Reading Notes from Underground: Part Three - A Weakness in the Text

By Gemini AI.

[Read Part One]   [Read Part Two]

Note: I read the novella twice. Once in the each of the Garnett and Wilks translations. Some quotes in the remainder of this series of essays are repeated from Parts One and Two. This is how I experienced the novel. Although I read it twice, I read the quotes that follow more than twice, often considerably more. I re-scanned it as it haunted me.

As I have said, Notes from Underground did not impress me very much on my initial reading. It was an interesting thought experiment but not much of a novella really as far as being a fictional story. Yet, something about it (besides its wonderful brevity and, at times, its fascinating prose) made me immediately read it again. I got much more out of it the second time through, with full knowledge of Dostoevsky's intent. But when I made it to the end a second time, I was still haunted by the work.

I could not put my finger on what it was. Scanning back through the parts I had highlighted for various reasons in my kindle editions (both Garnett and Wilks), I could not find anything about the Underground Man I particularly agreed with. He is basically malicious and unreliable. He has no concern for either his own well-being nor that of others. He naturally pushes everything and everyone away except for his freedom to contradict himself intellectually and behaviorally. There's not much to agree with there.

Continuing to scan I came to the following sections, quoted extensively here. They will illustrate why Notes from Underground haunted me and how I ultimately came to terms with why the work as a whole falls rather flat with me though it is clearly a mighty philosophical effort, the finest of its kind up to 1864. No human being had ever written anything quite like Notes from Underground. Necessarily that made it a first effort, really a toy for Dostoevsky's soul. These extended quotes are from the Wilks translation of Part One, Chapter 7.

“After all, gentlemen, as far as I know, you have deduced your whole register of human advantages by taking averages from statistics and scientifico-economic formulae. And since your advantages are prosperity, wealth, freedom, peace and so on, and so on, so that anyone who, for example, were to act openly and knowingly against the whole register would, in your opinion and in mine too of course, be an obscurantist or a complete madman – isn’t that so? But the really amazing thing is surely this: how does it always happen that all these statisticians, sages and lovers of the human race, when enumerating human advantages, invariably omit a particular one? They don’t even take it into account as it should be taken and on this the entire calculation depends. (pp. 19 – 20)”

What is this upon which “the entire calculation” of reasoned society depends? Before he answers that Dostoevsky keeps us in suspense. Instead, he chooses to pursue a kind of interlude where he engages the reader, the “gentlemen” of the novel, directly in a discussion of the advantages of a rationalized and materialized society. There are four he names specifically.

“...reason, honour, peace, prosperity – in short, all these fine and useful things, provided he attains this primary, most advantageous advantage which is dearest of all to him? ‘Well,’ you’ll interrupt, ‘they’re advantages all the same.’ If you don’t mind, we’ll clarify matters – yes, we’re not talking about plays upon words, but the fact that this advantage is remarkable precisely because it destroys all our classifications and is constantly demolishing all systems devised by lovers of humanity for the happiness of the human race. In short, it interferes with everything. […] But man is so partial to systems and abstract conclusions that he is ready deliberately to distort the truth, ready neither to hear nor see anything, only as long as he can justify his logic. (pp. 20 – 21)

“For all that you are absolutely convinced that man is bound to grow accustomed once certain bad old habits have been discarded and when science and common sense have fully re-educated and directed human nature along normal lines. You are convinced that man will then, of his own accord, cease making mistakes and – so to speak – willy-nilly refuse to divorce his volition from his normal interests. And that’s not all: you say that then science itself will teach man (although in my opinion this is already a luxury) that in actual fact he possesses neither will nor whims and never did have them and that he is nothing more than a sort of piano key or organ stop; and, what is more, that there do exist in this world the laws of nature, so that whatever he does is not of his own volition at all, but exists according to the laws of nature. Consequently these laws of nature need only to be revealed and man will no longer be responsible for his actions and life will be extremely easy for him. All human actions, it goes without saying, will then be calculated according to these laws, mathematically, like a logarithm table, reaching 108,000 and entered in a directory.” (pp. 22 – 23)

This is a fair assessment of the ridiculous idealism of Chernyshevsky's myth of rationalist utilitarian progress as revealed in What Is to Be Done? One thing I will say for Dostoevsky, and this is especially true of his greatest novels Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov, he always makes a genuine effort to strongly represent perspectives with which he does not agree, though he fails now and then in specific instances. Having been a socialist and, briefly, an atheist of sorts earlier in his life, and staying abreast of the cultural debates of his time, Dostoevsky makes every effort to give an accurate representation of controversial and perhaps even evil points of view. On rare occasions he oversimplifies as he does with the false dichotomy I mentioned in Part One. Usually, however, he presents some fine arguments of perspectives contrary to his own, reflecting an intimate understanding of them.

