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Thursday, March 12, 2020 | March 12, 2020 |

A Dialogue With Fyodor Dostoevsky

Fyodor Dostoevsky is a Russian author and one of the world’s greatest novelists, whose works dramatize religious, moral, philosophical, political, and psychological issues.

*The setting of this one-act play is around the time when Dostoevsky became involved with a group of idealistic young men who met in secret to discuss social problems and social reform in Russia. The repressive Tsar Nicholas I, fearing the spread of revolutionary ideas, regarded the group as highly dangerous. In April 1849 Dostoyevsky and 23 others were arrested, tried, and condemned to death; however, the sentence was changed to imprisonment in Siberia. For the next four years Dostoyevsky lived in a prison in Omsk, sharing a barracks and doing hard labor with some of Russia’s most desperate criminals.*

Characters:

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Raskolnikov (from Crime And Punishment)

Underground Man (from Notes From Underground)

Ivan (from Brothers Karamazov)

Plot: Dostoevsky engages in an intimate conversation with select characters from some of his novels.

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*After a hard day’s labor, a very tired Dostoevsky enters his designated barracks with the intent of getting rest but was nonetheless beleaguered by his three other companions.*

Underground Man: “Hey Fyodor! How hard-working you are! If I hadn’t known better, I’d say you enjoy staying here.”

Fyodor: “There you are again with your sarcastic remarks. You do know our only option is to follow the orders.”

Raskolnikov: “You speak of option, but how can it be called ‘option’ when no freedom is present?”

Fyodor: “Ah, Raskolnikov! Ever the thinker! I think it is you who should rest and not me.”

Ivan: “Raskolnikov does have a point…why must you mock him so?”

Fyodor: “Bah! I give up. What is it then that you want? Speak up.”

Raskolnikov: “We wanted to have a discourse on the concept of freedom. Because that is exactly what we are deprived of, and man’s longing is obviously directed to that which he does not possess.”

Fyodor: “Freedom is the ability to act moral under the watchful eye of God.”

Ivan: “It is my turn to mock you now Fyodor, for such definition is anything but freedom. We must all realize that the concept of God is overrated and I for one propose a godless world where people would exchange their freedom for material security and comfort.”

Underground Man: “What is it with you Ivan? How could you think of sacrificing freedom? You do know that man is not truly human without freedom!”

Fyodor: “Let us all calm down before anything regretful happens. This is after all, a discourse. Now Raskolnikov, pray tell, what do you think?”

Raskolnikov: “I think that if man is truly free, then “everything is permitted” and he should be able to step beyond the accepted limits of right and wrong.”

Raskolnikov: “Meaning, if I wanted to kill that obnoxious soldier who supervises our daily labours then I am by no means wrong in doing so, for it is simply an act of doing the greatest good, that of ending the life of an oppressor; for the sake of the greatest number of people.”

Underground Man: “Ah, so here then enters the problem with freedom! If people have freedom then their human impulses to do evil may lead them to destroy themselves and others.”

Fyodor: “I strongly agree. Human life must be guided first of all by religious principles.”

Ivan: “You and your god, Fyodor! How can you take it to heart to praise a god who permits us, innocent children included, to suffer when we do not deserve it? How foolish it all is!”

Fyodor: “Ivan, intellectual that you are, but still quite naïve. It is clear that your only intent in this discourse is to bring about your conviction of a godless world.”

Ivan: “By all means it should be!”

Underground Man: “Just can it, Ivan. You’re going nowhere.”

*Ivan gets frustrated and instead of answering back, he sulks in a corner.*

Fyodor: “Ah well! Let him be.”

Underground Man: “Raskolnikov, you speak of killing an official when you are aware that I myself used to be one, and an obnoxious one at that. Would you not hesitate to have my blood on your hands, assuming that you think it beneficial to the people I supposedly oppressed?!”

Raskolnikov: “Depends if you want me to be a hypocrite.”

Underground Man: “Why you!”

*the Underground Man attacks Raskolnikov in a fit of rage but before anybody could calm him down, he fell back, the pain in his liver stopping him.*

Fyodor: “You really should see a doctor concerning your condition.”

Underground Man: “Bah! What do you care? What do the doctors care? This pain affects only me and no one else. My liver hurts? Good, let it hurt even more!”

Fyodor: “I could never comprehend your reasoning.”

Underground Man: “I do it out of spite! And I do not expect anyone to comprehend.”

*the Underground Man goes to his bunk muttering incoherencies, leaving the scene with only Raskolnikov and Fyodor.*

Raskolnikov: “Bah to the both of them! Always full of ideas that never get materialized! What this world needs is an innovative genius in the form of crime.”

Fyodor: “Pray tell, what is it that you mean?”

Raskolnikov: “Do you not realize it? Every single great man, leaders, conquerors and the like, in the history of mankind have all committed crime to bring about something noble. That…that is exactly what must happen again.”

*Fyodor observes Raskolnikov drift off into reverie, most likely musing about how he could be the innovative genius which he talks about.*

Fyodor: “That has been interesting. But I see we’re all tired by this time. Let us all rest for the night.”

*Strangely, Fyodor felt tired no more, instead a surge of ideas rushed through his mind. Giving his companions a final glance, he smiled.*

Fyodor: “Someday the whole world would know about the three of you and your ideologies. I’ll make sure of that.”

