Finding a Publisher
Correspondence with my agent
September 2005
Note to readers:
Many of you are fascinated with writers. It is natural as readers and writers have a special connection. Indeed, readers are perhaps writers on the brink of discovering that fact. There are a lot of myths about writing and publishing, myths created and perpetuated by writers. Readers see the same authors publishing book after book, especially mystery or fantasy novels, and think, “what an easy way to make a living.” Once I attended an authors party in which I got into a conversation with Erskine Caldwell, the novelist of God’s Little Acre fame, among others, and asked him when publishing became automatic. Caldwell, a tall, dignified gentlemen with beguiling southern charm, confessed, “It never gets easy and surely never automatic.” I had just published my first book, written in six weeks and accepted without an agent. It was 1970. My second book wasn’t published until 1990.
Here is a typical communiqué with my agent.
I watched the PBS program on F. Scott Fitzgerald's life, "Winter Dream," and the last credits brought a smile to my face. The royalties F. Scott Fitzgerald earned for the last year of his life were $13.13. Since his death in 1940, at the age of 44, his books have sold worldwide more than 10 million copies, and all his titles are in print.
When he died, practically none of his books were in print. Few attended his funeral, no more than four or five friends as Zelda was in a mental institution. Hemingway, who owed much to Fitzgerald, was not there. So much for fame and fortune of an author. Incidentally, Clancy Carlile's novel The Paris Pilgrims (1999) suggests what I have always suspected and that is that Hemingway was a pompous cad.
Due diligence got Fitzgerald into print. He pestered Maxwell Perkins at Scriber's & Sons about his first book when he was only 22, an officer in the US Army. It was 1918, and he was stationed in Alabama, where he met and became engaged to Zelda.
An interesting thing about book titles. He thought the title of his first book should be "The Personage," but finally settled on "This Side of Paradise," which was its published title.
Some thirty-five years ago, I read an excellent biography on Fitzgerald with the appropriate title, "The Far Side of Paradise." The Fitzgerald's of St. Paul, Minnesota (we produce more good writers in the Midwest than practically any other region of the country; more Nobel Laureates, too!) were on the edge of being wealthy middle class. This disappeared with his father's profligacy and bad luck.
Fitzgerald never forgot his taste for affluence and status, and gave expression to it in his works. His muse caught the temper of the times, its flapper insouciance partying until dawn.
My children experienced the same edginess of being wealthy, only to have their father drop out of the rat race at his greatest earning power in his thirties. Three out of the four are much wealthier than he ever was because the taste of wealth never left their psyches.
I have had a theory that authors know best what the title should be. My first book "Confident Selling" (Prentice-Hall 1970) was submitted over the transom as "Let's Take the Worry Out of Selling," a book I wrote in six weeks. My publisher changed the title to "Confident Selling." I insisted the title had no legs. Some editor at P-H wanted the title to be "The Magic Power of Confident Selling," but thank God it was ruled out. That title was too gimmicky and my book wasn't gimmicky.
The book was a bestseller for them and went through more than two editions and twenty-four printings, and was in print for twenty years. Still, I kept on P-H insisting it should do even better. Prentice-Hall was most patient with me, and reminded me that they accepted only one in every 5,000 unsolicited manuscripts.
Some have told me that "The Taboo Against Being Your Own Best Friend" should have been titled "Be Your Own Best Friend." The book has not sold well. I have also been told I made the reader work too hard. If only such comments had been available before it was published, yes, "if only."
Years later, after "Confident Selling" was published, P-H wanted me to "doctor" one of the books of its established authors. The manuscript was so poorly written, so incredibly bad that I couldn't believe they would ever publish such a guy, much less this book. The guy had an international reputation, and probably had little time to compose much less edit it.
Unknown that I was, and desperate to become a recognized writer, I gave it a go until I read the manuscript. I told P-H it wasn't worth saving. I never heard from P-H again until it stopped publishing CS and gave me the copyright. I was a sap to give them the copyright, but what did I know? I had never been published before. A syndicate wanted to produce an audio and training film of the book. P-H made such incredible demands that the syndicate dropped the project. I would have okayed it just for the exposure. But that is another, "what if."
I guess I am not alone in being difficult. Reading Stephen King on writing, he confesses that he was once asked to review one of Robert Ludlum's espionage novels. He refused saying the book was unreadable. I disagree with King about Ludlum but loved the sentiment. King has publishers where few authors do.
Regarding Perkins on Fitzgerald's book, it is amazing how serendipitous this writing business is. Perkins, then a low level editor at Scribner's, loved Fitzgerald's manuscript, indicating the same to his boss, who gave it a lukewarm reception, and then tossed it aside. Perkins, to his credit, took it to Mr. Scribner and asked him to read it with the comment, "If you think this is not something Scribner's should publish, perhaps I'm in the wrong business."
Mr. Scribner read it over the weekend and agreed with Perkins. It was published to much acclaim, and became the defining book of the Jazz Age and "the lost generation," and by extension, of American society immediately following WW I.
There is a reason I'm sharing this with you. The prescience of Fitzgerald was that Scribner's & Sons was the best publisher in the business, and the only one good enough to generate the audience he sought for his book. Perkins, on the other hand, had the confidence that Fitzgerald had that rare "touch of greatness" that can flicker and fade before you notice it.
Fitzgerald made a decision: if they didn't want his book, he would pester them until they did because he knew it was that good, and he wanted Scribner's & Sons, and no one else to publish it. Why? He knew what authors Scribner's already had in its stables.
Scribner's published Ernest Hemingway (because of Fitzgerald's insistence), John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Thomas Wolfe (Perkins had to do extreme editing of Wolfe's works that he might have deserved co-authorship), James Jones, and Sinclair Lewis, among others.
