The following post by Austin Benedetto, an undergraduate student at Northwestern University, is the fourth in a new series of posts highlighting exemplary work by undergraduates with interests in Russian Philosophy and Religious Thought. The NURPRT Forum welcomes any undergraduate student to submit academic writing related to these fields to be considered for publication.
Certainty is comforting, but it is dangerous. In a polarized time, this danger is even more pronounced. Instead of coming together and pursuing answers through genuine dialogue, people argue and very few listen. Little room is left for questioning and truth-seeking.
While this seems dire, great novels can assist. These stories, like the Federal Reserve, possess a dual mandate: they show the consequences of living by certain ideas and function as a way to practice empathy. Through well-crafted characters, the reader sees “real” people wrestle with their beliefs. Consequentially, ideas become more human and less ethereal. But does reading really help? Yes, according to the journalist David Brooks, “researchers have found that people who read are more empathetic.”[1]
Thus, we turn to Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons. It is among the first realist novels and masterfully serves this dual purpose. The tale follows two recent graduates, Arkady and Bazarov, who return home to their families. Yet, upon this happy reunion, a disconnect emerges between the students and their elders. A similar trend occurs today, reaching its apotheosis with the “Ok, boomer” movement: the idea that we should ignore those that came before and “screwed everything up.” Disrespect and a wish to end dialogue permeate this youthful crusade.
Arkady, infatuated with his classmate Bazarov, also adopts the fashionable ideology: nihilism. Nihilism attracts the young through its promises of “bow[ing] down to no authority” and taking “no single principle on trust.”[2] It is a form of freedom from responsibility and the past. But is this really freedom? Pavel Petrovich, Arkady’s uncle and a member of the previous generation, would say no: “We’ll see how you’ll manage to exist in a void, in space without air.”[3] Pavel’s challenge operates as the crux for the rest of the novel: is it possible to live life with without awe or respect for others? The answer is never directly stated. Instead, we are left with realistic situations that allow the reader to witness the consequences of pursuing emptiness and ignorance.
No character arc exhibits the costs of nihilism like Bazarov: a materialist and chemist, who rejects the idea that any principle is too sacred to be doubted. He declares that people “are just like frogs, except that we walk on two legs.”[4] Bazarov is a cynic who believes there is no more to anything but material. Even nature is “nonsense” to him. Bazarov describes the natural world as “not a temple but a workshop, and man is a workman in it.”[5] There is no place for lofty, moral feelings like empathy.
Yet, experience confronts these cold propositions. While he initially believes that love can be understood exhaustively by merely looking at “the anatomy of the eye,” an encounter challenges this belief.[6] After he meets an attractive and intelligent woman, he “[recognizes] with indignation that he had become a romantic.”[7] Literary critic Gary Saul Morson refers to a moment in which “the hero’s experience refutes his theory” as “an irony of outcomes.”[8] Bazarov undergoes this repudiation, and when confronted by such disconcerting feelings, he does not lie to himself. He acknowledges this change, and it angers him. One can attribute many negative qualities to Bazarov’s character, but he remains honest. Here is where empathy emerges. Bazarov is a real person who can and will come to terms with evidence that contradicts his most cherished theories. He, perhaps to his dismay, sees counterarguments – other possibilities.
To further understand the humanity of Bazarov, it is worth examining a duel with his antagonist Pavel Petrovich. This moment will prove to be his most redeeming. Pavel is emblematic of the old, aristocratic generation. He dresses and conducts himself nobly, but he can be rash. So, after seeing Bazarov kiss his brother’s romantic partner, he challenges him to a duel.
This duel is an “absurdity” to Bazarov, but it also manifests his change. “From a theoretic point of view,” he rejects it, “but from a practical one it’s another matter.”[9] Despite Bazarov’s earlier gravitation towards theoreticism, he now realizes ideology is often futile. Real life instead calls for another form of thinking. Pisarev, a famous Russian “nihilist,” writes:
The fact is that our thought is free, and our actions take place in time and space… Bazarov knows this, and therefore in his actions he is guided by practical sense, intelligence and skill, and not by theoretical considerations.[10]
Pisarev, despite his alleged nihilism, espouses a strange optimism. Bazarov is thoughtful and will act appropriately to the situation. As Garrett Hardin, a prominent ecologist, writes in the Tragedy of the Commons: “When men mutually agreed to pass laws against robbing, mankind became more free, not less so… I believe it was Hegel who said, ‘Freedom is the recognition of necessity.’”[11] Realizing that we are bound to our situation is paradoxically freeing.
