Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky (1821-81) is considered one of the greatest writers of all time. His works portray the unfathomable mystery of the human being, poised between good and evil. The great ethical and religious questions – such as free will and the existence of God – are at the center of his four great novels: Crime and Punishment (1866), The Idiot (1869), Demons (1871) and The Brothers Karamazov (1880).
The evocative power of Dostoevsky’s writing is extraordinary; in narrative form, he tackles the major theological questions. The result is a theological perspective on life that opens up numerous horizons for reflection. For this reason his works can offer food for thought on a fundamental theological concept such as salvation. A central theme for Christianity, salvation cannot be defined dogmatically in all its complexity.
In these pages we will therefore try to trace some lines of reflection on this theme, starting with some works of the Russian writer. In particular, there are two perspectives that we will address. First of all, we will try to explore the salvific dimension of the meekness of Christ, the result of his merciful gaze toward every person. Then we will focus on a more meta-narrative aspect: can we talk about a path of salvation for the reader of Dostoyevsky?
It is a journey in three stages: we start from the figure of Jesus as he emerges from some of Dostoevsky’s texts, then move on to the Christ-like protagonist of The Idiot, and finally to the relationship between the two main characters of Crime and Punishment, Sonya and Raskolnikov.
Dostoevsky’s Christ
To understand Dostoevsky’s religious views, it is essential to consider his passionate interest in the person of Christ. In this regard, one of the Russian writer’s texts is highly significant. In a moving letter written immediately after his release from Siberia, he states: “How much terrible suffering has this thirst for faith cost me and continues to cost me, a faith that is all the stronger in my soul the more I dream up arguments against it! And yet God sometimes sends me minutes in which I am completely serene. In these minutes I love and feel loved by others, and in these minutes I have searched within myself for the symbol of faith, in which everything is dear and sacred to me. This symbol is very simple, here it is: to believe that there is nothing more beautiful, more profound, more pleasant, more reasonable, more virile and perfect than Christ […]. And that is not enough; if it were demonstrated to me that Christ is outside the truth, and if it were to turn out that the truth is outside Christ, I would prefer to remain with Christ rather than with the truth.”[1]
This passage testifies to Dostoevsky’s faith in Jesus, seen as a real presence in which the splendor of the human being radiates, a beauty that is a source of “absolute peace.” It is a presence that touches the head and the heart and draws one toward a saving love.
Before discussing the two symbolic Christ-like figures of Prince Myshkin and Sonya, we can briefly observe how Jesus himself is depicted in The Legend of the Grand Inquisitor, the story Ivan tells his brother Alyosha in The Brothers Karamazov. A personal portrait of the Savior emerges, in which the essential characteristics of Myshkin and Sonya emerge.
In the story, Jesus returns to Earth, to Seville, at the time when the Inquisition is functioning and is imprisoned as a heretic. A cardinal – the Grand Inquisitor of the story’s title – visits him during the night and questions him on the value of human freedom. With brilliant arguments, the cardinal denounces a lack of love in the gift of such a terrible freedom, a gift that humans, in their weakness, are not able to manage. The cardinal speaks at length and convincingly. In his arguments there is no lack of witty observations, valid yesterday and today; they would deserve a study of their own. However, in these pages we are interested in Jesus’ response. He remains silent throughout the long speech and listens meekly to the formidable words of his adversary; finally, still silent, he stands up and kisses him gently.
As Ivan emphasizes at the end of his story, the kiss of Jesus burns in the heart of the Inquisitor. Is this the possible beginning of a path to salvation in which human freedom – at the center of the Inquisitor’s monologue – and the ability to choose based on a certain vision of humanity and the world are put into play by an action that, stronger than any argument, can turn an entire life upside down? The disturbing beauty of this gesture cannot help but challenge the reader, firing up the heart and leading to reflect on the ongoing possibility of alternatives to every act of revenge or violence. Even in the most desperate situations, a disarming gesture of love may open up possibilities for salvation, paving the way for a journey marked by love, peace and reconciliation that at first glance seems impossible.
We will see how similar gestures of kindness, which can be interpreted as a response to the gospel invitation to love one’s enemies, find new light in the actions of Prince Myshkin and Sonya. After all, we can see in them, in Dostoevsky’s portrayal, the resigned attitude of Christ during his passion.
From this perspective, Dostoevsky’s entire oeuvre outlines possible answers to the mystery of evil. Sadly present in this world, it makes the beauty of Christ shine forth, and his invitation is to stand by his side in the struggle against him. Jesus’ response, which through his apparent passivity shows a strength of openness to others full of trust, reveals to us a path of radical beauty, of victorious opposition to evil. Salvation then can come by allowing oneself to be touched by this marvel, which burns in the heart and leaves one speechless; it is the first moment of a possible journey of conversion toward life in Christ.