Perhaps that is a mistake we are making. We want so desperately to get "Near Journey's End: Can the Planet Earth Survive Self-indulgent Man" published that we may not be focusing on "the right publisher." What do you think?
Perhaps it is the intellectual audience of a “Routledge classic,” as academics might find it refreshing to read someone that is of the people and comes out of its basic fabric. Just a thought. Be always well,
Jim
Post note:
If you are inclined to read the letters of authors to their agents published by the greats and near-greats, it may surprise you of the beseeching nature of the marriage of author-agent. An author believes in the nobility of his work, and sometimes an agent's wanes from that aspect from the sheer energy spent in rejections. When that happens, the author becomes a cheerleader. Fitzgerald often rose to this function, as have many others, and as I do here.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Dostoyevsky and Me -- Life has a pattern to it!
The amazing thing about life and its inevitable pattern.
Schopenhauer points out that when we reach an advanced age and look back over our lifetime, we can see a consistent order and plan, as though composed by some novelist. Events that when they occurred had seemed accidental and of little moment turn out to have been indispensable factors in the composition of a consistent plot. So who composed the plot?
Schopenhauer suggests that just as an aspect of ourselves, which our consciousness is unaware composes our dreams, so, too, our whole life is composed by the will within us.
I was reminded of this once again as I discovered a paper I had written as a sophomore in college many years ago, so long ago that many of you were not yet born. It was a core course, or required course of all students at the University of Iowa, and was called "modern literature."
It is where I first met Dostoyevsky, a writer whose works I have read and reread many times, as well as several biographies of his unusual life. Not wanting to lose this only paper of the many I wrote during that period, I put it in my documents, and now share it with you.
For those of you who have read me over the years, I sense that you will see the nascent influence, admittedly in a very sophomoric way as presented here, but a telling one as well.
Once smitten with that course in literature, I never quite got Dostoyevsky or it out of my system, and now, as my energies and lights are in the afternoon of my life, I realize my professor knew me far better than I knew myself. But alas, like Schopenhauer has said, it all fits a pattern.
Be always well and enjoy my initial encounter of this great Russian writer.
Schopenhauer points out that when we reach an advanced age and look back over our lifetime, we can see a consistent order and plan, as though composed by some novelist. Events that when they occurred had seemed accidental and of little moment turn out to have been indispensable factors in the composition of a consistent plot. So who composed the plot?
Schopenhauer suggests that just as an aspect of ourselves, which our consciousness is unaware composes our dreams, so, too, our whole life is composed by the will within us.
I was reminded of this once again as I discovered a paper I had written as a sophomore in college many years ago, so long ago that many of you were not yet born. It was a core course, or required course of all students at the University of Iowa, and was called "modern literature."
It is where I first met Dostoyevsky, a writer whose works I have read and reread many times, as well as several biographies of his unusual life. Not wanting to lose this only paper of the many I wrote during that period, I put it in my documents, and now share it with you.
For those of you who have read me over the years, I sense that you will see the nascent influence, admittedly in a very sophomoric way as presented here, but a telling one as well.
Once smitten with that course in literature, I never quite got Dostoyevsky or it out of my system, and now, as my energies and lights are in the afternoon of my life, I realize my professor knew me far better than I knew myself. But alas, like Schopenhauer has said, it all fits a pattern.
Be always well and enjoy my initial encounter of this great Russian writer.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Dostoyevsky and Me
The Conflict of Reason and Will as an Explanation for the Underground Man’s “Actions”1
Paper on Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s
NOTES FROM THE UNDERGROUND
James Fisher
Modern Literature
Professor Sven Armens
University of Iowa
Professor’s grade (A-) and comment: A very fine job – I enjoyed reading it – first part is better than your applications; you do not make it quite clear how the attitudes of honor, contempt, & honesty spring from the reason and how will rejects them. Your basis thesis of “irrational man in rational society” seems well taken.
My comment: I came across this paper quite by accident preparing for the writing of my South Africa novel, Green Island in a Black Sea, and knowing me, this being the only paper I have preserved from that period, wished to record it here exactly as it was written on this day, September 21, 2005.
I WILL vs. REASON
A. MAN’S MOST “ADVANTAGEOUS ADVANTAGE”
B. MECHANCICAL WORLD AND MAN’S REBELLION
C. SYMBOLIC USES OF EXPRESSIONS
1. THE “WALL”
2. THE “ANT HILL”
II APPLICATION OF THIS PHILOSOPHY TO EXPERIENCES OF UNDERGROUND MAN (UGM)
A. INCIDENT OF TAVERN
B. HIS PARTY WITH SVERCOV
C. LISA
III CONCLUSION
A. SUMMARY
B. IRRATIONAL MAN CANNOT LIVE HAPPILY IN A RATIONAL SOCIETY.
In Notes from the Underground Dostoyevsky presents most bluntly, forcefully, and in consummate fashion his conception of the UGM and the double, conceptions that single him out from novelists of the nineteenth century. He is a rebel against nineteenth century mechanical optimism, which relied on dictates of reason and the postulates of a mechanistic universe. He emphasized the irrational in man. Dostoyevsky’s objections to the revolutionary program of his time were that they were mechanistically amelioristic and that they regarded men as ciphers in a neat equation, to which the revolutionists alone possessed the key. Dostoyevsky’s “hero” in the Notes, pendulating (sic) between sadism and masochism, outdragoning (sic) the world one moment and outflunkying (sic) it another, in his malediction, denounces rationalism and asserts the force of the mysterious and powerful underground impulses in man, which are often “unreasonable” to the extent of being suicidal. He brings this philosophy out by giving us a clear, concise and highly logical picture of the conflict between will and reason that confronts man. Then to further illustrate his contentions, he gives us realistic experiences of the underground, the unconscious. Here we have an application of Dostoyevsky’s philosophy in three penetrating and realistic events in the life of the UGM.
