The Idiot. Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Translated by Eva Martin. This eBook is designed and published by Planet PDF. For more free. eBooks visit our Web site at. Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg. Der Idiot By Fjodor Dostojewski. Ebook Der Idiot By Fjodor Dostojewski currently available at ndolefideshal.tk for review only, if you need complete.
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The Idiot is a novel by the 19th-century Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky. It was first Print/export. Create a book · Download as PDF · Printable version. Der Idiot - Vollständige deutsche Ausgabe by Fjodor Michailowitsch Dostojewski - Historical. 1. By: Fjodor Michailowitsch Dostojewski. Der Idiot. der idiot. 4DDD7FAE27D2A9CACD3BF6F. Der Idiot. 1 / 6 Read " Der Idiot" by Fjodor Michailowitsch Dostojewski available from Rakuten Kobo.
Being is, while nonbeing is not. Both emerge and disappear among the mountain ranges of the Swiss Alps: Myshkin in the bright, blue infinite of the sublime; Stavrogin in the negative infinity of the dull place, a ravine cramped by the mountains. Let us note that the finale of their earthly trajectory is almost the same. Bullock and M. Jennings Cambridge, MA: Belknap, , The anthropological dimension of such an understanding of the angelic is not far from Russian Orthodox theological interpretations.
This character of angelic love is manifested negatively in the image of the fall of the fallen demons, who desired precisely their own: demanding to establish their kingdom with the prince of this world. An angel, Bulgakov writes, is the other drugogo and a friend drug. Thomas A. Eerdmans, , Tomasz Klimkowski Krakow: Universitas, , Colm Luibheid New York: Paulist, , — This world, enclosed in the trajectories of characters and spaces between them, is so much richer than the one that surrounds Myshkin, flattened by his idiocy.
This act of copying hand- writing styles creates an impression of Myshkin trying on various costumes or masks, as if he were experimenting with the possibilities of living in various forms of human life which brings to mind the dark experiments with masks and life scenarios of another tenant of intermediary space, the demon Stavrogin.
Not having a life of his own, he tries on several roles that he does not understand. Here, he loses himself in grandiose gestures, which do not communicate anything in particular, and experiments with various lives, trying them on like his all-too-fashionable clothing.
In so doing, he always looks awkward he is not as experienced with borrowed lives and ideas as is his evil twin brother, Stavrogin. Angelic, faceless individuality can only be perceived beyond a temporal order—once Myshkin is thrown back into the chronology the story , he returns to his clinical idiocy.
We may say that Myshkin experiences an experimental world, the world as possibility, which in actuality leads to disappointment, a melancholy of fulfillment. In the rare moments of assuming his true identity, he plunges back into the infinite beyond the horizon line, losing consciousness. Myshkin aligns with himself only during an epileptic fit. But what would his angelic message be after all? Peter Sloterdjik gives an ambiguous answer, which could be reconciled with the theological ontology of an angel.
Wieland Hoban Los Angeles: Semiotext e , , Still, he is not fully actualized in the plot. If Myshkin preserves his marginal status, occupying the center of the novel, Alyosha seems to lose his transparency, gradually materializing in the fabula. Instead, let us take a closer look at a marginal character, Kalganov, who consistently preserves his status of marginality throughout the novel.
To be more precise, Kalganov belongs to a peculiar cluster of marginal characters that include young, good-looking men who do not have any specific role assigned to them in the plot, whose novelistic existence is episodic, and whose absence would not disrupt the narrative flow. Their origins are unclear: they wander without any specific goal, precisely like Kalganov; they may spread gossip or carry messages, like Rakitin or Perhotin, also from Brothers Karamazov; or even engage in blackmail, like Trishatov from The Adolescent.
Their status is often morally ambiguous. Trishatov is a perfect example of this moral and narrative suspension. If this is the case, he can be a figure of a narrative detour, first giving us flickering hope for the possibility of the story and then bringing us back into an entangled assembly of empty sets, leaving behind only a narra- tive surplus, the logic of which is described so well by Nabokov in his playful study of Gogol.
This choice could be explained by the realist narrative itself, which demands an excess of random details and a procession of so-called flat characters. Nonetheless, for our purposes here, we can focus more closely on the anagogic dimension of this character. Indeed, it is hard to resist the impression that Kalganov is a substitute for Alyosha in two of the most important scenes of the novel, both of which are structurally and ideologically significant.
Perhaps yes, perhaps no. The problem with this approach, putting aside its interpretative value, is that he is not caught in flagrante with a man either. Should the enigma of Kalganov be hidden in his sexuality?
Still, if we insist on looking at Kalganov through his sexuality, there is another option—impotency, which also constitutes a great enigma. The impotence or sexual indifference of Kalganov as a key to the enigma of his appearance in the novel could be a promising interpretative hypothesis, if understood precisely beyond the leveling sexuality, perhaps in the sphere of— and this is the point—the angelic.
