Dostoevsky as a litmus test

My third, and definitely the last, attempt at reading Dostoevsky, in the guise of “Brothers Karamazov”, ended in a dramatic separation: with all my might, I flung the book out the window into the marsh outside. The book had revolted me. It had begun to resemble a piece of stinking, putrefying carcass lying in my hands – and all to close to my face. The item that overfilled the cup of misery was the figure of Smerdyakov (the name means “Stinker” and as a Slav I am unable to forget the fact and am reminded of it every time I read or hear the name). He is a primitive nihilist, epileptic, son of a mentally deranged homeless woman (who’d probably been raped by Karamazov père in an act of “refined perversion”) and born by her in the outhouse. His repulsive figure thus drawn, he is then used by Dostoevsky to pronounce profound (and disgusting) philosophical views.

My reaction was, of course, an act precipitated by my oversensitive sense of self preservation: there are certain things from which I flee: mental illness, sexual perversion, cultural primitivism, nihilist philosophy, uncouth language, dirt, noise. My attitude to these things, one of outright and complete rejection, is not subject to rational argument: to paraphrase Nietzsche, one does not refute disease, one rejects it.

I have since found that flinging Dostoevsky out the window has a venerable tradition: many have done it before me. (The one about whom I learned it most recently was Witkacy). I thus, it turns out, belong to a certain secret society, whose members do not even know each other, but whose litmus test is our reaction to some things, Dostoevsky among them. Though perhaps we recognize each other on chance meeting; we are, after all, examples of rude mental health. It is rude because it is – ruthless. It is – the self-preservation instinct: normally it lies dormant and unseen, but when something revolting in our environment – that is something threatening to our health – manifests itself, the instinct swings into action – and attacks. Or, as the case may be, flings.

(9/11: Borges also belonged to the secret society).