Man’s chief accomplishments since the beginning of civilization have been centered around a happier and more prosperous life. These human advantages have been taken from the averages of statistical figures and politico-economical formulas. They have had a reference to prosperity, wealth, freedom, peace – and so on, and so on. To openly and knowingly oppose all these human advantages would seem to indicate madness. Yet, Dostoyevsky says this is quite often the case. He illustrates this point very well in the following passage:
“…. I have a friend, for instance – Eh, gentlemen, but of course he is your 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 animation and passion of the true normal interests of man; with irony he will upbraid the shortsighted 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 interest, 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.”
Dostoyevsky feels that there apparently exists something that is dearer to every man than his great human advantages. And this is something that compels him to act, if necessary, in opposition to all laws; that is, in opposition to reason, honor, peace, prosperity – in fact, in opposition to all those excellent and useful things. That which often requires man to act in this way is the most “advantages advantage,” free will.
Dostoyevsky feels that science is seeking a goal in which all our problems would be solved according to a mathematical timetable. If we encountered any problems we could look on a mathematical timetable and find the solution. Life would become an exceedingly simple process. But as our existence would begin to develop into this systematic pattern it would become dull and meaningless. No longer would man be able to experience the surprising sensations of success, love or other incidents which are essential to the satisfaction of the human mind. Our lives would be pointless. Man will continue to rebel against this theory because, contrary to science and reason, man is still an irrational and unpredictable being:
“…. Shower upon him every earthly blessing, drown him in a sea of happiness, so that nothing but bubbles of bliss can be seen on the surface; give him economic prosperity, such that he should have nothing else to do but sleep, live on cakes and ale and busy himself with the continuation of his species, and even then out of sheer ingratitude, sheer spite, man would play a nasty trick. He would even risk his cakes and ale and would deliberately desire the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical absurdity, simply to introduce into all this positive good sense his fatal fantastic element. It is just his fantastic dreams, his vulgar folly, that he will desire to retain, simply in order to prove to himself – and though that were necessary – that men still are men and not keys of a piano, which the laws of nature threaten to control so completely that soon one will not be able to desire anything but by the calendar.”
Throughout section one the symbol of “the wall” is used to a great extent. “The wall” is one of the best symbols in illustrating the contrast between “the acutely conscious man” and “the straightforward man.” It symbolizes the laws of nature, mathematics and science to which Dostoyevsky is opposed. To the man of action, “the wall” is something which he must conquer. Even if “the wall” is unconquerable, our “man of action” will butt his head against it as long as he has the strength. He lets his thinking powers rule him even if it means his end. The frustrated “straightforward man” will fight this wall regardless of the futility of his actions. He has his laws of science to uphold and this he must do at any cost! This is in contrast to the “underground man” who, although he realizes the presence of the stonewall, does not feel he has to beat his head against it forever. Even though he does not reconcile himself to it, he is able to understand the impossibilities of “the stone wall.”
The symbolic meaning of the “ant hill” is also important in exemplifying Dostoyevsky’s attitude toward rationalism and science. It shows how the “man of action” would make our society a mechanical group of people. Every ant in a particular ant hill has a duty to perform which is the same day after day. The “man of action’s” society would parallel this type of existence. There would be no change in the pattern of everyday life and it would become monotonous and static. This idea is expressed very well in the following quotation:
“I admit that two times two is a marvelous thing, but if we are to give everything its due, two times two making five is sometimes a very charming thing, too.”
Thus we see that will conflicts with reason, and that irrationalism and rationalism are incompatible. Why is this so? Dostoyevsky seems to offer a most reasonable answer in the following passage:
“…You see, gentlemen, reason is an excellent thing, there’s no disputing that, but reason is nothing but reason and satisfies only the rational side of man’s nature, while will is a manifestation of the whole life, that is, of the whole human life including reason and all impulses. And although our life, in this manifestation of it, is often worthless, yet it is a life and not simply extracting square roots.”
What he is saying here is that reason forms only a very small proportion of the capacity of life. Reason involves only what we learn. While on the other hand, will involves all those things that go into making our unconscious self, our underground. The actions that cannot be measured or explained in terms of scientific theories are a result of this will.
Now let us consider the three experiences of the underground man and see how Dostoyevsky applies his philosophy to the will-reason conflict.
When we first meet the UGM, he is twenty-four years old and in the service of the government as a clerk. We immediately find that he is an “acutely conscious man,” as opposed to the “straightforward man of action.” He finds himself at odds with the other employees, and with his so called “comrades.” To him they represent the “straightforward men of action.” They accept the laws of nature and live lives of rational human beings. His contempt for his fellow man’s “stupidity,” and his society’s rationalism forces him underground. Here our insulted, crushed and ridiculed UGM promptly becomes absorbed in cold, malignant, and above all, everlasting spite. He takes to reading books to occupy his mind and to partially satiate his spirit: “I tried to stifle all that was continually seething within me by means of external impression.” He was attempting to act as rational men would act but, in spite of himself, his emotions (i.e. his will) won out: “I had an hysterical craving for incongruity and for contrast, and so I took to vice – and so, furtively, timidly, in solitude, at night, I indulged in filthy vice, with a feeling of shame which never deserted me.” With this knowledge of the UGM, we may now analyze his three experiences.
One night as the UGM was passing a tavern he saw some men fighting with billiard cues, and saw one of them thrown out of the window. At that moment, he wished that he too might be thrown out. This masochistic tendency in this instance depicts the UGM’s desire to be recognized. But upon entering the tavern, he is unnoticed, even by an officer who pushes him aside as he passes. Any other conduct by the officer in this situation could have been tolerated by the UGM. But to be walked over as if invisible, as a mere unnoticed insect on the floor was more than the UGM could allow. His personal dignity was crushed; his spirit broken. “I would rather have suffered a slap in the face,” he says. Because he is an “acutely conscious” man, he can reach no immediate decision. He leaves the tavern and goes to his “underground.” Here he ponders over the events of the night and works himself into a highly hysterical state. From that day on, he was plagued with thoughts of vengeance. By day, he would meet the officer (i.e., he would see the officer but the officer would not notice him.) and always step aside so that he might pass. By night, he would contrive all sorts of theories of possible vengeance. He wrote a satirical novel on the officer (which was rejected for publication). Next he composed a letter demanding an apology or a duel. In either case, he would be receiving recognition as a human being. But he lost his courage.