Prince Myshkin, a figure of Christ
In Dostoevsky’s writing, The Idiot is a novel that encompasses all his major themes. At the center is the dilemma of existence, involving an elusive game between good and evil, between beauty and horror, in which Prince Myshkin – the “idiot” of the title – is a ray of shocking, yet fascinating light. Returning to St. Petersburg from a Swiss sanatorium, the meek and compassionate Prince Myshkin finds himself involved in a love triangle between two women at opposite ends of society: Aglaya, a young aristocrat, and Nastasya, the embodiment of the fallen woman. The latter was the concubine of the aristocrat Totsky, who abused her from the time she was a child. She represents the lost woman, irredeemably stained by a supposed “guilt.”
Between the two women, Myshkin, out of compassion, chooses Nastasya. Aware of the prince’s absolute goodness, she hesitates for a long time to accept his love; in the end, feeling unworthy, she gives herself to Rogozhin (an ambiguous character, the penniless son of a rich merchant). The latter realizes the true nature of her choice, goes mad with jealousy and kills her. Myshkin, faced with the body of the murdered woman, sinks into a state of desperate madness.
Inspired by Christ, Dostoevsky wanted to represent in the prince the absolute beauty of a soul, whose luminous goodness shines out in a world where the most violent human passions struggle with fragile and luminous purity. In the context of the novel, Myshkin appears both disarming and disarmed. In fact, the rich dialectic suggested by the juxtaposition of these two terms – disarmed and disarming – can be considered central in emphasizing the saving power of the prince’s character. He has two essential characteristics. The first is his ability to see original human goodness everywhere. His unlimited trust in every person allows him to read and understand with a kindness devoid of judgment the deepest part of every heart. This echoes the love of a God whose merciful gaze never ceases to welcome and forgive. Secondly, in his apparent naivety, in his radical goodness, others better understand themselves, exposed in their own pettiness. The protagonists of the novel do not always reflect this “Christ-like character.” Sometimes they are attracted to it; sometimes they are repelled by it. The authentic goodness of Christ illuminates and accompanies the characters, helping them to see themselves clearly; it is the first step toward accepting God’s truth in their lives. It is a profoundly Christ-like attitude, as the episode of the Samaritan woman at the well reminds us (cf. John 4:5-42).
Before examining the prince’s saving role in more detail, it is necessary to issue a caveat: Prince Myshkin is not a literary portrait of Christ, as in the previously mentioned episode of the Grand Inquisitor. Neither his thoughts nor actions explicitly refer to Jesus, as is the case with Sonya in Crime and Punishment. In The Idiot, Dostoyevsky allows us to perceive something of the person of Christ – for instance, his gentleness, capable of bringing light and truth to the people he meets – without explicitly referring to him. This is central to understanding the “incomplete” value of his salvific role, in which, unlike Crime and Punishment, the epilogue is far from a glorious resurrection.
To better understand the theological value of a reflection on salvation based on this novel, we will now briefly look at the symbolic role of Prince Myshkin as “the meek and humble savior” in relation to three key concepts of the Paschal Mystery: sacrifice, atonement and substitution.
The Sacrifice of Prince Myshkin
We can begin to reflect on the redeeming role of this character from The Idiot by presenting in theological terms what can be understood as his “sacrifice.” To do this, it is essential to briefly outline the profound meaning of this term from a biblical perspective. Sacrifice speaks of an experience that concerns the deepest meaning of existence and its relationship with the divine.
If we look at the etymology, “to sacrifice,” sacrum facere, means “to make sacred”: something is given up to make it available to the deity. By giving up something that belongs to us, we recognize the existence of a force greater than ourselves and “submit” to it. Christ’s sacrifice can be seen as the offering of his life to God the Father for humanity. By his freely chosen act, he “sacralizes” existence, understood as a recognition of our dependence on a God of love – the origin and ultimate end of all life – and which finds its fulfillment in fraternal service, embraced as the total gift of self.[2]
We can see Prince Myshkin’s life as an existence ordered to others, bearers of a transcendent dignity, whose value challenges his own being. He does not hesitate to renounce the possibility of a happy family life with Aglaya, whom he loves, in order to marry Nastasya, for whom he feels compassion. It is a sacrifice that expresses the sacred desire to give his love and his life in order to give new dignity to a woman whose existence has been irreparably damaged.