During the duel, Bazarov shoots Pavel – at which point, Bazarov is “no longer a duelist but a doctor.”[12] As the situation changes so does Bazarov – and in this, there is hope for reconciliation between the generations. Pisarev concludes his review of the novel, stating:
Today’s young people get carried away and go to extremes, but in their very actions fresh strength and an incorruptible mind are reflected; this strength and this mind, without any extraneous aids or influences, will lead young people onto a straight path and support them in life.[13]
Perhaps, there is hope that the young generation’s “strength of mind” will correct the folly of their extremes – but how so? Certainly, finding a panacea will not be easy. But to look for a potential answer, it is worth exploring the role that this question plays within Dostoevsky’s Dream of a Ridiculous Man.
At the story’s onset, the Ridiculous Man “stopped thinking altogether” as everything “didn’t matter.”[14] The world to the Ridiculous Man was so void of possibility and existence that “all the questions vanished.”[15] He is so certain of meaninglessness that he lacks the ability to discover and to hope. Similar to Bazarov, he sees only matter without any underlying meaning. He goes so far as to say human action is just for “form’s sake.”[16] In other words, people are automatons who merely do what society requires. Implicitly, he detests the ability to see other possibilities – or practice empathy.
Yet this mindset, bereft of curiosity or inquisitiveness, begins its metamorphosis after the Ridiculous Man sees a young girl suffering. Unexpectedly, he feels compassion, and despite thinking that he “would certainly have helped out a child” whom he pities, he storms away.[17] “a question [that] suddenly arose” that he “wasn’t able to answer.”[18] The reader is not told the exact question which the Ridiculous Man entertains. Yet, the content of this question is, at this point, not as important as the act of questioning. The fact that there are questions to ask at all is revitalizing.
Soon the Ridiculous Man has tons of questions “crowding” his mind.[19] Questions self-propagate, each having “an entirely different twist” on the one prior. In this way, he is able to “[conceive] something quite new.”[20] Through cultivating an open mind, he is beginning to grasp the novel and unpredictable nature of reality. He even declares that the suffering girl had revived him as “the questions led [him] to putting off killing [him]self.”[21] It is questions, in all their twists and unexpected digressions, that suggest the Ridiculous Man is not a superfluous addendum to the universe. Unlike before, he is actively trying to discover something more – and it is this fruitful pursuit which finally makes him feel meaning. No longer is he a prisoner of certainty.
Following this mental alteration, the Ridiculous Man has a dream in which he sees another earth where everyone loves each other. Many claim this dream is the real harbinger of his metamorphosis as, in the dream, he sees the possibility of truly loving thy neighbor. However, I contend it is the experience of questioning that is the real catalyst for change. For example, after seeing the new planet he asks: “is it really the same earth as our own… just the same–unhappy, wretched yet dear?”[22] He is asking: are there multiple possibilities – can earth be different? No longer is the Ridiculous Man certain of meaninglessness. Instead, he is actively trying to see other possibilities, and this time he does get an answer: “the only difference” was that this “entire earth here was one and the same paradise.”[23] The question receives a reply, but it is the pursuit which allows him to explore and notice the difference.
His newfound inquisitiveness leads him to live in a way he had not known. He feels the “sensation of the fullness of life.”[24] This “fullness” is left ambiguous, but it may be that there are so many lines of inquiry to pursue that, by questioning, one feels a sense of fullness. Inquiry opens the possibility for different answers that certainty and its absolutism cannot entertain. David Brooks describes wisdom as “the ability to hold opposite truths… in the mind at the same time, without wrestling to impose some linear order.”[25] The Ridiculous Man shows how we might gradually acquire this ability, and perhaps this capacity is the “strength of mind” Pisarev preaches.
Later, the Ridiculous Man states: “if I’m so confused now, what will happen in the future?”[26] His questions have led not to an answer but to confusion. Yet, this perplexity is directly related to the essential questions he is asking. Due to them, he has obtained what he needs – the courage to travel on in the midst of false certainty while also respecting his co-travelers.