Then by a stroke of genius, a brilliant thought suddenly dawned upon him. On holidays he used to stroll through Nevski Prospect about four o’clock in the afternoon. It could never be considered a stroll really because the UGM detested every minute of it. As he trudged along, he would have to weave in and out like an eel so that the more genteel pedestrians would not have to walk over him. He realized that these people looked upon him as a detested fly; that they did not recognize him as a member of society. Despite his realization of this, he was compelled to continually undergo the humiliation. Why? It would seem that this is a case where will triumphs over reason. Also a more subtle force seems to be compelling him to come here. By this I mean that it becomes a sexual passion with him, characterized by pleasure in being abused by these people. The greater the abuse the greater the satisfaction. This, of course, presents real evidence of a conflict in the UGM. His dreams of the good and beautiful make life seem a wonderful adventure, like a book. In these dreams, reason prevails and rational thoughts flow freely. But upon awakening into reality, reason and rationality are no longer considered. His actions are now controlled by his passions. In this case, his masochistic tendencies possess him; on another occasion, his sadistic inclinations are apt to occupy his mind and therefore govern his behavior. Now that we have considered the nature of the UGM, we may now review his plan of action. It so happened that the officer also strolled through this park on holidays. He, like the others, walked past the UGM as if he were invisible. The “acutely conscious man” (i.e., the UGM) knew this must be changed. And so, with a stroke of brilliance, the UGM realized how this could be accomplished. By physically encountering the officer, he would regain his personal dignity; he would place himself on “equal footing” with the officer (i.e., to say he would place himself on “equal footing” with society). Eventually, after detailed preparations involving buying new clothes, he finally meets the officer “head on.” Ironically enough, it happens more or less by accident. However, the importance lies in the fact that he did encounter him.
This experience of the UGM gives us a detailed account of how an “acutely conscious man” would go about revenging an injustice suffered. His vengeance involves a well though out plan. With him, his first impulse is not to act but to think. He must analyze the injustice and see if it is of a primary, secondary or tertiary quality. Then, depending on how serious (in his mind) the act has been, he acts accordingly. Contrary to what one might think, we see that he does not follow a rational, logical procedure in gaining justice. The “acutely conscious man” lets his unconscious self (i.e., his will) direct his behavior. Thus we see that the “acutely conscious man” may imply both masochism and sadism because these both stem from the unconscious, that is to say, the underground.
Now we follow the UGM to the home of Simonov, who was an old school fellow:
“Climbing up to the fourth-floor flat, I was thinking that the man disliked me and that it was a mistake to go and see him. But as it always happened that such reflections impelled me, as though purposely, to put myself into a false position, I went in.”
Again, we see that his will and not his reason governs his behavior. He found two old school fellows with Simonov. They seemed to be discussing an important matter. The matter involved a party for their comrade called Zvercov, an officer of the army who was going way to a distant province. Although the UGM realized that he had not been invited, that they did not desire his company, and that he had nothing in common with them, he forces himself upon them. Here we have the unique nature of the UGM’s personality being exposed. His reason tells him that he is bound to have a most horrible time at the party under the circumstances. Furthermore, he knows that he does not have the money to spend in such a fashion as this. For all practical purposes, we would expect the man to act as the “keys to the piano.” But this is impossible for the “acutely conscious man.” His behavior is not governed by a mathematical timetable.
After looking over his clothing, he realized that he did not have the proper dress to satisfy his personal dignity:
“Of course, the best thing would be not to go at all. But that was most impossible of all: if I feel impelled to do anything, I seemed to be pitch forked into it. I should have jeered at myself ever afterward: ‘So you fell down, you fell down, you fell down when it came to the real thing!’”
This is just another illustration of how he realized that he must meet the reality test. In his mind he had the fore long hope of proving to himself that he was superior to his comrades; that irrational man is the true man and thus superior to rational man; that will will triumph over reason; that the spirit will triumph over science and materialism. And finally, that man’s reactions will stem from his emotions and not his reason. That is to say from his unconscious self.
The UGM arrived at the party before the others because the time had been changed without his knowledge. While he waits the “seeds” of contempt are planted into his fertile soul. After the others arrive, this scorn is catalyzed by such remarks as this:
“So you’ve been here a whole hour? Oh, you poor fellow! Zvercov cried out ironically, for to his notion this was bound to be extremely funny. That rascal Ferfichkin chimed in with his nasty snigger, like a puppy yapping. My position struck him, too, as exquisitely ludicrous and embarrassing.”
Disparaging remarks like this continue as the evening progresses. And as a consequence, there develops a cleavage between him and the group; a cleavage that ends in his isolation. As his contempt crystallizes into mental anguish, he finds himself more and more in a web from which he cannot escape. This web is the barrier that has evolved from the conflict between his will and reason (i.e., the barrier is his contempt). Here, at this party, he is faced with the reality situation. There is no delusion of the good and the beautiful. He sees his fellowman as he is, and he sees his relationship to him. Zvercov, a perfect specimen of the “straightforward man of action,” has the admiration and attention of the others. While he, the “acutely conscious man” is rejected and isolated. Reason tells him that he desires to adopt the attitude necessary to get on with one’s fellowman. But his will refuses to let him overcome the barrier. How can a man conform to a society that he despises? The UGM could not give a satisfactory answer to this question of his unconscious self. Therefore, contempt cuts him off from his fellowman, from his society.
