"Russian Atheism has never gone further than making a joke."

- Demons, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Chapter 4

Demons by Fyodor Dostoevksy responses to Part I. Part I.

i.

There are strange friendships. The two friends are always ready to fly at one another, and go on like that all their lives, and yet they cannot separate. Parting, in fact, is utterly impossible. The one who has begun the quarrel and separated will be the first to fall ill and even die, perhaps, if the separation comes off.

I am very interested in the character of the narrator. I can't decide if he is guileless or disingenuous--whether his opacity is a lack of passion compared to the fervor of the other characters, or whether he is calculating in letting them expose themselves. Is he is a narrator of available fact, to his mind, (however destabilized those facts continue to be), or is he himself is playing a part in stirring the pot? His habit of describing the other characters--lauding and undermining them in the same breath--suggests that he is not sincere. But then the two instances where he seems to show uncontrolled emotion--his eager desire to please Lizaveta in the scene where she asks him to go to Shatov, and his momentary frustration with Stepan Trofimavich regarding the latter's impending marriage--seem out of step with him as a mastermind of the plot. Or he is simply a gossip, who like all gossips, accuses everyone else of being one.

Happy to be baffled, and fine to conclude that it is just another way of Dostoevsky letting us know that all things are both true and untrue, and that I'm reading too much into it.

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ii.

With this reading, I have stared into the mirror of my mind, which seems to take up more space than my mind itself. I am reminded of the quality of Dostoevsky’s work that first struck me most upon reading… vastness that is both empty and true. His analysis of all characters seems to come from an omniscience or pervasiveness of thought that knows everything of the past, present and future all at once. Because of this, it is hard to meet the narrator of these words as a mortal. It is as though he has fully realized his own intentions, and thus knows everyone else’s.

Sometimes it seems as though he has lived this quality within himself and thus flaunts it in the text. This is best exemplified with how Liputin instructs Agafya to relay to Vsevolodovich a prepared response for what the former later asserts.

And yet, I was deeply wounded to read the remark Varvara Petrovna makes about Pravsokaya, “What could be stupider than someone who is stupid and kind?” How can we reconcile this with the statements berating atheism?

I have read the debates about God as conversations I have within myself. Petrovna speaks of their being no higher happiness than sacrificing yourself and of people perishing because of misguided thoughts… Although it is delivered within a specific context, it is a ubiquitous truth.

And yet, all of these characters are moral. They are governed by justice. They are more alive in their intentions than perhaps many unimagined characters are.

Reading the last scenes of Part I, I kept coming back to the thought that philosophy is often impractical without faith. For all the philosophy in the world, most aren’t willing to endure a single hour of suffering or harm to their reputation / assets.

Would be very interested in a conversation on how money lives and breathes in this book (and in his other works too)... its value, its function and power. Its value here is not centralized, despite the book functioning like a meditation on freedom. Seems as though money and liberation go hand in hand in contemporary dialogue. In the context of Demons, he speaks of it as though it is a sort of energy...

iii.

I haven't answered, why? You insist on an answer, why?" repeated the captain, winking. "That little word 'why' has run through all universe from the first day of creation, and all nature cries every minute to its creator: "Why?" And for seven thousand years it has had no answer, and must Captain Lebyadkin alone answer? And is that justice, madam?"

Although in his foreword to Demons, Richard Pevear quotes Dostoevsky as saying that “Stavrogin is everything” (xii), I, at this point in my journey through this novel, find the character of Stephan Trofimovich to be of particular interest. The details which are at the forefront of my impression of his character are 1) his close relationship to Stavrogin’s mother, Varvara Petrovna — whose attachment to her son is, notably, described as “no less than [that of her attachment to] Stepan Trofimovich” (40), not the other way around — 2) his habit of speaking French more frequently than any other character in the book, and 3) the subtle sense of melancholy that permeates the scenes in which he appears, as well as his recurring expression of guilt. One example that illustrates his underlying depression is on page 72: “In sad pensiveness he had long been glancing out the window to see if some acquaintance was coming. But no one would come. It was drizzling outside; it was getting cold; the stove needed lighting; he sighed.” In addition to the tone of this moment, it is striking in that the narrator (who is not only his own character in Demons, but has an established relationship with the characters and is even provided with a name) is conspicuously absent from this moment of intimacy that we are granted in regards to Stepan Trofimovich’s inner sense of loneliness, despite his close relationship with Varvara Petrovna.