Labels: 2020, crime and punishment, fyodor dostoevsky, notes from underground, one act play, philosophical, philosophy, russian literature, the brothers karamazov

Monday, January 30, 2017 | January 30, 2017 |

Almost Appropriate

{REC ON}

Tell me ninety-nine reasons to justify a suicide. Illustrate with the power of logic an explanation which appropriates to man the right to take his own life. And pray tell, if men, as such bestowed with free will, how is it that an act requiring one’s volition to execute is deemed preposterous and even forbidden?

I do not suffer from Melancholia nor am I perverse; for many, a variation of these comprise their ninety-nine reasons to vindicate suicide, but I’m afraid these are weak explications.

What about the hundredth reason? Is it any different nor any stronger? We’ll get down to it in a moment.

Let us first consider young Werther.

Werther, if memory serves me right, was what we might consider a jilted lover. He longed for a woman beyond his reach and so took his own life. Howbeit, that wasn’t his only reason. He also made mention that he wanted to, and I quote “come home to God”. Werther was a man of faith. Suicide was merely the means to the end he wanted which was to be reunited in Paradise with his Creator. I too, am like Werther.

I believe in God and in Christ who shed His blood for my salvation but I do not believe in suicide as a sin-

{REC OFF}

The camera stopped recording. I played it back and watched myself. A few seconds into the video, I had to pause it. I hate the sound of my own voice. It was like a machine droning- except the machine made slow farting noises, the kind that sleazy B-list comedians let out in Will Ferrel movies. The voice sounded like a cow mooing and I hated the fact that it came from me.

I deleted the footage then threw the camera to the wall. It fell with a slight thud. Looking around, the room was a mess so I decided to clean it before-

Before I do it.

I don’t need a camera to record what I’m about to say. The burden of carrying this weight on my shoulders has gone on for too long and I want out of it.

First let me start off by saying: I am going to hell.

This realization hit me when I was about eighteen years old. I had an argument with my father concerning my future plans; he had it laid out before me, after graduation I was to attend Med School and become a physician just like him. Needless to say, I disobeyed. Disobeying everything seemed to be my forte, I’m ashamed to admit. I have been breaking laws (albeit in petty fashion) since I was young. Wasn’t I the one who disobeyed that voice in my head commanding me to not push that little girl from the swing many years ago in first grade? She ended up with two bruised knee caps and it was the guidance office for me. I tried to make up for it several years after by asking her to the prom only to ditch her during the dance for another, prettier girl.

A flood of memories came over me, one by one, sin by sin. I was like Mephistopheles, but in my case, I had good intentions and was doomed to forever commit evil. My mind is racked with voices arguing back and forth, commenting on all my activities, telling me what to do. Paranoia has been a staple for me the last couple of years. Looking over my shoulder, eyes are always watching me and they can see that I am wont to sin. They follow me everywhere, even in my head. Whenever I aim to do good, the voices in my head won’t stop chattering until I do the exact opposite of what I set out to do!

Although, these may seem trivial to some of you, but if you add one after another, the result is one ginormous boulder of a sin. And don’t argue with me that it’s the intention that counts, not the act.

For, really, was it not said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?

My hard-headedness gets the best of me. I could never count the times I made my mother cry, poor thing! I refused to go by society’s standards and found myself apprehended by authorities not once but for several. Bad to the bone and going to hell.

I decided over a year ago to end my life. Knowing of my after-life destination, I resolved to commit suicide by shooting myself. Perhaps more than to silence the voices in my head, but rather to consummate the Divine Will of my Creator. The plan was, to record a video of myself to decipher my reasons, afterwards point a gun to my head and have everything recorded on camera.

That was over a year ago today.

Right now, I rescinded my initial plan of recording on camera (once again, evincing my knack for disobedience!) and settled to just clean the room first. Once everything is in place, I took out the gun from the drawer.

As I’ve said previously, I believe in God and in Christ who shed His blood for my salvation, but I do not believe in suicide as sin. Freewill is given to me that I may obey the Lord out of the autonomy of my heart and I know the Lord willed for this day to come.

I am going to hell. Save your prayers for the worthy who need it. The Lord foresaw that I am to be nothing but grime on the surface of his covenant, the dross of all creation, a scum of the earth. Through death, I shall purify the sins of those condemned to hell like I am that they may not suffer the same fate.

It is already night and the wind is howling outside. The curtains swing back and forth excitedly, as if aware of what I’m about to do. I pointed the gun to my chest. I determined not to shoot it directly at my head for that would be too messy. See, even in the last moment, I am disobedient. Such is my kismet.

So it is written, so it shall be done.

[INSPECTOR’S P.O.V.]

He had to admit, despite the blotch of blood on the chest, everything was in order. The desk was neat, the books aligned perfectly on a nearby shelf and there was no sign of any external struggle. He bent down on his knees to get a closer look of the face, it wasn't protocol but he was rather curious; the dead man’s face was serene as a sleeping toddler. Furthermore, he swears by the good Book that there was a smile on the lips-or at least a hint of it, as if what he did to himself was the most natural thing in the world. He couldn't look away; he's had his share of cases like this but this was the only one where he felt like suicide was the right thing to happen. A gust of wind entered from an open window and he shuddered. He wasn't supposed to be thinking this way, afterall, he's been taught all his life that suicide is a sin, an act that will send your soul straight to the pits of hell. However in this case, the young man's room, his outfit, his face- he’ll be damned if it hadn’t looked almost appropriate.

[/END INSPECTOR’S P.O.V.]

Labels: 2017, aiko lactaotao, aiko-lactaotao, demons, dostoevsky, fiction, flash fiction, fyodor dostoevsky, short story, suicide, the sorrows of young werther

Thursday, March 12, 2020 | March 12, 2020 |

A Dialogue With Fyodor Dostoevsky