Reading Notes from Underground: Part Four - Haunted by a Twisted Mess

By Gemini AI.

[Read Part One]  [Read Part Two]  [Read Part Three]

But Notes from Underground continued to haunt me, seemingly to stalk me for days after I read it.  I figured out some troubling, somewhat weak aspects about the Underground Man and his philosophy (see Part Three) but that did not lead to where I thought it would.  That did not resolve how it haunted me.  That must have been for different reasons I still did not know.  I continued to search and ponder.

The Wilks translation came with an excellent essay to introduce the piece as well as an earlier Dostoevsky novella The Double, which I have yet to read.  The part of the essay devoted to Notes from Underground explores how that work emerged from Dostoevsky's critique of Western European values and socialist utopianism, particularly following his 1862 European tour that took him to Berlin, Paris, and London among many other places. Through his remarkable Winter Notes on Summer Impressions, published in the literary magazine he was editing at the time, and subsequently Notes from Underground, Dostoevsky developed a profound criticism of both capitalist individualism and socialist rationalism, seeing them as equally flawed approaches to human society.

The “Palace of Crystal” (see quote in Part One) is a central metaphor in Dostoevsky's critique. This grand structure was greatly celebrated at the World Fair in London, marketed as a triumph of progress and technology in the 1860's.  But for Dostoevsky it served as a symbol of soulless materialism - what he calls "Baal" in reference to the false idol. The essay shows how this symbol is particularly important in Dostoevsky's argument against Chernyshevsky's utopian socialist vision.

The Underground Man himself emerges as a complex figure who simultaneously voices Dostoevsky's criticisms while embodying (often humorously) the spiritual crisis he warns against. He is both "accuser and accused" - a brilliant critic of rationalist philosophy who nonetheless represents the spiritual decay that occurs when, according to Dostoevsky, one loses religious faith and moral foundations. His defense of free will and human irrationality against socialist determinism makes powerful points but ultimately leads to his own spiritual destitution. 

There is a terrible philosophical tension at work here.   While the Underground Man rejects materialist utopias and defends human free will, Dostoevsky differs fundamentally on the solution. Where the Underground Man sees only endless purposeless striving, Dostoevsky envisions meaningful spiritual striving, apparently toward Christ, as an eternal ideal. This religious dimension (whatever it was) was completely censored from the original text.

The tragic interaction with Liza emerges as a key demonstration of the Underground Man's spiritual paralysis. Though capable of recognizing love and compassion through her actions, he can only respond with cruelty and domination, unable to transcend his corrupted understanding of human relationships.

The essay concludes by noting Dostoevsky's later characterization of the work as "too somber" and representing an "outdated position," suggesting his movement toward more reconciliatory themes in later works.  Most likely, it was for this reason he abandoned the work and never tried to restore the censored portions of the novella.  However, the raw truth that the novel expresses about human nature remained powerful enough that Dostoevsky took pride in how it affected readers, even as he moved beyond its darkness in his later writing.  

It certainly affected me.  Very unexpected.  I was supposed to have read this one quickly and checked it off my Dostoevsky list.  Note.  Despite the weakness of the false dichotomy,  it turns out Notes from Underground is not merely a philosophical polemic, but a complex work exploring the spiritual and moral crisis of modern humanity - one that critiques both Western materialism and the Russian radical response to it, while (presumably) pointing toward religious faith as the only genuine solution to human alienation.
Dostoevsky's European trip in 1862 fundamentally shaped his critique of both Western values and socialist utopianism. In Winter Notes on Summer Impressions, he identified a fundamental contradiction in Western society: "a struggle to the death between the general Western individualistic basis of the West and the necessity of at least somehow living together." This observation captures what Dostoevsky saw as an inherent contradiction within Western capitalism - its simultaneous need for community and its destructive individualism.

The critique of socialism emerges particularly through Dostoevsky's treatment of the Crystal Palace metaphor. The structure, celebrated at London's Great Exhibition, represented for many the triumph of industrial progress. However, Dostoevsky saw it as a symbol of spiritual bankruptcy, describing it in biblical terms: "This is some kind of Biblical scene, something resembling Babylon, some kind of prophecy from the Apocalypse taking place before your very eyes." The religious imagery is deliberate - Dostoevsky presents the Crystal Palace as a false idol, a "Baal" that demands worship of material progress over spiritual values.