Prince Myshkin’s Atonement
Atonement can be seen as the moral attitude of the guilty party who accepts his punishment to make amends for his guilt: the presence of a relationship is therefore central. From this perspective, we can interpret the attitude and actions of those who are prepared to make atonement as a form of prayer, a fervent request for forgiveness. We can thus better understand God’s requirement in the Old Testament, for Aaron to perform a rite of atonement for the sins of the Israelites (cf. Lev 16:16). This allows us to consider atonement as an opportunity given by God to perform an action to restore the relationship with Him in its fullness.[3]
It is therefore possible to interpret Prince Myshkin’s sacrifice in these terms. Moved by compassion for a woman whose person has been wounded, we can recognize in his gesture of love the desire to give her a chance, the loving attempt to restore dignity to a creature destined to be perfect, but who became lost. It is in this that we see the prince’s exceptional humanity. Among the woman’s acquaintances, he seems to be the only one with a “Christ-like gaze,” capable of an act of boundless compassion to restore Nastasya to her original goodness, to allow her to re-establish a harmonious relationship with the world.
However, there is something special about Nastasya’s case. She was raped, she bears a stain for which she is not responsible and from which she cannot free herself by her own efforts. We could talk about a sort of “original sin,” a stain that must be washed away at all costs. This leads us to a third concept that is necessary when referring to the Paschal Mystery, that of substitution.
Substituting Prince Myshkin
The concept of substitution helps us to imagine the role of someone who, by putting himself in another’s place, enables the other to achieve a redemption that is not accessible by their own efforts. In this sense, substitution seeks to establish, through exchange and solidarity, a new communion between God and man. From a Christian perspective, we see how Christ comes to meet us where we are, to help us, in the name of his solidarity with us, to achieve what our state as sinners prevents us from doing. In this way, by making us collaborators with the Father, he restores to us our freedom as children of God, allowing us to freely welcome him into our lives, to enter into a saving relationship with him, to accompany us in living out our capacity to love to the full.[4]
In returning to the prince, we become aware that Nastasya, because of her “original contamination,” is not able to cope with her state as a desperately wounded woman alone. The prince tries to atone for her, to take away her burden. In other words, in full solidarity with her, Myshkin wants to put himself in her place, to be close to her where she is, through the decision to marry her and thus share her destiny. If, on the one hand, we are not dealing with a complete substitution – after all, as we said, the prince only takes on some aspects of the person of Christ – on the other hand, we can see in the lowering of his status, by marrying her, an attempt to take with him – and in her place – part of the supposed guilt for which the prince is in no way responsible. He tries to remove the obstacle that prevents Nastasya from loving herself, from seeing herself as a creature worthy of love and capable of loving, as is the case with every human being.
In summary, the prince, sacrificing the possibility of a happy family life with Aglaya, thanks to his compassionate love that leads him to marry Nastasya, puts himself in her place – or rather, at her side – to offer her the possibility of escaping her condition as a lost soul. By atoning with her for “her original sin,” he gives her the freedom she needs to enter into deep communion with the world and embark on a path of salvation that will help her live fully as a beloved creature.
Can we really talk about salvation?
However, in the novel no one is saved. Nastasya rejects Myshkin’s proferred path of redemption and marries Rogozhin, who kills her. When he finds out, the prince lapses into insanity. In any case, the sacrifice in The Idiot still has a salvific intent. Thanks to the gift of his own life, the prince recognizes in Nastasya’s situation a universally sacred reality: a woman who has been violated and scorned becomes the one for whom he can sacrifice himself.
After observing Myshkin’s example, we can return to the Jesus of the Gospels and look at the sacrifice of Christ and his way of entering the passion from a new perspective. Christ, at the height of his suffering as an innocent victim, with a meek attitude accepts his fate and rejects all forms of violence. This is even more extraordinary when on the cross he still finds the strength to ask the Father to forgive those who have brought about his death. We can interpret this extraordinary move in the light of the challenging exhortation to love one’s enemies, a disposition capable of disarming persecutors intent on one’s death. The love of Christ, a love that is freely given, undeserved and, according to human standards, unmerited, is the first stage of a process of redemption. It is an attitude of “active passivity,” a powerful contrast to violence, as the end of the story of the Grand Inquisitor suggests.
Christ, with his life and his sacrifice – just like Prince Myshkin – bears witness to the merciful gaze of the Father, ready to love every person, despite their apparently unworthy condition (Nastasya is a violated and scorned woman) or a situation of enmity (the Grand Inquisitor is a hostile adversary). He shows us how to enter the Kingdom as children of God, as the evangelist says: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous” (Matthew 5:44-45).