The party moves on into the night and Zvercov and his fellows become quite merry. Their minds turn to more illicit pleasures. In the meantime, the UGM has just about come to the end of his neurotic pacing – I have referred to the cause of this in the preceding paragraph. As they prepare to leave for Olympia’s, the UGM rushes over to them and makes apologies for his behavior:
“Zvercov, I beg your pardon, I said abruptly and resolutely. Ferfichkin, yours, too, and everyone’s: I have insulted you all!”
To the UGM this was a very generous gesture on his part. He felt that he was making a tremendous sacrifice. Therefore, when Zvercov retorted the following, he was infuriated to the point of madness:
“Insulted? You insulted me? Understand, sir, that you never, under any circumstances, could possibly insult me.”
With this remark, the little group departed, leaving our “acutely conscious man” free to plan his vengeance. His thoughts, for the most part parallel those that he had when considering vengeance of the officer. He has another conflict between his will and reason. Finally, he decides that by slapping Zvercov in the face he will be putting himself on “equal footing” with him. This, however, never materializes because when he arrives at Olympia’s they are not to be found. Instead, he meets Lisa, and also, he meets with a new experience:
“My head was full of fumes. Something seemed to be hovering over me, rousing me, exciting me, and making me restless. Misery and spite seemed surging up in me again and seeking an outlet. Suddenly I saw beside me two wide-open eyes scrutinizing me curiously and persistently. The look in those eyes was coldly detached, sullen, utterly remote, as it were; it weighed upon me.”
Her eyes make him feel more contemptible, uncomfortable, so he has to talk to her. At first the conversation consists chiefly of “small talk.” But as it continues and becomes of a more personal nature, the UGM realizes that he is gaining confidence. He fears what he might do to her. His sadistic nature is just waiting for expression. Here rests his opportunity. But reason tells him that it is not right to torture a person who trusts you, believes in you. Thus the conflict over honesty is possessing him.
“God knows why I did not go away. I felt myself more and more sick and dreary. The images of the previous day began of themselves apart from my will, flitting through my memory in confusion.”
Of course, the reflection of these events blinded the UGM with contempt. Under the circumstances, he feels that he is compelled to let his will triumph over his reason; that he must satisfy his contempt even if it is at the expense of Lisa.
He proceeds to paint a picture of life that is in direct contrast to life as Lisa has known it. The ideal father and mother, the ideal home and family, the ideal love and lover, are all created by the sadistic UGM with a feeling of indifference. He knows that this is penetrating deeply into Lisa’s soul and that it is going to cause her anxiety. Yet, he continues:
“I had felt for some time that I was turning her soul inside out and rending her heart, and – and the more I was convinced of it, the more eagerly I desired to gain my object as quickly and as effectively as possible. It was the exercise of my skill that carried me away; yet it was more than mere sport.
The rest is tragic. Lisa is in love with the UGM; he is her savior figure. Instead of despising him for the way he has treated her, she can only feel love, love that he is incapable of experiencing. When she comes to him, he rejects her and humiliates her:
“Why have you come? Answer me, answer me, I cried, hardly knowing what I was doing. I’ll tell you, my good girl, why you have come. You’ve come because I talked sentimental bosh to you that time. So now you are soft as butter and longing for fine sentiments again. But you may as well know that I was laughing at you then. And I’m laughing at you now. Why are you shuddering? Yes, I was laughing at you!”
This crushes her but she is still willing to forgive him. However, our UGM cannot measure up to her virtue. He is capable of understanding love but he cannot feel it. He cannot embrace humanity because there is a barrier between him and society. This barrier is a result of the conflict between will and reason. The UGM summaries his plight very well in the following passage:
“They won’t let me – I can’t be good!”
And thus we come to the end of the UGM’s three experiences. They have shown us Dostoyevsky’s philosophy on the conflict of will and reason. In the first experience, personal honor forms the basis of the conflict. Contempt is responsible for the discord found in the second experience. It forms a barrier between him and his fellowman. And in our last experience, honesty, with himself and Lisa, forms the basis of the conflict. In all three cases, we find real evidence that irrational man cannot live happily in a rational society. A man who lives by the dictates of his will and not his reason is a doomed man indeed.
1 This was written when I was a sophomore in college in the 1950s. Dr. Armens is the professor, who upon giving me an oral examination of James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, wanted to recommend me for the University of Iowa’s famous Honor’s Program in the Humanities. I was a chemistry major and stayed in chemistry. It took me many years to regain my connection with the word, but I think the reader will note evidence that that connection has remained in reading some of my works.
Paper on Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s
NOTES FROM THE UNDERGROUND
James Fisher
Modern Literature
Professor Sven Armens
University of Iowa
Professor’s grade (A-) and comment: A very fine job – I enjoyed reading it – first part is better than your applications; you do not make it quite clear how the attitudes of honor, contempt, & honesty spring from the reason and how will rejects them. Your basis thesis of “irrational man in rational society” seems well taken.
My comment: I came across this paper quite by accident preparing for the writing of my South Africa novel, Green Island in a Black Sea, and knowing me, this being the only paper I have preserved from that period, wished to record it here exactly as it was written on this day, September 21, 2005.
