Nikifovovich, 15,
174, 174n. 27, 175, 177, 190, 18n. 18, 19
191, 194, 196, 198, 199, 202, kenosis, kenotic humility, kenoticism
203, 207, 211, 213, 218, 223, 88, 150, 150n. 10, 225
225, 228, 229, 234 Kidel, Mark, 225
icon, Byzantine, 103n. 23 Kievo-Bratsk icon, 128
icon lamp, 111, 112, 116, 138 Kirill of Turov, 83n. 30; “Sermon on
iconoclasm, 129n. 53, 131n. 57 the First Sunday After Easter”,
imagery, biblical, 42, 49, 228 83n. 30
imagery, religious, 26, 95 Klioutchkine, Konstantine, 16n. 14
Ingham, Norman, 7, 23, 32n. 8, 154n. Kliushnikov, Viktor Petrovich, 24n.
14 33
intelligentsia, 13, 13n. 9, 22, 23, 24, Knapp, Liza, 48n. 33, 50n. 37, 79n.
26, 31, 37, 54, 152 27, 84n. 31
Isaac-Edersheim, E., 156 Kolodziej, Jerzy, 188n. 13
Isaakii the Anchorite, 88n. 38 Kostina, Alexandra, 7, 228n. 20
iurodivaia, iurodivyi, iurodstvo, 80, Kostroma, 105n. 23
198. See also holy fool Krauss, Lawrence, 224
Ivanits, Linda, 56, 58, 127, 136, 140 Krestovskii, Vsevolod Vladimirovich,
Ivanov, A.P., 235n. 1 24n. 33
Kuryluk, Ewa, 69n. 7, 73n. 17, 135n.
Jakobson, Roman, 186n. 19 63
James, William, 228n. 19
Jesus, 35n. 12, 46, 47, 72, 103, 144n. Laclos, Choderlos de, 206, 206n. 27;
1, 146-150, 156-158, 173 Les liaisons dangereuses
Jew, Jews, Jewish, 138-140, 174. See (Dangerous Acquaintances),
also Yid(s) 206, 206n. 26
Johae, Antony, 119n. 43 ladder, iconic, 75, 101n. 14, 103-108,
John Chrysostom, 71n. 11 111, 116, 119, 124, 135, 141,
Johnson, Emily, 23n. 32 175
280 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Moule, C.F.D., 149 36, 38, 41, 43, 46-48, 51, 52, 55-
Murav, Harriett, 71n. 12, 121, 121n. 57, 63, 64, 69n. 7, 70, 71n. 11,
48, 130n. 55 72, 73, 73n. 17, 75, 80, 83-87,
murder(s), 12-15, 17, 21, 22, 22n. 29, 88n. 39, 91, 95-107, 110-115,
24, 26, 36, 37, 43-45, 47-50, 53, 118-120, 124, 125, 128, 133,
53n. 41, 60-62, 64, 68, 74-79, 134, 136, 138-141, 145, 146,
81, 82n. 29, 84, 86-89, 91, 103, 148-154, 157, 159-164, 166,
105, 106, 108, 109, 111, 112, 167, 169, 172-174, 177, 178,
112n. 34, 115, 119, 121-126, 182, 184, 189-194, 196-204,
129, 130-134, 136, 143, 155, 206, 207, 211, 213-217, 222-
156, 158, 162, 163, 165-167, 226, 228-229, 231-236
169, 171, 172, 174, 177, 178, otherness, 27, 146, 181-208. See also
178n. 29, 183, 191, 192, 195, alterity
196, 199, 207, 214-217, 219, outsider, 146, 177, 184-198, 200,
222-224, 226, 228, 232, 236 201-207, 236
myth, 46n. 28, 144n. 2
Palm-Durov Circle, 151, 164
Napoleon, 190n. 19, 236 Paperno, Irina, 14n. 10, 85n. 33
Napoleon III, 17; The History of parable, 27, 100, 143-179, 191, 215,
Julius Caesar, 17 216, 219, 227, 235, 236;
Nekrasov, Nikolai, 53n. 42; About the defined, 147-148
Weather, 53n. 42 “The Parable of the Prodigal Son”,
Neuhäuser, Rudolf, 18 27, 143-179, 190, 191, 202, 215,
Nicholas I, 97 221, 228, 230, 235, 236
Nihilism, nihilist(s), 9, 10, 11, 11n. 2, Paraskeva Pjatnica, 126
13, 13n. 8, 15, 19, 22-27, 54, 64, Paris, 21, 68, 93, 96, 183
74, 87, 90, 94, 107, 108, 110, Passage, Charles, 38n. 15, 86n. 34
115, 126, 127, 154, 157, 161, Peace, Richard, 232
167n. 21, 175, 176, 178, 182, Peers, Glenn, 127
191, 193, 200, 201, 205, 208, Peppard, Victor, 34n. 10, 45
230, 231 Perovsky, Aleksei Alekseevich, 186.