As the dream reaches its end, the affectionate people of this new Earth become corrupted. The people start to proclaim, “science will give us true wisdom” and that it is “all or nothing.”[27] These declarations, the Ridiculous Man preaches, is what “we need to fight against!”[28] A false, non-inquiring “science,” just like deep-rooted political beliefs, only allows certainty, while real life has so many questions and possibilities. When people criticize the Man’s dream as “just ravings and hallucinations,” he does not declare anything.[29] Instead, he asks: “Is our very life not a dream?”[30] The Ridiculous Man’s response leaves room for further dialogue.
Dialogue often seems to be missing when you turn on the TV or read political articles. Even when there is a “debate,” it is often people declaring certainties back and forth. There is no generative discourse by which a new possible answer may arise. People fail to see they may be wrong. As a result, few questions are asked. We forego the opportunity to seek the dream: an understanding of realities other than our own.
Now, we can understand the failure of the “Ok, boomer” mindset. The framework lacks empathy. It says “shut up,” while not attempting to understand older people’s experiences. That is to say, we abandon empathy and inquiry.
In order to understand the significance of the Ridiculous Man’s inquisitive spirt, it is essential to return to Bazarov. After catching typhus through a post-mortem surgery, he progressively withers away. While dying, he states: “Russia needs me… No, she clearly doesn’t. And who is needed? A cobbler is needed, a tailor is needed, a butcher…”[31] He has realized he is wrong and unneeded; instead, earth needs people to do real work. He understands the need for others but does not want to live in world where he is dependent. His inability to reconcile with this fact is his final tragedy.
The best formulation of this idea comes from the end of Voltaire’s Candide: a polemical novel on Leibniz’s idea that we live in the best of all possible worlds. The story ends with the famous line: “we must cultivate our garden.”[32] This idea of work echoes Bazarov – but how does one actually cultivate? The answer seems to be though productive labor but also through wonder. It is foolish to be certain and dismissive. Instead, we must live like the Ridiculous Man and hope there is a better possible reality – a reality we can pursue by asking questions and pursuing truth together.
Austin Benedetto is a Northwestern undergraduate student majoring in Economics. His interests include a wide range of literature and philosophy but is the most intrigued by the 19th century Russian authors. He is currently focused on questions regarding emotivism, suffering, and how Russian literature helps address the problem of meaning and death in modern thought.
Image: Arthur Rackam, Then the Youth Took the Axe and Split the Anvil with One Blow; Catching the Old Man’s Beard at the Same Time 1909
[1] David Brooks, How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen. (New York: Random House, 2023), 155.
[2] Ivan Turgenev. Fathers and Sons. Translated by Peter Carson. (Penguin Classics, 2009), 23.
[3] Turgenev, Fathers and Sons, 24.
[4] Turgenev, Fathers and Sons, 20.
[5] Turgenev, Fathers and Sons, 43.
[6] Turgenev, Fathers and Sons, 33.
[7] Turgenev, Fathers and Sons, 91.
[8] Gary Saul Morson, “The Greatest Christian Novel.” First Things, May 1st 2021, www.firstthings.com/article/2021/05/the-greatest-christian-novel.
[9] Turgenev, Fathers and Sons, 151.
[10] D.I. Pisarev, “Bazarov.” Translated by Google. Arizona Library, 1862, az.lib.ru/p/pisarew_d/text_0220.shtml.
[11] Hardin, Garrett. “The Tragedy of the Commons.” (Science 162, 1968): 1243–1248.
[12] Turgenev, Fathers and Sons, 153.
[13] D.I. Pisarev, “Bazarov.”
[14] Fyodor Dostoyevsky. A Writer’s Diary. Translated by K. A Lantz. (Northwestern University Press, 1993-1994), 380.
[15] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 380.
[16] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 381.
[17] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 383.
[18] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 383.
[19] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 384.
[20] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 384.
[21] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 384.
[22] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 388.
[23] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 380.
[24] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 392.
[25] David Brooks, How to Know a Person, 207.
[26] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 396.
[27] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 394-395.
[28] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 397.
[29] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 397.
[30] Dostoevsky, A Writer’s Diary, 397.
[31] Turgenev, Fathers and Sons, 194.
[32] Francois Voltaire. Candide: Or Optimism. Translated by Theo Cuffe (Penguin Classics, 2009).