I WILL vs. REASON
A. MAN’S MOST “ADVANTAGEOUS ADVANTAGE”
B. MECHANCICAL WORLD AND MAN’S REBELLION
C. SYMBOLIC USES OF EXPRESSIONS
1. THE “WALL”
2. THE “ANT HILL”
II APPLICATION OF THIS PHILOSOPHY TO EXPERIENCES OF UNDERGROUND MAN (UGM)
A. INCIDENT OF TAVERN
B. HIS PARTY WITH SVERCOV
C. LISA
III CONCLUSION
A. SUMMARY
B. IRRATIONAL MAN CANNOT LIVE HAPPILY IN A RATIONAL SOCIETY.
In Notes from the Underground Dostoyevsky presents most bluntly, forcefully, and in consummate fashion his conception of the UGM and the double, conceptions that single him out from novelists of the nineteenth century. He is a rebel against nineteenth century mechanical optimism, which relied on dictates of reason and the postulates of a mechanistic universe. He emphasized the irrational in man. Dostoyevsky’s objections to the revolutionary program of his time were that they were mechanistically amelioristic and that they regarded men as ciphers in a neat equation, to which the revolutionists alone possessed the key. Dostoyevsky’s “hero” in the Notes, pendulating (sic) between sadism and masochism, outdragoning (sic) the world one moment and outflunkying (sic) it another, in his malediction, denounces rationalism and asserts the force of the mysterious and powerful underground impulses in man, which are often “unreasonable” to the extent of being suicidal. He brings this philosophy out by giving us a clear, concise and highly logical picture of the conflict between will and reason that confronts man. Then to further illustrate his contentions, he gives us realistic experiences of the underground, the unconscious. Here we have an application of Dostoyevsky’s philosophy in three penetrating and realistic events in the life of the UGM.
Man’s chief accomplishments since the beginning of civilization have been centered around a happier and more prosperous life. These human advantages have been taken from the averages of statistical figures and politico-economical formulas. They have had a reference to prosperity, wealth, freedom, peace – and so on, and so on. To openly and knowingly oppose all these human advantages would seem to indicate madness. Yet, Dostoyevsky says this is quite often the case. He illustrates this point very well in the following passage:
“…. I have a friend, for instance – Eh, gentlemen, but of course he is your 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 animation and passion of the true normal interests of man; with irony he will upbraid the shortsighted 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 interest, 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.”
Dostoyevsky feels that there apparently exists something that is dearer to every man than his great human advantages. And this is something that compels him to act, if necessary, in opposition to all laws; that is, in opposition to reason, honor, peace, prosperity – in fact, in opposition to all those excellent and useful things. That which often requires man to act in this way is the most “advantages advantage,” free will.
Dostoyevsky feels that science is seeking a goal in which all our problems would be solved according to a mathematical timetable. If we encountered any problems we could look on a mathematical timetable and find the solution. Life would become an exceedingly simple process. But as our existence would begin to develop into this systematic pattern it would become dull and meaningless. No longer would man be able to experience the surprising sensations of success, love or other incidents which are essential to the satisfaction of the human mind. Our lives would be pointless. Man will continue to rebel against this theory because, contrary to science and reason, man is still an irrational and unpredictable being:
“…. Shower upon him every earthly blessing, drown him in a sea of happiness, so that nothing but bubbles of bliss can be seen on the surface; give him economic prosperity, such that he should have nothing else to do but sleep, live on cakes and ale and busy himself with the continuation of his species, and even then out of sheer ingratitude, sheer spite, man would play a nasty trick. He would even risk his cakes and ale and would deliberately desire the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical absurdity, simply to introduce into all this positive good sense his fatal fantastic element. It is just his fantastic dreams, his vulgar folly, that he will desire to retain, simply in order to prove to himself – and though that were necessary – that men still are men and not keys of a piano, which the laws of nature threaten to control so completely that soon one will not be able to desire anything but by the calendar.”
Throughout section one the symbol of “the wall” is used to a great extent. “The wall” is one of the best symbols in illustrating the contrast between “the acutely conscious man” and “the straightforward man.” It symbolizes the laws of nature, mathematics and science to which Dostoyevsky is opposed. To the man of action, “the wall” is something which he must conquer. Even if “the wall” is unconquerable, our “man of action” will butt his head against it as long as he has the strength. He lets his thinking powers rule him even if it means his end. The frustrated “straightforward man” will fight this wall regardless of the futility of his actions. He has his laws of science to uphold and this he must do at any cost! This is in contrast to the “underground man” who, although he realizes the presence of the stonewall, does not feel he has to beat his head against it forever. Even though he does not reconcile himself to it, he is able to understand the impossibilities of “the stone wall.”
The symbolic meaning of the “ant hill” is also important in exemplifying Dostoyevsky’s attitude toward rationalism and science. It shows how the “man of action” would make our society a mechanical group of people. Every ant in a particular ant hill has a duty to perform which is the same day after day. The “man of action’s” society would parallel this type of existence. There would be no change in the pattern of everyday life and it would become monotonous and static. This idea is expressed very well in the following quotation:
“I admit that two times two is a marvelous thing, but if we are to give everything its due, two times two making five is sometimes a very charming thing, too.”
Thus we see that will conflicts with reason, and that irrationalism and rationalism are incompatible. Why is this so? Dostoyevsky seems to offer a most reasonable answer in the following passage:
“…You see, gentlemen, reason is an excellent thing, there’s no disputing that, but reason is nothing but reason and satisfies only the rational side of man’s nature, while will is a manifestation of the whole life, that is, of the whole human life including reason and all impulses. And although our life, in this manifestation of it, is often worthless, yet it is a life and not simply extracting square roots.”
What he is saying here is that reason forms only a very small proportion of the capacity of life. Reason involves only what we learn. While on the other hand, will involves all those things that go into making our unconscious self, our underground. The actions that cannot be measured or explained in terms of scientific theories are a result of this will.
Now let us consider the three experiences of the underground man and see how Dostoyevsky applies his philosophy to the will-reason conflict.
