Notes From Underground Read online

a man who is "divorced from the soil and the national elements," as

  they express it now-a-days. His moans become nasty, disgustingly malignant,

  and go on for whole days and nights. And of course he knows

  himself that he is doing himself no sort of good with his moans; he knows

  better than anyone that he is only lacerating and harassing himself and

  others for nothing; he knows that even the audience before whom he is

  making his efforts, and his whole family, listen to him with loathing, do

  not put a ha'porth of faith in him, and inwardly understand that he might

  moan differently, more simply, without trills and flourishes, and that he is

  only amusing himself like that from ill-humour, from malignancy. Well,

  in all these recognitions and disgraces it is that there lies a voluptuous

  pleasure. As though he would say: "I am worrying you, I am lacerating

  your hearts, I am keeping everyone in the house awake. Well, stay awake

  then, you, too, feel every minute that I have toothache. I am not a hero

  to you now, as I tried to seem before, but simply a nasty person, an

  impostor. Well, so be it, then! I am very glad that you see through me. It

  is nasty for you to hear my despicable moans: well, let it be nasty; here I

  will let you have a nastier flourish in a minute. ..." You do not

  understand even now, gentlemen? No, it seems our development and our

  consciousness must go further to understand all the intricacies of this

  pleasure. You laugh? Delighted. My jests, gentlemen, are of course in

  bad taste, jerky, involved, lacking self-confidence. But of course that is

  because I do not respect myself. Can a man of perception respect himself

  at all?

  V

  Come, can a man who attempts to find enjoyment in the very feeling of

  his own degradation possibly have a spark of respect for himself? I am not

  saying this now from any mawkish kind of remorse. And, indeed, I could

  never endure saying, "Forgive me, Papa, I won't do it again," not because

  I am incapable of saying that--on the contrary, perhaps just because I

  have been too capable of it, and in what a way, too. As though of design I

  used to get into trouble in cases when I was not to blame in any way. That

  was the nastiest part of it. At the same time I was genuinely touched and

  penitent, I used to shed tears and, of course, deceived myself, though I

  was not acting in the least and there was a sick feeling in my heart at the

  time. ... For that one could not blame even the laws of nature, though

  the laws of nature have continually all my life offended me more than

  anything. It is loathsome to remember it all, but it was loathsome even

  then. Of course, a minute or so later I would realise wrathfully that it was

  all a lie, a revolting lie, an affected lie, that is, all this penitence, this

  emotion, these vows of reform. You will ask why did I worry myself with

  such antics: answer, because it was very dull to sit with one's hands

  folded, and so one began cutting capers. That is really it. Observe

  yourselves more carefully, gentlemen, then you will understand that it is

  so. I invented adventures for myself and made up a life, so as at least to

  live in some way. How many times it has happened to me--well, for

  instance, to take offence simply on purpose, for nothing; and one knows

  oneself, of course, that one is offended at nothing; that one is putting it

  on, but yet one brings oneself at last to the point of being really offended.

  All my life I have had an impulse to play such pranks, so that in the end I

  could not control it in myself. Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to

  be in love. I suffered, too, gentlemen, I assure you. In the depth of my

  heart there was no faith in my suffering, only a faint stir of mockery, but

  yet I did suffer, and in the real, orthodox way; I was jealous, beside myself

  ... and it was all from ENNUI, gentlemen, all from ENNUI; inertia overcame

  me. You know the direct, legitimate fruit of consciousness is

  inertia, that is, conscious sitting-with-the-hands-folded. I have referred

  to this already. I repeat, I repeat with emphasis: all "direct" persons and

  men of action are active just because they are stupid and limited. How

  explain that? I will tell you: in consequence of their limitation they take

  immediate and secondary causes for primary ones, and in that way

  persuade themselves more quickly and easily than other people do that

  they have found an infallible foundation for their activity, and their

  minds are at ease and you know that is the chief thing. To begin to act,

  you know, you must first have your mind completely at ease and no trace

  of doubt left in it. Why, how am I, for example, to set my mind at rest?

  Where are the primary causes on which I am to build? Where are my

  foundations? Where am I to get them from? I exercise myself in reflection,

  and consequently with me every primary cause at once draws after

  itself another still more primary, and so on to infinity. That is just the

  essence of every sort of consciousness and reflection. It must be a case of

  the laws of nature again. What is the result of it in the end? Why, just the

  same. Remember I spoke just now of vengeance. (I am sure you did not

  take it in.) I said that a man revenges himself because he sees justice in it.