Novgorod, 98n. 11, 118 See also Anton Pogorelsky; The
Nuttall, A.D., 206n. 27 Double, or My Evenings in Little
Russia, 186;
O’Donoghue, Jacqueline Perrodin, Jonathan, 22n. 29, 77n. 25,
Zubeck,111n. 33 131n. 57, 160
Old Believer, 130n. 54 perspective, iconic, 101, 108-114,
Ong, Walter, 33, 47 123; perspective, inclusive, 106,
oral culture, orality, oral tradition, 6, 111, 114, 116, 121, 128, 228,
26-27, 29-65, 91n. 44, 95, 96, 234, 237; perspective, inverse,
100, 102, 105, 118, 128, 135, 147; perspective, realistic, 110;
139, 140, 145-147, 149, 153, perspective, reverse, 110n. 33
160, 161, 172, 182, 190, 191, Perun, thunder god, 57, 58, 58n. 49
199, 205, 206, 207, 214-216, Pesmen, Dale, 56, 56n. 57
218, 219, 221, 224, 232, 233 Peter the Great, 9, 14n. 9, 30, 38n. 15,
Orthodox Church, Orthodoxy 50, 58, 86, 75n. 21, 96, 126, 152,
(Russian), 6, 10, 11, 14, 21-27, 181, 184, 189, 216n.7, 231
30-31, 32n. 6, 33-34, 35n. 12, Petrashevsky Circle, 11
282 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response
Rice, James L., 7, 32n. 6, 38n. 15, 90n. 41, 112, 115, 115n. 37, 117,
45n. 27 117n. 39, 118, 118n. 40, 120,
Ricker, Judith, 7, 208n. 28 122, 167, 200, 207, 227
Rodriguez, Joseph, 42n. 22, 63n. 53 Saint-Simon, Claude Henri comte de,
Roginskii, A.B., 140 86, 86n. 36
roman fleuve, 209 Saltykov-Shchedrin, Mikhail
Roosevelt, Priscilla, 182n. 3 Evgrafovich, 10
Rosenshield, Gary, 19n. 21, 213n. 3 salvation, 43, 47, 52, 57, 60, 61, 83,
Rothschild, 174n. 27 83n. 30, 84, 85, 89n. 40, 100,
Rozanov, V.V., 18n. 18, 139n. 67 104, 108, 141, 153, 155, 166,
Rubins, Maria, 111 169, 171, 172, 177, 200, 202,
Rublev, Andrei, 73n. 18 206, 208, 212, 213, 221, 222,
rusalka, rusalki, 136, 137, 232 228, 230
Russia, Medieval, 95, 96 Sankt-Peterburgskie vedomosti, 17
Russia, wooden, 96 Satan, satanic, 61, 63, 63n. 54, 134,
Russian traditional culture, 6, 21n. 25, 137
23n. 30, 26, 29-65, 75, 86, 87n. Scanlan, James, 15n. 12, 192n. 20,
36, 94n. 4, 95, 97, 103n. 15, 104, 231
125, 126, 128, 133, 141, 146, Schefski, Harold, 150, 150n. 9
151, 152, 160, 161, 172, 181n. 1, schism, schismatic, 11, 22, 23, 33,
182, 188, 191, 193, 194, 198, 130n. 54, 148, 163, 194, 230
200, 211, 213-216, 218, 219, Schnieper, Annemarie, 73n. 18
221, 223, 229-234, 236 Schubert, Franz, 39n. 17
The Russian Messenger, 15 Second Coming, 144n. 2
Russian nationalism, 184 serfdom, 25, 26n. 38, 152, 231
The Russian Word, 10 Seton-Watson, Hugh, 184n. 7
Ruttenberg, Nancy, 183 seven, 63n. 53, 72, 104
Ryan, W.F., 48n. 32, 63, 63n. 53, seven deadly sins, 72, 81
134, 136, 139 Shakespeare, William, 68, 70, 70n. 9;
King Duncan, 77n. 24; King
St. Augustine, 168, 169 Lear, 68, 70n. 9; Macbeth, 68,
St. Clement at Una, 112n. 34 77n. 24
St. Il’ya, 57, 58 Shaw, J. Thomas, 49n. 36, 53n. 41,
St. John Climacus, 104, 104n. 21 132, 134n. 61, 154n. 14
St. Mary of Egypt, 103n. 19 Sherman, Sandra, 7, 67n. 1
St. Nilus of Sinai, 101 shirt, shirt image, 71, 73, 76, 77n. 23,
St. Petersburg, 6, 15, 16, 17, 19n. 23, 79, 85, 89, 166, 173
21, 22, 22n. 27, 23n. 32, 30n.4, Shklovsky, Viktor, 216
31, 34-38, 40, 42, 43, 48-50, 55, Siberia, Siberian, 6, 30, 30n. 3, 43,
57, 59-64, 74, 75n. 21, 76, 76n. 67n. 1, 86, 127, 130, 136, 141,
22, 82, 89, 93, 93n. 2, 94, 94n. 4, 151, 152, 164, 173, 184, 201,
96-101, 103, 106, 112, 124, 125, 209, 210, 211, 213, 214, 218n. 9,
134, 138, 141, 147, 153, 154, 221, 222, 223n. 16, 229, 231,
157, 160, 161, 162, 175, 181, 237
183, 183n. 5, 191, 193-195, 211, sideshadowing, 51n. 39
212, 216, 216n. 7, 227, 230, 231, Simons, Lael, 120n. 44
233, 234 singing, song, 26, 33, 34-42, 45n. 27,
St. Sophia, 52, 72, 72n. 15, 89n. 41, 51, 62, 68, 128, 170, 237
284 Profane Challenge and Orthodox Response