When we first meet the UGM, he is twenty-four years old and in the service of the government as a clerk. We immediately find that he is an “acutely conscious man,” as opposed to the “straightforward man of action.” He finds himself at odds with the other employees, and with his so called “comrades.” To him they represent the “straightforward men of action.” They accept the laws of nature and live lives of rational human beings. His contempt for his fellow man’s “stupidity,” and his society’s rationalism forces him underground. Here our insulted, crushed and ridiculed UGM promptly becomes absorbed in cold, malignant, and above all, everlasting spite. He takes to reading books to occupy his mind and to partially satiate his spirit: “I tried to stifle all that was continually seething within me by means of external impression.” He was attempting to act as rational men would act but, in spite of himself, his emotions (i.e. his will) won out: “I had an hysterical craving for incongruity and for contrast, and so I took to vice – and so, furtively, timidly, in solitude, at night, I indulged in filthy vice, with a feeling of shame which never deserted me.” With this knowledge of the UGM, we may now analyze his three experiences.
One night as the UGM was passing a tavern he saw some men fighting with billiard cues, and saw one of them thrown out of the window. At that moment, he wished that he too might be thrown out. This masochistic tendency in this instance depicts the UGM’s desire to be recognized. But upon entering the tavern, he is unnoticed, even by an officer who pushes him aside as he passes. Any other conduct by the officer in this situation could have been tolerated by the UGM. But to be walked over as if invisible, as a mere unnoticed insect on the floor was more than the UGM could allow. His personal dignity was crushed; his spirit broken. “I would rather have suffered a slap in the face,” he says. Because he is an “acutely conscious” man, he can reach no immediate decision. He leaves the tavern and goes to his “underground.” Here he ponders over the events of the night and works himself into a highly hysterical state. From that day on, he was plagued with thoughts of vengeance. By day, he would meet the officer (i.e., he would see the officer but the officer would not notice him.) and always step aside so that he might pass. By night, he would contrive all sorts of theories of possible vengeance. He wrote a satirical novel on the officer (which was rejected for publication). Next he composed a letter demanding an apology or a duel. In either case, he would be receiving recognition as a human being. But he lost his courage.
Then by a stroke of genius, a brilliant thought suddenly dawned upon him. On holidays he used to stroll through Nevski Prospect about four o’clock in the afternoon. It could never be considered a stroll really because the UGM detested every minute of it. As he trudged along, he would have to weave in and out like an eel so that the more genteel pedestrians would not have to walk over him. He realized that these people looked upon him as a detested fly; that they did not recognize him as a member of society. Despite his realization of this, he was compelled to continually undergo the humiliation. Why? It would seem that this is a case where will triumphs over reason. Also a more subtle force seems to be compelling him to come here. By this I mean that it becomes a sexual passion with him, characterized by pleasure in being abused by these people. The greater the abuse the greater the satisfaction. This, of course, presents real evidence of a conflict in the UGM. His dreams of the good and beautiful make life seem a wonderful adventure, like a book. In these dreams, reason prevails and rational thoughts flow freely. But upon awakening into reality, reason and rationality are no longer considered. His actions are now controlled by his passions. In this case, his masochistic tendencies possess him; on another occasion, his sadistic inclinations are apt to occupy his mind and therefore govern his behavior. Now that we have considered the nature of the UGM, we may now review his plan of action. It so happened that the officer also strolled through this park on holidays. He, like the others, walked past the UGM as if he were invisible. The “acutely conscious man” (i.e., the UGM) knew this must be changed. And so, with a stroke of brilliance, the UGM realized how this could be accomplished. By physically encountering the officer, he would regain his personal dignity; he would place himself on “equal footing” with the officer (i.e., to say he would place himself on “equal footing” with society). Eventually, after detailed preparations involving buying new clothes, he finally meets the officer “head on.” Ironically enough, it happens more or less by accident. However, the importance lies in the fact that he did encounter him.
This experience of the UGM gives us a detailed account of how an “acutely conscious man” would go about revenging an injustice suffered. His vengeance involves a well though out plan. With him, his first impulse is not to act but to think. He must analyze the injustice and see if it is of a primary, secondary or tertiary quality. Then, depending on how serious (in his mind) the act has been, he acts accordingly. Contrary to what one might think, we see that he does not follow a rational, logical procedure in gaining justice. The “acutely conscious man” lets his unconscious self (i.e., his will) direct his behavior. Thus we see that the “acutely conscious man” may imply both masochism and sadism because these both stem from the unconscious, that is to say, the underground.
Now we follow the UGM to the home of Simonov, who was an old school fellow:
“Climbing up to the fourth-floor flat, I was thinking that the man disliked me and that it was a mistake to go and see him. But as it always happened that such reflections impelled me, as though purposely, to put myself into a false position, I went in.”
Again, we see that his will and not his reason governs his behavior. He found two old school fellows with Simonov. They seemed to be discussing an important matter. The matter involved a party for their comrade called Zvercov, an officer of the army who was going way to a distant province. Although the UGM realized that he had not been invited, that they did not desire his company, and that he had nothing in common with them, he forces himself upon them. Here we have the unique nature of the UGM’s personality being exposed. His reason tells him that he is bound to have a most horrible time at the party under the circumstances. Furthermore, he knows that he does not have the money to spend in such a fashion as this. For all practical purposes, we would expect the man to act as the “keys to the piano.” But this is impossible for the “acutely conscious man.” His behavior is not governed by a mathematical timetable.
After looking over his clothing, he realized that he did not have the proper dress to satisfy his personal dignity:
“Of course, the best thing would be not to go at all. But that was most impossible of all: if I feel impelled to do anything, I seemed to be pitch forked into it. I should have jeered at myself ever afterward: ‘So you fell down, you fell down, you fell down when it came to the real thing!’”
This is just another illustration of how he realized that he must meet the reality test. In his mind he had the fore long hope of proving to himself that he was superior to his comrades; that irrational man is the true man and thus superior to rational man; that will will triumph over reason; that the spirit will triumph over science and materialism. And finally, that man’s reactions will stem from his emotions and not his reason. That is to say from his unconscious self.