But, in this case, his counterargument is general and brief. After we enjoy this short interlude on the supposed advantages of a rationalist society, Dostoevsky returns with his hammer blows. He reveals the shaky foundation upon which the whole “calculation” of reasoned society depends.

“And all this for the most trivial reason which, one would think, is hardly worth mentioning: to be precise, because man, whoever he may be, has always and everywhere preferred to act as he chooses and not at all as his reason or personal advantage dictate; indeed, one can act contrary to one’s own best interests and sometimes it’s absolutely imperative to do so (that’s my idea). One’s own free, independent desire, one’s own whims, however unbridled, one’s fantasy, sometimes inflamed to the point of madness – all this is precisely that same, invariably omitted, most advantageous of advantages which cannot be accommodated within any classification and because of which all systems and theories are constantly consigned to the devil. And where on earth did all those sages get the idea that man needs some kind of virtuous, some kind of normal desire? How did they come to imagine that man categorically needs rational, advantageous desire? All man needs is independent volition, whatever that independence might cost and wherever it might lead. Anyway, the devil only knows what volition is.” (pp. 23 – 24)

In Chapter 8 we get this, which really crystallizes Dostoevsky's critique of the contemporary world: “You see, gentlemen, reason is an excellent thing, there’s no disputing that, but reason is nothing but reason and satisfies only the rational side of man’s nature, while will is a manifestation of the whole life, that is, of the whole human life including reason and all the impulses. And although our life, in this manifestation of it, is often worthless, yet it is life and not simply extracting square roots.” (We are back to Garnett now. 2, 8)

“Shower upon him every earthly blessing, drown him in a sea of happiness, so that nothing but bubbles of bliss can be seen on the surface; give him economic prosperity, such that he should have nothing else to do but sleep, eat cakes and busy himself with the continuation of his species, and even then out of sheer ingratitude, sheer spite, man would play you some nasty trick. He would even risk his cakes and would deliberately desire the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical absurdity, simply to introduce into all this positive good sense his fatal fantastic element. It is just his fantastic dreams, his vulgar folly that he will desire to retain, simply in order to prove to himself — as though that were so necessary — that men still are men and not the keys of a piano, which the laws of nature threaten to control so completely that soon one will be able to desire nothing but by the calendar. And that is not all: even if man really were nothing but a piano-key, even if this were proved to him by natural science and mathematics, even then he would not become reasonable, but would purposely do something perverse out of simple ingratitude, simply to gain his point. And if he does not find means he will contrive destruction and chaos, will contrive sufferings of all sorts, only to gain his point! He will launch a curse upon the world, and as only man can curse (it is his privilege, the primary distinction between him and other animals), may be by his curse alone he will attain his object — that is, convince himself that he is a man and not a piano-key!” (2, 8)

“You will scream at me (that is, if you condescend to do so) that no one is touching my free will, that all they are concerned with is that my will should of itself, of its own free will, coincide with my own normal interests, with the laws of nature and arithmetic. Good heavens, gentlemen, what sort of free will is left when we come to tabulation and arithmetic, when it will all be a case of twice two make four? Twice two makes four without my will. As if free will meant that!” (2, 8)

Then in Chapter 9 we get the bizarre mirroring of perspective where Dostoevsky reminds you this is parody. “Gentlemen, I am joking, and I know myself that my jokes are not brilliant, but you know one can take everything as a joke. I am, perhaps, jesting against the grain. Gentlemen, I am tormented by questions; answer them for me. You, for instance, want to cure men of their old habits and reform their will in accordance with science and good sense. But how do you know, not only that it is possible, but also that it is DESIRABLE to reform man in that way?” (2, 9)

This is, in essence, where the Underground Man psychologically resides. A self-contradictory free will (which apparently can only express itself through harmful self-contradiction) that riles against the coming of the bureaucratic/industrial dehumanization of our Being. Which, I suppose, is what makes this the world's first existential novel. Dostoevsky wrestled with questions more relevant today than in 1864. True enough, there is no “proof” that “science and good sense” will be a beneficial “reform” to humanity (unless you want to count reduction of disease, safer water and better nutrition to more people, and greater insights into human psychology, etc. etc. etc. as beneficial enough). But the Underground Man hardly exemplifies the way forward in his own life. Believe and rage as he might, he demonstrates far more harm in the way he tangibly lives his life than clearly articulate and justify his theory that all abstract thought can do is render humanity into “piano keys.” Where's the proof in that statement in the text of the novella? No, the Underground Man is far too emotional (irrational) to see the contradiction of his perspective.