  Therefore he has found a primary cause, that is, justice. And so he is at

  rest on all sides, and consequently he carries out his revenge calmly and

  successfully, being persuaded that he is doing a just and honest thing. But

  I see no justice in it, I find no sort of virtue in it either, and consequently

  if I attempt to revenge myself, it is only out of spite. Spite, of course,

  might overcome everything, all my doubts, and so might serve quite

  successfully in place of a primary cause, precisely because it is not a

  cause. But what is to be done if I have not even spite (I began with that

  just now, you know). In consequence again of those accursed laws of

  consciousness, anger in me is subject to chemical disintegration. You

  look into it, the object flies off into air, your reasons evaporate, the

  criminal is not to be found, the wrong becomes not a wrong but a

  phantom, something like the toothache, for which no one is to blame,

  and consequently there is only the same outlet left again--that is, to beat

  the wall as hard as you can. So you give it up with a wave of the hand

  because you have not found a fundamental cause. And try letting yourself

  be carried away by your feelings, blindly, without reflection, without a

  primary cause, repelling consciousness at least for a time; hate or love, if

  only not to sit with your hands folded. The day after tomorrow, at the

  latest, you will begin despising yourself for having knowingly deceived

  yourself. Result: a soap-bubble and inertia. Oh, gentlemen, do you

  know, perhaps I consider myself an intelligent man, only because all my

  life I have been able neither to begin nor to finish anything. Granted I am

  a babbler, a harmless vexatious babbler, like all of us. But what is to be

  done if the direct and sole vocation of every intelligent man is babble,

  that
is, the intentional pouring of water through a sieve?

  VI

  Oh, if I had done nothing simply from laziness! Heavens, how I should

  have respected myself, then. I should have respected myself because I

  should at least have been capable of being lazy; there would at least have

  been one quality, as it were, positive in me, in which I could have believed

  myself. Question: What is he? Answer: A sluggard; how very pleasant it

  would have been to hear that of oneself! It would mean that I was positively

  defined, it would mean that there was something to say about me.

  "Sluggard"--why, it is a calling and vocation, it is a career. Do not jest, it

  is so. I should then be a member of the best club by right, and should find

  my occupation in continually respecting myself. I knew a gentleman who

  prided himself all his life on being a connoisseur of Lafitte. He considered

  this as his positive virtue, and never doubted himself. He died, not simply

  with a tranquil, but with a triumphant conscience, and he was quite right,

  too. Then I should have chosen a career for myself, I should have been a

  sluggard and a glutton, not a simple one, but, for instance, one with

  sympathies for everything sublime and beautiful. How do you like that? I

  have long had visions of it. That "sublime and beautiful" weighs heavily

  on my mind at forty But that is at forty; then--oh, then it would have

  been different! I should have found for myself a form of activity in keeping

  with it, to be precise, drinking to the health of everything "sublime and

  beautiful." I should have snatched at every opportunity to drop a tear into

  my glass and then to drain it to all that is "sublime and beautiful." I should

  then have turned everything into the sublime and the beautiful; in the

  nastiest, unquestionable trash, I should have sought out the sublime and

  the beautiful. I should have exuded tears like a wet sponge. An artist, for

  instance, paints a picture worthy of Gay. At once I drink to the health of

  the artist who painted the picture worthy of Gay, because I love all that is

  "sublime and beautiful." An author has written AS YOU WILL: at once I drink

  to the health of "anyone you will" because I love all that is "sublime and

  beautiful."

  I should claim respect for doing so. I should persecute anyone who

  would not show me respect. I should live at ease, I should die with

  dignity, why, it is charming, perfectly charming! And what a good round

  belly I should have grown, what a treble chin I should have established,

  what a ruby nose I should have coloured for myself, so that everyone

  would have said, looking at me: "Here is an asset! Here is something real

  and solid!" And, say what you like, it is very agreeable to hear such

  remarks about oneself in this negative age.

  VII

  But these are all golden dreams. Oh, tell me, who was it first announced,

  who was it first proclaimed, that man only does nasty things because he

  does not know his own interests; and that if he were enlightened, if his

  eyes were opened to his real normal interests, man would at once cease to

  do nasty things, would at once become good and noble because, being

  enlightened and understanding his real advantage, he would see his own

  advantage in the good and nothing else, and we all know that not one

  man can, consciously, act against his own interests, consequently, so to

  say, through necessity, he would begin doing good? Oh, the babe! Oh,

  the pure, innocent child! Why, in the first place, when in all these

  thousands of years has there been a time when man has acted only from

  his own interest? What is to be done with the millions of facts that bear

  witness that men, CONSCIOUSLY, that is fully understanding their real

  interests, have left them in the background and have rushed headlong on

  another path, to meet peril and danger, compelled to this course by

  nobody and by nothing, but, as it were, simply disliking the beaten track,

  and have obstinately, wilfully, struck out another difficult, absurd way,

  seeking it almost in the darkness. So, I suppose, this obstinacy and

  perversity were pleasanter to them than any advantage. ... Advantage!

  What is advantage? And will you take it upon yourself to define with

  perfect accuracy in what the advantage of man consists? And what if it so

  happens that a man's advantage, SOMETIMES, not only may, but even

  must, consist in his desiring in certain cases what is harmful to himself

  and not advantageous. And if so, if there can be such a case, the whole

  principle falls into dust. What do you think--are there such cases? You

  laugh; laugh away, gentlemen, but only answer me: have man's advantages

  been reckoned up with perfect certainty? Are there not some which not

  only have not been included but cannot possibly be included under any

  classification? You see, you gentlemen have, to the best of my

  knowledge, taken your whole register of human advantages from the

  averages of statistical figures and politico-economical formulas. Your

  advantages are prosperity, wealth, freedom, peace--and so on, and so

  on. So that the man who should, for instance, go openly and knowingly

  in opposition to all that list would to your thinking, and indeed mine,

  too, of course, be an obscurantist or an absolute madman: would not he?