The UGM arrived at the party before the others because the time had been changed without his knowledge. While he waits the “seeds” of contempt are planted into his fertile soul. After the others arrive, this scorn is catalyzed by such remarks as this:
“So you’ve been here a whole hour? Oh, you poor fellow! Zvercov cried out ironically, for to his notion this was bound to be extremely funny. That rascal Ferfichkin chimed in with his nasty snigger, like a puppy yapping. My position struck him, too, as exquisitely ludicrous and embarrassing.”
Disparaging remarks like this continue as the evening progresses. And as a consequence, there develops a cleavage between him and the group; a cleavage that ends in his isolation. As his contempt crystallizes into mental anguish, he finds himself more and more in a web from which he cannot escape. This web is the barrier that has evolved from the conflict between his will and reason (i.e., the barrier is his contempt). Here, at this party, he is faced with the reality situation. There is no delusion of the good and the beautiful. He sees his fellowman as he is, and he sees his relationship to him. Zvercov, a perfect specimen of the “straightforward man of action,” has the admiration and attention of the others. While he, the “acutely conscious man” is rejected and isolated. Reason tells him that he desires to adopt the attitude necessary to get on with one’s fellowman. But his will refuses to let him overcome the barrier. How can a man conform to a society that he despises? The UGM could not give a satisfactory answer to this question of his unconscious self. Therefore, contempt cuts him off from his fellowman, from his society.
The party moves on into the night and Zvercov and his fellows become quite merry. Their minds turn to more illicit pleasures. In the meantime, the UGM has just about come to the end of his neurotic pacing – I have referred to the cause of this in the preceding paragraph. As they prepare to leave for Olympia’s, the UGM rushes over to them and makes apologies for his behavior:
“Zvercov, I beg your pardon, I said abruptly and resolutely. Ferfichkin, yours, too, and everyone’s: I have insulted you all!”
To the UGM this was a very generous gesture on his part. He felt that he was making a tremendous sacrifice. Therefore, when Zvercov retorted the following, he was infuriated to the point of madness:
“Insulted? You insulted me? Understand, sir, that you never, under any circumstances, could possibly insult me.”
With this remark, the little group departed, leaving our “acutely conscious man” free to plan his vengeance. His thoughts, for the most part parallel those that he had when considering vengeance of the officer. He has another conflict between his will and reason. Finally, he decides that by slapping Zvercov in the face he will be putting himself on “equal footing” with him. This, however, never materializes because when he arrives at Olympia’s they are not to be found. Instead, he meets Lisa, and also, he meets with a new experience:
“My head was full of fumes. Something seemed to be hovering over me, rousing me, exciting me, and making me restless. Misery and spite seemed surging up in me again and seeking an outlet. Suddenly I saw beside me two wide-open eyes scrutinizing me curiously and persistently. The look in those eyes was coldly detached, sullen, utterly remote, as it were; it weighed upon me.”
Her eyes make him feel more contemptible, uncomfortable, so he has to talk to her. At first the conversation consists chiefly of “small talk.” But as it continues and becomes of a more personal nature, the UGM realizes that he is gaining confidence. He fears what he might do to her. His sadistic nature is just waiting for expression. Here rests his opportunity. But reason tells him that it is not right to torture a person who trusts you, believes in you. Thus the conflict over honesty is possessing him.
“God knows why I did not go away. I felt myself more and more sick and dreary. The images of the previous day began of themselves apart from my will, flitting through my memory in confusion.”
Of course, the reflection of these events blinded the UGM with contempt. Under the circumstances, he feels that he is compelled to let his will triumph over his reason; that he must satisfy his contempt even if it is at the expense of Lisa.
He proceeds to paint a picture of life that is in direct contrast to life as Lisa has known it. The ideal father and mother, the ideal home and family, the ideal love and lover, are all created by the sadistic UGM with a feeling of indifference. He knows that this is penetrating deeply into Lisa’s soul and that it is going to cause her anxiety. Yet, he continues:
“I had felt for some time that I was turning her soul inside out and rending her heart, and – and the more I was convinced of it, the more eagerly I desired to gain my object as quickly and as effectively as possible. It was the exercise of my skill that carried me away; yet it was more than mere sport.
The rest is tragic. Lisa is in love with the UGM; he is her savior figure. Instead of despising him for the way he has treated her, she can only feel love, love that he is incapable of experiencing. When she comes to him, he rejects her and humiliates her:
“Why have you come? Answer me, answer me, I cried, hardly knowing what I was doing. I’ll tell you, my good girl, why you have come. You’ve come because I talked sentimental bosh to you that time. So now you are soft as butter and longing for fine sentiments again. But you may as well know that I was laughing at you then. And I’m laughing at you now. Why are you shuddering? Yes, I was laughing at you!”
This crushes her but she is still willing to forgive him. However, our UGM cannot measure up to her virtue. He is capable of understanding love but he cannot feel it. He cannot embrace humanity because there is a barrier between him and society. This barrier is a result of the conflict between will and reason. The UGM summaries his plight very well in the following passage:
“They won’t let me – I can’t be good!”
And thus we come to the end of the UGM’s three experiences. They have shown us Dostoyevsky’s philosophy on the conflict of will and reason. In the first experience, personal honor forms the basis of the conflict. Contempt is responsible for the discord found in the second experience. It forms a barrier between him and his fellowman. And in our last experience, honesty, with himself and Lisa, forms the basis of the conflict. In all three cases, we find real evidence that irrational man cannot live happily in a rational society. A man who lives by the dictates of his will and not his reason is a doomed man indeed.
1 This was written when I was a sophomore in college in the 1950s. Dr. Armens is the professor, who upon giving me an oral examination of James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, wanted to recommend me for the University of Iowa’s famous Honor’s Program in the Humanities. I was a chemistry major and stayed in chemistry. It took me many years to regain my connection with the word, but I think the reader will note evidence that that connection has remained in reading some of my works.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)