Perhaps it is because the novella is experimental, and therefore a bold but lesser novel, that Dostoevsky's text remains, nevertheless, remarkably relevant today, even more so than in his own time. We live in an era of big data, behavioral economics, and algorithmic predictions – contemporary versions of trying to reduce human behavior to rational, predictable patterns. Yet we still see people consistently acting against their apparent self-interest, choosing the irrational, or rejecting optimal solutions simply because they were told that's what they should do.

Let me upset Dostoevsky's apple-cart, however. I think that the irrational aspect of his Underground Man is simply the way human cognition and behavior used to be, before abstract thought developed to the extent that the Underground Man, ironically, expresses abstractly here. Further, I think the Underground Man critiques what is, in fact, a newer form of understanding and experiencing the world, preferring the older way by simply summarizing it up as the capacity (freedom) to behave badly, harmfully, irrationally...or any way at all. It's just that being irrational is the most rational protest against rationality.

Dostoevsky's “interlude” fails to do reasoned society justice. There are numerous civil, technological, medical, scientific, and artistic qualities that eclipse instinct and free individualism alone, without threatening them, neigh, enhancing them. He (rationally) riles against the contemporary world – science and mathematics in particular threaten free expression of an admittedly irrational human will. But this strikes me as a shallow argument. As I have pointed out, human beings can be abstract and irrational at the same time. Just because human beings can do irrational things, things opposed to what they rationally profess, does not negate the advantages of abstract thought itself. Nor does it necessarily elevate the cause of such “freedom” to begin with. Dostoevsky's parody against contemporary life does not have the depth it pretends to have.

There are several key weaknesses in the Underground Man's position. First and foremost, as I stated in Part One, the Underground Man creates a false dichotomy between rationality and irrationality, as if humans must choose between being purely rational or maintaining their freedom through irrationality. Again, human beings can be abstract and irrational at the same time. Their “freedom” remains intact. This is a crucial insight that undermines much of his argument. The systems of rationality threaten human free will no more (or less) than human emotions themselves.

Dostoevsky exhibits a convenient historical myopia here. The irrationality he appeals to is the way human cognition and behavior used to be, has, mostly, always been. The Underground Man romanticizes this older form of consciousness without acknowledging that abstract thought and rationality represent an expansion of human capabilities, not necessarily a replacement of older ones. In fact, it is this fundamental fact that reveals the Underground Man's existentially fractured psyche.

He has lost all sense of balance. Indeed, he is psychologically bipolar, stumbling all over the place. His critique is entirely negative. “Reason, honour, peace, and prosperity” are the alleged “advantages” to the rational society. While he acknowledges their existence, he argues that these advantages only appear to make us happy without proper regard to the supposed spiritual and psychological costs. His negation ignores the tremendous benefits of rights, civility, technology, reason, medicine, science" while focusing solely on how rationality might constrain pure willfulness.

Dostoevsky's critique is myopic, somewhat manic. The fact is human Being can (and does) successfully incorporate the reasoned world without becoming isolated and pathetic like the Underground Man. We become different beings, of course, Dostoevsky is right about that. But most of us are not psychologically tormented and are, in fact, able to improve our lives rather than be victimized by our own freedom to be isolated and spiteful. Being the way he is because he thinks he is expressing freedom and personal autonomy. Which is rather humorous when you think about it.

His position is essentially that of shallow adolescence - rebellion for rebellion's sake. His celebration of irrationality isn't actually a deep philosophical position but rather a knee-jerk resistance to the encroachment of systematic thinking and social organization. Further, he fails to see that the advance of rational thought and systematic understanding doesn't negate human irrationality but exists alongside it. Modern humans aren't less "free" because they understand germ theory or use the internet; they've simply added new capabilities to their existing human nature – and thereby changed their nature. This last part Dostoevsky detested.