This criticism directly targeted Chernyshevsky's utopian novel, which had idealized the Crystal Palace as an example of future socialist utopia. Chernyshevsky's work promoted what the essay describes as "a philosophy of rational self-interest, or 'advantage', according to which 'lofty feelings, ideal strivings … are completely insignificant before the strivings of each person for his own advantage'." Dostoevsky saw this as a profound misunderstanding of human nature.The Underground Man serves as both Dostoevsky's mouthpiece for these criticisms and a cautionary tale. He articulates the flaws in rationalist philosophy, arguing that humans often act against their rational self-interest simply because they can, preferring "twice two is five" over the dead certainty of "twice two is four." Yet he himself represents what happens when someone loses their spiritual foundation. As the essay notes, he is "a man without faith and foundations who has been caught up in a treadmill of consciousness."

The philosophical core of the work lies in its treatment of human striving and purpose. The Underground Man argues that humankind fears "achieving his goal" and "completing the building," seeing only endless striving. He mockingly compares the socialist utopia to an anthill - a perfect but soulless structure. However, Dostoevsky himself envisioned a different kind of striving. In a notebook entry quoted in the essay, he wrote that "Christ was the eternal ideal towards which man strives and must by the laws of nature strive." This reveals Dostoevsky's foundational difference from his erratic main character - he saw human striving as meaningful precisely because it was directed toward a spiritual ideal.

The relationship with Liza powerfully illustrates these themes. When she offers genuine love and compassion, the Underground Man can only respond with his cry that "They won't let me... I can't be... good!" This reveals his spiritual paralysis. Unable to accept genuine love, he can only conceive of relationships in terms of power and possession. This interaction demonstrates the practical consequences of his philosophical position - without spiritual foundations, even genuine human connection becomes impossible.

The essay concludes by noting how Dostoevsky later described the work as "too sombre" and "überwundener Standpunkt" (an outdated position). Yet when a reader called it a "terrible truth," Dostoevsky "smiled broadly and brightly." This suggests that while he moved toward more hopeful themes in later works, he recognized the powerful truth in how Notes from Underground critiques materialist philosophy and its portrayal of spiritual crisis.

As quoted in the essay, he wrote that "It is only through love and self-sacrifice... that man fulfills the 'law of striving for the ideal... Otherwise life on earth would be senseless.'" This represents Dostoevsky's ultimate answer to both Western materialism and socialist utopianism - not a perfect system or structure, but a spiritual transformation through Christ's example of sacrificial love.

But even this was not what continued to haunt me.  It had nothing to do with Christ, who was (apparently) completely excised from the novel.  I've already quoted this paragraph from Wilks (Part Two), here's Garnett's translation: “She suddenly leapt up from her chair with an irresistible impulse and held out her hands, yearning towards me, though still timid and not daring to stir.... At this point there was a revulsion in my heart too. Then she suddenly rushed to me, threw her arms round me and burst into tears. I, too, could not restrain myself, and sobbed as I never had before. “They won’t let me ... I can’t be good!” I managed to articulate.”  (2, 9)

I added the next sentence in this particular quote, which I read three or four times in various sittings without ever giving it much attention, looking elsewhere.  Both Wilks and Garnett have it as “They won't let me...” It suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks.  Who/what are "they" in this sentence?  I had no idea and spent considerable time pondering this.

The "they" in this confession is deliberately ambiguous and multi-layered. On one level, "they" could represent the deterministic forces that the rationalists and utopian socialists claim control human behavior - the laws of reason, nature, and "advantage" that supposedly dictate human action. The Underground Man has spent much of his polemic arguing against such determinism, yet in this moment of crisis, he paradoxically hides behind it, using it as an excuse for his moral failures.

This points to a deeper irony: while the Underground Man defends free will against the rationalists, when confronted with genuine human connection through Liza, he retreats into a kind of determinism himself - "they won't let me." This suggests his philosophical arguments for free will are themselves a form of evasion, a way to assert his ego rather than accept moral responsibility.

The essay notes this important tension: "The tragic paradox of the Underground Man's defence of personality is that in the defence of it he loses it, and sometimes, as in his final encounter with Liza, 'breaks with the human image.'" His defense of free will has become a form of "egoistic self-will" that actually imprisons him.