Richard Howard London: Quartet Encounters, , Myshkin, once again torn by her suffering, is unable to deny her and reproaches Aglaya for her attack.
Aglaya looks at him with pain and hatred, and runs off. He goes after her but Nastasya Filippovna stops him desperately and then faints.
Myshkin stays with her. In accordance with Nastasya Filippovna's wish, she and the Prince become engaged. Public opinion is highly critical of Myshkin's actions toward Aglaya, and the Epanchins break off all relations with him.
He tries to explain to Yevgeny Pavlovich that Nastasya Filippovna is a broken soul, that he must stay with her or she will probably die, and that Aglaya will understand if he is only allowed to talk to her. Yevgeny Pavlovich refuses to facilitate any contact between them and suspects that Myshkin himself is mad.
On the day of the wedding, a beautifully attired Nastasya Filippovna is met by Keller and Burdovsky, who are to escort her to the church where Myshkin is waiting. A large crowd has gathered, among whom is Rogozhin. Seeing him, Nastasya Filippovna rushes to him and tells him hysterically to take her away, which Rogozhin loses no time in doing. The Prince, though shaken, is not particularly surprised at this development.
For the remainder of the day he calmly fulfills his social obligations to guests and members of the public. The following morning he takes the first train to Petersburg and goes to Rogozhin's house, but he is told by servants that there is no one there.
After several hours of fruitless searching, he returns to the hotel he was staying at when he last encountered Rogozhin in Petersburg. Rogozhin appears and asks him to come back to the house. They enter the house in secret and Rogozhin leads him to the dead body of Nastasya Filippovna: he has stabbed her through the heart.
The two men keep vigil over the body, which Rogozhin has laid out in his study. Rogozhin is sentenced to fifteen years hard labor in Siberia. Myshkin goes mad and, through the efforts of Yevgeny Pavlovich, returns to the sanatorium in Switzerland. The Epanchins go abroad and Aglaya elopes with a wealthy, exiled Polish count who later is discovered to be neither wealthy, nor a count, nor an exile—at least, not a political exile—and who, along with a Catholic priest, has turned her against her family.
Major characters[ edit ] Prince Myshkin , the novel's central character, is a young man who has returned to Russia after a long period abroad where he was receiving treatment for epilepsy. The lingering effects of the illness, combined with his innocence and lack of social experience, sometimes create the superficial and completely false impression of mental or psychological deficiency.
Most of the other characters at one time or another refer to him disparagingly as an 'idiot', but nearly all of them are deeply affected by him. In truth he is highly intelligent, self-aware, intuitive and empathic. He is someone who has thought deeply about human nature, morality and spirituality, and is capable of expressing those thoughts with great clarity.
Nastasya Filippovna , the main female protagonist, is darkly beautiful, intelligent, fierce and mocking, an intimidating figure to most of the other characters. Of noble birth but orphaned at age 7, she was manipulated into a position of sexual servitude by her guardian, the voluptuary Totsky.
Her broken innocence and the social perception of disgrace produce an intensely emotional and destructive personality. The Prince is deeply moved by her beauty and her suffering, and despite feeling that she is insane, remains devoted to her. She is torn between Myshkin's compassion and Rogozhin's obsession with her. He instinctively likes and trusts the Prince when they first meet, but later develops a hatred for him out of jealousy.
The character represents passionate, instinctive love, as opposed to Myshkin's Christian love based in compassion. She is proud, commanding and impatient, but also full of arch humour, laughter and innocence, and the Prince is particularly drawn to her after the darkness of his time with Nastasya Filippovna and Rogozhin.
Still full of youthful idealism, he craves love and recognition from others, but their indifference and his own morbid self-obsession lead him to increasing extremes of cynicism and defiance.
The character is a 'quasi-double' for Myshkin: their circumstances force them to address the same metaphysical questions, but their responses are diametrically opposed. He also tries to compete with Myshkin for Aglaya's affections. A mediocrity who imagines himself original, Ganya represents love from vanity, and is contrasted with Myshkin and Rogozhin. He uses this to ingratiate himself with superiors, and to pursue various schemes and intrigues.
His unpleasant tendencies are offset to some extent by a mischievous sense of humour, a sharp intellect, and occasional bouts of abject self-condemnation and compassion for others. Though child-like in the spontaneity of her emotions, she is strong-willed and imperious, particularly about matters of honour and morality.
Myshkin considers her and Aglaya to be very alike. Prince Shch.
His rumoured interest in Aglaya leads Nastasya Filippovna who wants to bring Aglaya and the Prince together to publicly expose some unsavoury aspects of his background. Despite this, he and the Prince become friends and have a mutual respect for each other's intelligence.