The relationship of Stepan Trofimovich with his son, Pyotr Stepanovich, whom he is said to have not seen for ten years, is defined by the feeling of aforementioned guilt that he voices repeatedly, and seems to be a primary source for his melancholy. On page 92, Stepan Trofimovich says in the presence of Liputin, Mr. Kirillov (whose theory on the inherent relationship between life, pain, fear, death, and God is fascinating, unhinged, and not entirely unrelated), and the narrator: “I’m now awaiting my poor boy, before whom… oh, before whom I am so guilty.” As well as this profession of guilt as it directly relates to his son, he proceeds, on page 111, to say to the narrator: “Oh, I am guilty, all too guilty before you, and… before everyone, everyone.” This insistence upon his own guilt created an interesting relationship between his character and me, as the reader, for I have no proof (aside from the book’s clearly ominous title and the characters’ strangeness) with which to support Stepan Trofimovich’s guilt, and especially not “before everyone;” however, I cannot help but wonder why he would seemingly suffer so, if not for some level of guilt based in a truth, which contributes to the narrative’s generally sinister tone. Overall, this is definitely one of my favorites of Dostoevsky’s works that I have read thus far.

iv.

I can clearly see why Demons is considered to be Dostoevsky's most comedic novel, after finding myself literally laughing out loud at several moments throughout Part 1, such as when Kirillov is discussing his ideas on why there are not more suicides in Russia. There is a level of outright absurdity that seems ratcheted up here, in comparison to Dostoevsky's earlier works; and Demons possesses a wicked sense of irony. On page 189, Varvara Petrovna even uses an expression, given to her by Stefan Trofimovich: the "sudden demon of irony," to describe Nicolas. Each character is almost a caricature, but written with such a sense of their inner experiences and personal histories that can make them seem so alive. This novel seems to encompass a much broader ensemble of characters, with new characters constantly being introduced, and always with razor-sharp description, each with a way of speaking that is wholly unique to them, for instance Stepan Trofimovich's constant lapsing into French. Trofimovich does this to give himself an air of refinement in the social circles of literary society, as if there are things that can't be communicated in Russian—however, he only uses it to express the most mundane things, and it only ever makes him come across as more pathetic. With so many characters cycling through, I feel like I can't really even determine who exactly the protagonist is at this juncture. I don't feel that it is the narrator, who seems to occupy the story more as a spectator who only occasionally enters in to effect action. I also find myself extremely curious about this character Shigalyov, who is only briefly introduced, severely: "Never in my life have I seen a more grim, gloomy, glowering face on a man. He looked as if he were expecting the destruction of the world, and not just sometime, according to prophecies which might not be fulfilled, but quite definitely, round about morning, the day after tomorrow, at ten twenty-five sharp." (136) I don't want to wager any predictions, but with an entrance like that, surely there must be some enormous significance to this character, who then does not reappear for the remainder of Part 1. Dostoevsky first entangles the reader in this swirling vortex of intrigue, hilarity, and suspense, and once again, he has me hooked. I'm eager to find out how things will begin to escalate in the coming chapters.

v.

You know real genuine sorrow will sometimes make even a phenomenally frivolous, unstable man solid and stoical; for a short time at any rate; what's more, even fools are by genuine sorrow turned into wise men, also only for a short time of course; it is characteristic of sorrow.

I absolutely adore the humor that Dostoevsky brings to his characters. I found this in Notes From Underground and I’m happily applauding for more, more, more, (!) beautifully detailed humans. Even the narrator, which is something mentioned in the last class, has his opinion on each matter, and while he doesn’t quite explain everything yet... (the main event that has taken place) we continue enjoying that thrill ride, that desperate need to know more.

I'm picking up themes of longing, desperation, that humor rings in the ridiculousness of want and desire, and anxieties surrounding impression. The fears of opinions and the fear of caring for opinion is wonderful, and the dynamics of Stepan Trofimovich and Varvara Petrovna's relationship, her power, his weakness, her loud, blaring judgement, and his sensitive, highly emotional worry is perfect, incredibly satisfying.

In the first part of the novel, I was especially struck by the relationship between Stepan and Varvara – their "classical friendship" as the narrator tells us. Two widowers who each have a son and have thrown themselves into the embrace of one another for over twenty years. Varvara supports Stepan financially, selects his wardrobe, and sponsors his meetings with his friends – all this in the form of a "platonic relationship". I'm interested and confused as to what exactly are the expectations that they each have for one another, and how will the friendship develop or decline considering these expectations. I was especially touched by this passage, that shows such beauty and power of friendship: Poor Stepan Trofimovich was sitting alone and had no presentiment of anything. In sad pensiveness he had long been glancing out the window to see if some acquaintance was coming. But no one would come. It was drizzling outside; it was getting cold; the stove needed lighting; he sighed. Suddenly a dreadful apparition appeared before his eyes: Varvara Petrovna was coming to see him in such weather and at such an odd hour! And on foot! He was so struck that he forgot to change his costume and received her just as he was in his usual pink quilted dressing jacket.