CRIME AND PUNISHMENT by Feodor Dostoyevsky (1866) translated from the Russian by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky (1992) with an introduction by W.J. Leatherbarrow (1993)
Dostoyevsky’s great novel is about how a young man with basically decent and humane feeling puts himself into a psychological state in which he commits a cold-blooded murder.
When we meet the young man, Raskolnikov, he is hungry, exhausted, and in ill health. He is full of guilt for sponging off his needy mother and sister. He is deeply in debt to a pawnbroker, a greedy old woman who has an abused half-sister.
We later learn that he wasn’t always like this. A fairly short time before the action of the novel begins, when he was solvent and healthy, he was compassionate and responsible, keeping his own life in order and going out of this way to constructively help others.
But now he is in a state where his mind is on automatic pilot—acting on impulse rather than conscious decision. Some of his impulses are generous and kind, some are bad, but none are the result of conscious decision.
This state has been well described by 20th century psychologists, starting with Sigmund Freud. The conscious mind is not necessarily master in its own house. It thinks it is the CEO of the human personality, but often it is just the PR department.
Dostoyevsky understood through introspection and observation what Freud and others later figured out through scientific study and clinical experience.
Raskonnikov’s main source of self-esteem is an article he wrote about how the end justifies the means, and how a truly great person, such as Napoleon, pursues his goal by all means necessary, without concern for moral rules.
Napoleon knowingly caused the deaths of many thousands of innocent people, but he was regarded as a great man because he was a force for progress, Raskolnikov wrote; a Napoleon on the individual level, who acquired money through a crime, but used the money to do good, would also be great. In fact, it could be your duty to overcome qualms of conscience to accomplish a great goal.
He begins to fantasize about killing the pawnbroker and using her money to help his mother and sister, canceling out the criminal act by the good deed. But there is no point in the narrative at which he comes to a conscious decision to commit the murder.
One day he overhears a student arguing with a military officer about that very thing. The student says that killing and robbing the pawnbroker would be justified if the money was used to accomplish a greater good, because the pawnbroker contributes nothing to society. Ah, replies the officer, but would you really do it? No, the student admits.
This is what the experimental psychologist Daniel Kahneman called priming or anchoring—one of the subtle things that influence human action below the level of consciousness.
Raskolnikov goes ahead and commits the murder. He kills the greedy pawnbroker and then her innocent half-sister. All the while he acts more on impulse and instinct more than rational judgement. It is as if he is a spectator to his own actions.
I myself have experienced being in such a mental state. I have done things with my mind on automatic pilot, sometimes to my great regret, and then wonder why I did them.
Raskolnikov flees the murder scene and gets away with loot, but not as much as if he had been able to act calmly, rationally and decisively.
Later he reproaches himself, not for committing the murder, but for not being Napoleon-like character he imagined himself to be. But his sense of guilt is too great and he eventually confesses. Even so, he is still tortured by the conflict between his conscience and his philosophy.
Raskolnikov’s inability to overcome his basic human decency is not, as he saw it, a fatal flaw, but a saving grace