He is the former guardian of Nastasya Filippovna. He is a friend of Ippolit's, and also becomes a friend and confidant of the Prince. He begins by aggressively demanding money from the Prince, but later becomes an admirer. He later develops a great admiration for the Prince and seeks to defend him.
Doktorenko — Lebedyev's nephew, a nihilist who, along with Ippolit, leads Burdovsky's attack on the Prince. Themes[ edit ] Atheism and Christianity in Russia[ edit ] A dialogue between the intimately related themes of Atheism and Christian faith meaning, for Dostoevsky, Russian Orthodoxy pervades the entire novel. Dostoevsky's personal image of Christian faith, formed prior to his philosophical engagement with Orthodoxy but never abandoned, was one that emphasized the human need for belief in the immortality of the soul, and identified Christ with ideals of "beauty, truth, brotherhood and Russia".
However, Myshkin's Christianity is not a doctrine or a set of beliefs, it is something that he lives spontaneously in his relations with all others.
Whenever he appears "hierarchical barriers between people suddenly become penetrable, an inner contact is formed between them His personality possesses the peculiar capacity to relativize everything that disunifies people and imparts a false seriousness to life. Holbein's painting held a particular significance for Dostoevsky because he saw in it his own impulse "to confront Christian faith with everything that negated it".
I remember someone taking me by the arm, a candle in his hands, and showing me some sort of enormous and repulsive tarantula, assuring me that this was that same dark, blind and all-powerful creature, and laughing at my indignation.
His unexpected tirade at the Epanchins' dinner party is based in unequivocal assertions that Catholicism is "an unChristian faith", that it preaches the Antichrist, and that its appropriation and distortion of Christ's teaching into a basis for the attainment of political supremacy has given birth to atheism.
The Catholic Church, he claims, is merely a continuation of the Western Roman Empire : cynically exploiting the person and teaching of Christ it has installed itself on the earthly throne and taken up the sword to entrench and expand its power. This is a betrayal of the true teaching of Christ, a teaching that transcends the lust for earthly power the Devil's Third Temptation , and speaks directly to the individual's and the people's highest emotions—those that spring from what Myshkin calls "spiritual thirst".
Atheism and socialism are a reaction, born of profound disillusionment, to the Church's defilement of its own moral and spiritual authority.
It is not from vanity alone, not from mere sordid vain emotions that Russian atheists and Russian Jesuits proceed, but from a spiritual pain, a spiritual thirst, a yearning for something more exalted, for a firm shore, a motherland in which they have ceased to believe Passionate and idealistic, like 'the Russian' alluded to in the anti-Catholic diatribe, Aglaya struggles with the ennui of middle class mediocrity and hates the moral vacuity of the aristocracy to whom her parents kowtow.
Her 'yearning for the exalted' has attracted her to militant Catholicism, and in the Prince's devotion to Nastasya Filippovna she sees the heroism of a Crusader -Knight abandoning everything to go in to battle for his Christian ideal.
She is deeply angry when, instead of "defending himself triumphantly" against his enemies Ippolit and his nihilist friends , he tries to make peace with them and offers assistance. When the Epanchins go abroad after the final catastrophe, Aglaya, under the influence of a Catholic priest, abandons her family and elopes with a Polish 'Count'.
Innocence and guilt[ edit ] In his notes Dostoevsky distinguishes the Prince from other characters of the virtuous type in fiction such as Don Quixote and Pickwick by emphasizing innocence rather than comicality. But his innocence is serious rather than comical, and he has a deeper insight into the psychology of human beings in general by assuming its presence in everyone else, even as they laugh at him, or try to deceive and exploit him.
The Prince guesses that he has come to borrow money before he has even mentioned it, and unassumingly engages him in a conversation about the psychological oddity of 'double thoughts': Two thoughts coincided, that very often happens I think it's a bad thing and, you know, Keller, I reproach myself most of all for it.
What you told me just now could have been about me. I've even sometimes thought that all human beings are like that, because it's terribly difficult to fight those double thoughts At any rate, I am not your judge You used cunning to coax money out of me by means of tears, but you yourself swear that your confession had a different aim, a noble one; as for the money, you need it to go on a drinking spree, don't you?
And after such a confession that's weakness of course. But how can one give up drinking sprees in a single moment? It's impossible. So what is to be done? It is best to leave it to your own conscience, what do you think? Isolated and sexually exploited by Totsky from the age of sixteen, Nastasya Filippovna has inwardly embraced her social stigmatization as a corrupted 'fallen woman', but this conviction is intimately bound to its opposite—the victimized child's sense of a broken innocence that longs for vindication.