But then we come to a statement, immediately following what I have shared so far. This is Dostoevsky's slightly more specific tone and where he finally reveals the idea he has only hinted at previously: "“And how do these wiseacres know that man wants a normal, a virtuous choice? What has made them conceive that man must want a rationally advantageous choice? What man wants is simply INDEPENDENT choice, whatever that independence may cost and wherever it may lead. And choice, of course, the devil only knows what choice.”" (2, 7)

This clarifies things significantly! This statement shifts the argument from being merely "pro-irrationality" to something much more profound - it's clearly about the fundamental nature of human freedom itself. The key insight here isn't that humans are irrational. That was my initial interpretation and the focus of my understanding up to that point in the novella, but rather that the very concept of "rational choice" or "advantageous choice" misses something essential about human nature: we value the independence of the choice itself more than its rationality or advantages.

Here Dostoevsky reveals that the core human value isn't rationality or irrationality, but rather the will to choose between them freely. The very act of prescribing what humans "should" want (even if it's rational and advantageous) is itself a form of constraint against this fundamental freedom. The "wiseacres" make a categorical error when they assume that humans fundamentally want what is rational or virtuous or advantageous.

This statement transforms the Underground Man's argument from what seemed like a shallow critique of contemporary life into a profound observation about human nature and freedom. Ultimately, what is important is not that humans are inherently irrational (although that is true) - it's that they inherently value their freedom to choose, their independence, even if that means choosing harmfully. The Underground Man chooses irrationality in his very isolation and spiteful nature and particularly in his confused, erratic behavior toward Liza that can best be described as an impotently caring cruelty.

This, in turn, connects to existentialist themes about authentic choice and freedom that would later be developed by philosophers like Sartre. The emphasis isn't on the content of the choice but on the fact that it's truly independent. As the novella haunted me and I kept rolling it around in my mind, I saw that Dostoevsky isn't really arguing against rationality or reason per se - he's arguing against any system that presumes to know what humans "must want" or "should choose." The target isn't reason itself (though “too much consciousness is a disease”), but rather the presumption that reason alone can (or should) dictate human choice.

Human beings desire and incline toward independent choices. But, this too is a false choice because we are no less independent – and in some cases more so – within the abstract world. Dostoevsky's "independence" is merely window dressing for the same basic failing, that rationalism is an affront to independence. While there are aspects of existential slavery or being a cog in the machine of contemporary rationality, that is a common by-product but not an inevitability. Humans are independent and abstract and irrational. It is not a choice. It is a fact and the Underground Man's pathetic condition is a result of the frustrations born of not seeing this fact. Of course, this is not Dostoevsky's intent. But artists do not control how their work is interpreted.

There is a glaring, fundamental flaw in the Underground Man's logic. Independence is not threatened by rationality or abstract thought – most of us retain our independence within these frameworks (though, as consumers, one could argue we are not truly free but pawns for marketing systems, this is something Dostoevsky does not foresee, however, and therefore does not apply to the novella). The Underground Man's concept of "independence" is really just another mask for his (primarily aesthetic) resistance to rationality, abstraction and preference for what is basically a medieval psychology. But most crucially, human beings simply are independent, abstract, and irrational simultaneously. It's not a choice between these states - it's our actual condition, though many people, like Dostoevsky, run away from the emergence of their rational nature.

The Underground Man's pathetic condition is particularly obvious. His entire philosophical stance emerges from his inability to reconcile these coexisting aspects of contemporary human nature. His suffering comes not from contemporaneous rationality constraining his freedom, but from his own false belief that he must choose between them – and, more specifically, choose and favor a frustrated irrationality dating from the Middle Ages.

This suggests that the Underground Man's entire narrative is really a case study in psychological projection. He's created an elaborate philosophical justification for what is, at root, his own personal inability to integrate different aspects of human nature that aren't actually in conflict. Again, this was not Dostoevsky intent but it still reflects his weakness in the work.

Dostoevsky wanted to show the harm of “excessive consciousness” on society. He wanted to deliver that message through a narrator who is infected with the very malady to which he purports to be opposed. This is genius, conflicted writing which makes this novel so haunting and difficult to discern it its sardonic intent. Why have this pathetic man espouse a grand philosophy that even he fails to live up to? Perhaps that is the ultimate parody of it all.

(to be continued)