  But, you know, this is what is surprising: why does it so happen that all

  these statisticians, sages and lovers of humanity, when they reckon up

  human advantages invariably leave out one? They don't even take it into

  their reckoning in the form in which it should be taken, and the whole

  reckoning depends upon that. It would be no greater matter, they would

  simply have to take it, this advantage, and add it to the list. But the

  trouble is, that this strange advantage does not fall under any classification

  and is not in place in any list. I have a friend for instance ... Ech!

  gentlemen, but of course he is your friend, too; and indeed there is no

  one, no one to whom he is not a friend! When he prepares for any

  undertaking this gentleman immediately explains to you, elegantly and

  clearly, exactly how he must act in accordance with the laws of reason and

  truth. What is more, he will talk to you with excitement and passion of

  the true normal interests of man; with irony he will upbraid the short-

  sighted fools who do not understand their own interests, nor the true

  significance of virtue; and, within a quarter of an hour, without any

  sudden outside provocation, but simply through something inside him

  which is stronger than all his interests, he will go off on quite a different

  tack--that is, act in direct opposition to what he has just been saying

  about himself, in opposition to the laws of reason, in opposition to his

  own advantage, in fact in opposition to everything ... I warn you that

  my friend is a compound personality and therefore it is difficult to blame

  him as an individual. The fact is, gentlemen, it seems there must really

  exist something that is dearer to almost every man than his greatest

  advantages, or (not to be illogical) there is a most adva
ntageous advantage

  (the very one omitted of which we spoke just now) which is more

  important and more advantageous than all other advantages, for the sake

  of which a man if necessary is ready to act in opposition to all laws; that

  is, in opposition to reason, honour, peace, prosperity--in fact, in opposition

  to all those excellent and useful things if only he can attain that

  fundamental, most advantageous advantage which is dearer to him

  than all. "Yes, but it's advantage all the same," you will retort. But excuse

  me, I'll make the point clear, and it is not a case of playing upon words.

  What matters is, that this advantage is remarkable from the very fact that

  it breaks down all our classifications, and continually shatters every

  system constructed by lovers of mankind for the benefit of mankind. In

  fact, it upsets everything. But before I mention this advantage to you, I

  want to compromise myself personally, and therefore I boldly declare

  that all these fine systems, all these theories for explaining to mankind

  their real normal interests, in order that inevitably striving to pursue

  these interests they may at once become good and noble--are, in my

  opinion, so far, mere logical exercises! Yes, logical exercises. Why, to

  maintain this theory of the regeneration of mankind by means of the

  pursuit of his own advantage is to my mind almost the same thing ...

  as to affirm, for instance, following Buckle, that through civilisation

  mankind becomes softer, and consequently less bloodthirsty and less

  fitted for warfare. Logically it does seem to follow from his arguments.

  But man has such a predilection for systems and abstract deductions that

  he is ready to distort the truth intentionally, he is ready to deny the

  evidence of his senses only to justify his logic. I take this example

  because it is the most glaring instance of it. Only look about you: blood

  is being spilt in streams, and in the merriest way, as though it were

  champagne. Take the whole of the nineteenth century in which Buckle

  lived. Take Napoleon--the Great and also the present one. Take North

  America--the eternal union. Take the farce of Schleswig-Holstein ....

  And what is it that civilisation softens in us? The only gain of civilisation

  for mankind is the greater capacity for variety of sensations--and

  absolutely nothing more. And through the development of this many-

  sidedness man may come to finding enjoyment in bloodshed. In fact,

  this has already happened to him. Have you noticed that it is the most

  civilised gentlemen who have been the subtlest slaughterers, to whom

  the Attilas and Stenka Razins could not hold a candle, and if they are

  not so conspicuous as the Attilas and Stenka Razins it is simply because

  they are so often met with, are so ordinary and have become so familiar

  to us. In any case civilisation has made mankind if not more bloodthirsty,

  at least more vilely, more loathsomely bloodthirsty. In old days

  he saw justice in bloodshed and with his conscience at peace exterminated

  those he thought proper. Now we do think bloodshed abominable

  and yet we engage in this abomination, and with more energy than ever.

  Which is worse? Decide that for yourselves. They say that Cleopatra

  (excuse an instance from Roman history) was fond of sticking gold pins

  into her slave-girls' breasts and derived gratification from their screams

  and writhings. You will say that that was in the comparatively barbarous

  times; that these are barbarous times too, because also, comparatively

  speaking, pins are stuck in even now; that though man has now learned

  to see more clearly than in barbarous ages, he is still far from having

  learnt to act as reason and science would dictate. But yet you are fully

  convinced that he will be sure to learn when he gets rid of certain old