The combination produces a cynical and destructive outer persona, which disguises a fragile and deeply hurt inner being. When the Prince speaks to her, he only addresses this inner being, and in him she sees and hears the long dreamt-of affirmation of her innocence. But the self-destructive voice of her guilt, so intimately bound to the longing for innocence, does not disappear as a result, and constantly reasserts itself. Myshkin divines that in her constant reiteration of her shame there is a "dreadful, unnatural pleasure, as if it were a revenge on someone.
The character of General Ivolgin, for example, constantly tells outrageous lies, but to those who understand him such as Myshkin, Lebedyev and Kolya he is the noblest and most honest of men. Myshkin himself has a strong tendency to feel ashamed of his own thoughts and actions. The fact that Rogozhin reaches the point of attacking him with a knife is something for which he feels himself to be equally guilty because his own half-conscious suspicions were the same as Rogozhin's half-conscious impulse.
Shortly after the period of interrogation and trial, he and his fellow prisoners were taken, without warning, to Semyonovsky Square where the sentence of death was read out over them. The first three prisoners were tied to stakes facing the firing squad: Dostoevsky was among the next in line.
Just as the first shots were about to be fired, a message arrived from the Tsar commuting the sentences to hard labor in Siberia. The experience had a profound effect on Dostoevsky, and in Part 1 of The Idiot written twenty years after the event the character of Prince Myshkin repeatedly speaks in depth on the subject of capital punishment. On one occasion, conversing with the Epanchin women, he recounts an anecdote that exactly mirrors Dostoevsky's own experience.
A man of 27, who had committed a political offence, was taken to the scaffold with his comrades, where a death sentence by firing squad was read out to them. Twenty minutes later, with all the preparations for the execution having been completed, they were unexpectedly reprieved, but for those twenty minutes the man lived with the complete certainty that he was soon to face sudden death.
The Prince recounts in detail what the man experienced during those twenty minutes. Engaging the servant in conversation, the Prince tells the harrowing story of an execution by guillotine that he recently witnessed in France.
He concludes the description with his own reflections on the horror of death by execution When you put your head right under the guillotine and hear it sliding above your head, it's that quarter of a second that's most terrible of all Who can say that human nature is able to endure such a thing without going mad?
Why such mockery—ugly, superfluous, futile? Some days I feel like most "art" provocateurs were prefigured and made irrelevant by Borges. Ficciones is the Aleph for so much of the world today. I wonder how long it took, I'd like to flip through and see his different handwritings — I bet some pages are really neat and some really sloppy.
It's fun that someone is still doing hand copies of books. I'd like to try it sometime, been thinking about it actually. Does anyone know of any books that are published in the copied author's handwriting? I'd absolutely adore that. Unless he has interesting handwriting posted by BlackLeotardFront at PM on December 16, Let me also make the point that the ship of "Well, I don't think that's art!
I'm more inclined to go "I could make that myself, so I could make some art" than "I could make that myself, so it isn't art" anyway—if it's actually true that I could make that myself, which is rare.
I am actually familiar with the existence of what is known as conceptual art, and have devoted some thought to it no, really—I even used to be a follower of Danto. And my thought was not "I could do that myself, so it's not art!
It's put in a public place—a gallery—patrons enter the gallery and spectate, more or less actively and with greater or lesser involvement. This is, you might say, an aesthetic phenomenon—it has to do with aisthesis; it's a sensory thing, not merely the intellectual appreciation of the existence or possibility of an object with such-and-such a property as e.
So I wish to know: why is this transcription exhibited? Is it to reassure people that the thing really was transcribed, by hand and all? Is there something about its physical character that we're supposed to appreciate?
Presumably the answer to the last question is "no"; that's what's characteristic of purely conceptual art. But I doubt the answer to the second question is "yes", either. It sometimes seems to me that such things I saw a similar effort, someone's transcription of the first n pages of In Search of Lost Time in various translations all into English and editions not long ago are exhibited because what is displayed is the expenditure of a good deal of effort on something by someone who is, usually, highly educated—sort of a quasi-ceremonial sacrifice of time and concentration for some noneconomic end.
That, presumably, is not the answer that the artist would give. Maybe it is, but it makes the choice of product somewhat arbitrary. So I often come to think, well, it's conceptual art and the important thing is the concept. In this case it's not even a concept whose possibility of being executed is in much doubt; of course anyone could make such a transcription.
It doesn't take a lot of specialized skill, for instance, and there are no secret gotchas lurking in it that might foil its working-out in practice. The question about the hypothetical transcription that I might execute isn't meant directly to discredit the transcription this guy executed, it's meant to focus the question: what about this transcription, the actually existing one, is interesting?
And I take it it's not the text itself, or its having been done by hand, or anything like that.
And it's not as if it needs to be done to prove something to the artworld, something about how such things actually do have to be accepted as art, or something about the artist in society, or whatever; not really since Duchamp and certainly not since Warhol.