I’ve been reading Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and — to say the least — really enjoying it. As with The Brothers Karamazov, I’m always resisting the urge to post certain brilliant passages to Facebook, to people who probably don’t share my enthusiasm and some of whom must wonder who Dostoevsky is.
This is the latest in that series, from the mouth of Razumi[k]hin as he talks to Zossimov:
There’s an attraction here — here you have the end of the world, an anchorage, a quiet haven, the navel of the earth, the three fishes that are the foundation of the world, the essence of pancakes, of savoury fish-pies, of the evening samovar, of soft sighs and warm shawls, and hot stoves to sleep on — as snug as though you were dead, and yet you’re alive — the advantages of both at once! (Part 3, Chapter 1)
Before this part, Razumikhin had criticized Zossimov for letting himself “get slack” out of love of comfort, saying, “You — a doctor — sleep on a feather bed and get up at night to your patients! In another three or four years you won’t get up for your patients. . . .” As far as I can tell, now he’s trying to set up Zossimov with the landlady, to redirect the landlady’s attentions from Razumikhin himself. And so he points out that life with this landlady is just the thing for Zossimov — just the thing he’s looking for: a comfortable, easy existence.
“As snug as though you were dead, and yet you’re alive.”
What a subtle smack in the face! (Oxymorons aside.) It’s probably not so much a smack to Zossimov as it is to people like me, who like things to be cozy, easy, warm and sleepy.
…Especially in winter.
Service is a hard thing. Being a real person, living a life of faith, hope, and sacrificial love — that’s not cozy. It goes against every self-loving bone and brain cell in my body, which really just wants to curl up in a chair with a blanket, a book, and a steaming cup of tea. And a biscuit. Also, having a nice tall reading lamp and a scented candle burning would be great.
But of course, that speaks to self-love.
And that’s not to say it’s bad or evil, because in fact we actually NEED to rest now and then for therapeutic reasons. But to do that all the time? It would be like a living death. Not dead, but not really living either. Fullness of life comes not from indulgence but from service, prayer, humility — faith, hope, and love lived in a real way.
That’s what I get from a small passage of Dostoevsky. And now you know why I’m such a raging fangirl.