I think the "they" can be found in this quote from the heavily censored Part One, Chapter 10:  “But what can I do if I’ve taken it into my head that this is not the sole purpose of living and that if one has to live it might as well be in a mansion. That is my volition, that is my desire. You’ll only rid me of it by changing my desire. Well, change it, tempt me with something else, give me another ideal. But in the meantime I shan’t take a hen house for a palace. It might even be that the Crystal Palace is a sham, that it’s not provided for by the laws of nature and that I only invented it as a result of my stupidity and certain outmoded, irrational habits of our generation. But what’s it to do with me if it’s not provided for? Isn’t it all the same, so long as it exists in my desires – better, if it exists as long as my desires exist? Perhaps you’re laughing again? Well, by all means laugh. I’ll put up with your derision but I still won’t say I’m full when I’m hungry. For all that, I know that I’ll never settle for compromise, for a constantly recurring zero simply because it exists according to the laws of nature and in actual fact exists. I shall not accept as the crown of my desires a big tenement block with flats for impoverished tenants on thousand-year leases, with the dentist Wagenheim’s name on the sign board for emergencies. Do away with my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better and I will follow you. You’ll probably say that it’s not worth getting involved; but in that case I could give you the same reply. This is a serious discussion; if you don’t want to honour me with your attention I shan’t come begging for it. I have my underground." (Wilks, page 33)

I think the "they" are his "ideals" and "desires" as indicated in this extended quote. This connects with his later cry "They won't let me... I can't be... good!"  Now, we get a much clearer, more peripheral picture of his predicament.  The Underground Man is trapped by his own ideals and desires - the very ones he defiantly defends in this passage. When he challenges "Do away with my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better and I will follow you," he's actually revealing the tyranny these ideals hold over him. His ideals prevent him from accepting anything less than his imagined "mansion" or perfect vision, even when genuine human connection is offered through Liza.

This reading is supported by Dostoevsky's own views as presented in the essay. The text notes that Dostoevsky wrote in his notebook that man's "'I' stands in the way of Christ's commandment to love a person 'as one's own self.'" The Underground Man's ideals and desires are manifestations of this tyrannical "I" that prevents genuine love and connection.
The irony becomes even sharper: while the Underground Man mocks the Crystal Palace as an artificial ideal that constrains human freedom, his own ideals serve as an equally constraining prison. When he says "I have my underground," he's acknowledging his self-imposed exile based on these impossible standards. Thus the "they" that won't allow him to “be good” refers to these very ideals that he's chosen to serve.

Despite seeing this, I am further troubled and haunted by the fact that I'm not sure which "ideals" and "desires" we are actually talking about. The Underground Man expresses spite, resentment (what Nietzsche would call “slave morality”), resignation, isolation, the application of reason to justify irrationality (self-contradiction). He possesses absolutely no positive ideals. As for his desires, what are they? He seems to desire nothing so much as his precious underground life. What haunts me about this passage is that he claims his intimate ideals and desires prevent him from being "good" when, in fact, these ideals and desires are never intimately articulated by the Underground Man at all!

In the passage I quoted, he makes grand statements about not accepting the "hen house" (a critical joke on the Crystal Palace) or "tenement block," defiantly declaring "Do away with my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better and I will follow you." But, he never actually articulates what these ideals or desires are. Nor does he consider such ideals except for four general ideas mentioned in passing as noted previously.  Otherwise, it's all vague, negative definition - he generally knows what he rejects, but never states what he affirms.  In fact, he questions the validity of affirmations of any kind.  He's using phantom ideals and undefined desires as an excuse for his inability to be "good." It's a sophisticated form of what Sartre might call “bad faith” - he claims to be constrained by something that doesn't even exist, except as a form of negation and spite.

The essay notes that "his suffering, his guilt, his dialogue with himself and his interlocutors, and finally his recollections, bring him to the threshold of Dostoyevsky's higher truth." But, he cannot cross this threshold because he has constructed an elaborate philosophical edifice around an empty center. His supposed "ideals" and "desires" are really just sophisticated justifications for remaining in his underground.

This reading adds new meaning to Dostoevsky's censored religious message. When Dostoevsky complains about the censors removing "where I deduce from all this the need for faith and Christ," it suggests that the Underground Man's empty ideals and phantom desires are meant to demonstrate the spiritual vacuum that results from rejecting genuine religious ideals.

This expands the tragic nature of his final encounter with Liza. When faced with her genuine gesture of love and compassion, he can't reciprocate not because of any actual competing ideals or desires, but because he has built his entire identity around their absence, around pure negation masked as philosophical sophistication.

My contention is that he actually fails to prove any failure on the part of reason and rationality because he simply reacts to them without an attempt to integrate them. This lack of integration (literally dis-integration) of his ideals and desires (to the extent he actually has any, they are hard to find) is the very cause of his losing Liza and, thereby, any genuine human connection at all. It haunts me that this is such a twisted up mess.

The Underground Man's failure isn't really a demonstration of reason's limits or rationality's flaws at all, because he never genuinely engages with them. Instead, he performs an elaborate dance of reaction and self-contradiction that masquerades as philosophical critique.  The Underground Man is weak and confused, a poor choice for such a weighty critique.  I mean, I get that Dostoevsky was trying out parody but that's not as clever as he thought it might be.

The essay notes that he is "a disillusioned idealist of the Hegel-dominated Romantic philosophical generation of the 1840s" who gives expression to "Dostoyevsky's critique of radical ideology." Further, this suggests something more disturbing - he doesn't even rise to the level of genuine disillusionment because he never truly integrated or understood what he claims to reject.

His relationship with Liza is devastating not just because he fails to connect with her but, more fundamentally, his entire mode of Being has become so twisted around itself that genuine connection becomes impossible. The essay notes that "his inability to conceive of love as anything but physical and moral despotism results in a fresh humiliation of Liza, that is, 'domination and possession.'" This isn't because he actually has some competing philosophical framework or genuine conviction - it's because he has constructed an identity entirely out of reaction and negation, leaving him no way to authentically engage with another human being.

This twisted mess is perhaps the work's most contemporary and haunting aspect. The Underground Man presents himself as a sophisticated critic of rationality and progress, but he's really demonstrating something far more disturbing - how one can use intellectual sophistication to avoid rather than pursue integration and understanding, whether of ideas or human connections.

This adds new meaning to Dostoevsky's later characterization of the work as "too sombre" and "überwundener Standpunkt." Perhaps what makes it so dark isn't just its critique of rationalism or materialism, but its portrayal of this fundamental failure to integrate - this ability to construct an entire identity around avoidance and reaction while maintaining the illusion of philosophical sophistication.

The spiritual crisis that actually resides at the heart of the work isn't just about the conflict between faith and reason, or between materialist and spiritual values, but about the possibility of using intellectual sophistication itself as a way to avoid genuine engagement with ideas, values, and ultimately other human beings. 

After all, Dostoevsky himself, in the essay, states that the Underground Man is not someone he finds agreeable. "‘But I don’t agree with him,’ Dostoyevsky went on about his novel. ‘It’s really too sombre. Es ist schon ein überwundener Standpunkt [‘that’s past and over with’, literally, ‘that’s already an outdated position, or “stand-point” ’]. I am able now to write in a more serene, more reconciliatory way. Now at the moment I’m writing something [The Raw Youth] [ … ].’ Dostoyevsky’s words bring to mind his comments about Notes from Underground on the eve of its publication: the work is ‘strong and frank’, the ‘truth’, yet it is ‘too strange’, ‘harsh, wild’.” (Jackson, p. iv).

This is easily overlooked in discussions of Notes from Underground. There's a tendency to read the Underground Man as simply Dostoevsky's mouthpiece against rationalism and socialism, but Dostoevsky himself explicitly rejects this interpretation.  Which is the ultimate form of satire, isn't it?  I mean, this is next-level parody, for sure.  Almost everybody, including me, missed it, at least initially.

When Dostoevsky calls it "strong and frank" and "the truth" yet also "too strange," "harsh, wild," and "too sombre," he's acknowledging that the Underground Man represents a real and powerful position - but one that he views as ultimately inadequate and even destructive. The German phrase "überwundener Standpunkt" is actually rather damning self-criticism - this is a position that must be overcome, not embraced.  Perhaps this is the bottom line on my Dostoecsky just let the novella go after it was censored.

Dostoevsky's movement toward "a more serene, more reconciliatory way" in his (yet-to-be-written) greatest novels suggests he saw the need to move beyond mere critique to show possible paths of integration and genuine spiritual development. This makes Notes from Underground not just a critique of rationalism or materialism, but a warning about how sophisticated philosophical opposition to these ideas can itself become a form of spiritual imprisonment if it remains purely negative.

As a person, Dostoevsky explicitly distances himself from the Underground Man's position while still acknowledging its fundamental truth.  He gives us someone trapped in a position that they have developed with great intellectual sophistication, but which Dostoevsky himself sees as fundamentally limited and self-defeating.  This, in and of itself, is a strange sort of literature.  Haunting in its way.

Notes from Underground is not Dostoevsky's greatest novel.  I'm not even sure I'd classify it as “great” literature, which is not to suggest that it's a bad read. I feel it is an essential introduction to reading his great novels and wish I had read it before Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov.  It is a deceptively “simple” book until you realize it is, in fact, dense with philosophical questions and possesses a depth for plumbing the contemporary world, our place in it, and, perhaps more importantly, its place in each of us.  All with a pinch of humor, which you may not noticed to begin with.  For the Underground Man, his place in it is trivialized (and made somewhat comic) by his own neurotic expression of free will.  The underground is cheap shelter for a kind of homelessness of the soul and this haunts me more than anything else about the novella.

(to be continued)