If one returns to The Idiot, the tragic epilogue seems to extinguish all hope: in the novel there is no resurrection. How can we talk about salvation when the protagonist is a salvific figure, but where all the characters are “lost”? First of all, as a representative figure of Christ, we cannot expect a theological interpretation of the Jesus of the Gospels. The character in The Idiot reflects only some of the traits of the figure of Christ. In this respect, the prince brings to mind the beauty of an infinitely merciful God, who loves humanity to the point of recognizing – against all hope – the original goodness of every human being. He is a God ready to make himself vulnerable, even to the point of sacrificing himself, to be at the side of each person. He is a God who believes in humanity, who makes us perceive a promise of life for everyone, even for his enemies, even in the most desperate situations. While the happy ending of Crime and Punishment confirms the fulfillment of this hope, in The Idiot – where references to God are implicit – the situation is different. If it is true that in this novel the possibility of a promise remains unfulfilled in the tragic conclusion, the prince – a symbolic rather than an exact representation of Christ – suggests the beauty of the merciful face of the Savior.
This is the saving value of The Idiot, whose influence goes far beyond the pages of the novel. The prince’s sacrifice suggests to the reader the value of a life in which the beauty of truth shines forth. Surprised, a reader who has never heard of Christ can discover the possibility of a gaze capable of giving meaning to everything, even to one’s own life. This is the theme already mentioned, the “salvation of the reader.” Those who allow themselves to become involved and touched by the writing of Dostoevsky may discover the possibility of an existence of which they may not be aware. It is a possible discovery that may be a source of both shock and joy. In both cases, with the help of grace, the reader may begin a process of personal search and conversion.
For this reason, even though it portrays a person who is not Jesus, The Idiot can help everyone, believers and non-believers alike, to become aware of the saving presence of Christ in their own existence and in that of others. It can be the starting point of a search to discover and welcome, in all its fullness, the risen Christ in one’s daily life. In conclusion, we can emphasize how Jesus’ meekness and his merciful gaze that rejects all violence can be interpreted in the light of the sacred dignity of every human being, images of God. In other words, restoring human dignity thanks to a gaze that translates into disarming love is the first step in accompanying others to freely welcome the God of love into their lives. This is a central dimension of salvation; it is the step that makes it possible to enter into a saving relationship with Christ and with the world, to let oneself be loved and to love in true freedom.
Sonya and Raskolnikov
Sonya, the key character in Crime and Punishment, is one of the most luminous figures in Dostoevsky’s work. The novel, published in 1866, is the psychological-spiritual tale of a crime. In contrast there is Raskolnikov, a poor student from Saint Petersburg. Afflicted by an oppressive poverty, he does not hesitate to kill an old money lender and, due to a tragic error, her sister. The crime has a deep symbolic value: the usurer embodies the iniquity of the world, and the young student’s crime actualizes his theory of the alleged possibility for the “superior man” – above morality – to break every law, in the name of a greater good. The abhorrent crime gives rise to a series of psychological torments that tear at the heart and mind of the murderer. In this context, the meeting with Sonya marks, for Raskolnikov, the beginning of a psychological and spiritual journey toward a possibility of “resurrection.”
Sonya is the daughter of a drunkard, whom Raskolnikov meets in a tavern at the beginning of the novel. Driven into prostitution by her father’s deplorable condition, she demonstrates a simple and unshakable faith in God. There is an innocence and simplicity in her that allows her to draw sustenance from the unfathomable depths of life and the mystery of God. Her faith is a living force, far from erudite wisdom or the fruit of theological study. Deeply rooted in Sonya’s life, this faith is at its origin a view of the world characterized by a disarming and tender compassion, which emerges in all her behavior. Her mystical simplicity attracts Raskolnikov and slowly leads him on a path to truth.
Sonya, like Jesus, seems to have an inexhaustible faith in human beings, in the original goodness of each person. She even justifies and defends her miserable stepmother, the one who pushed her into prostitution. She displays a disarming benevolence toward everyone: it is truly the gaze of Jesus, the expression of a love capable of seeing the person, rather than the sinner. One could say that this gaze expresses the desire to reaffirm God’s original bond of love with each human being: a close relationship, which began when we were created in God’s image and likeness. It is by reaffirming this bond that we can restore the sinner’s right relationship with God, with oneself and with the human community.
From this perspective, returning to an original situation from the past, whether compromised or lost, favors the salvific acceptance of Christ in one’s life. We can think of Jesus’ welcoming attitude in the episode of the adulteress (cf. John 8:1-11), where the Lord’s benevolent gaze restores dignity to the woman: she comes out of her isolation and can be reintegrated into the community. Raskolnikov’s spiritual journey is similar. After a few months in Siberia, during which Sonya constantly shows him her affection through a gentle and patient love, Raskolnikov experiences a wonderful moment of conversion at her side. The sudden and overwhelming realization that he loves Sonya is only the beginning of a new way of looking at himself and others.
There is a key moment in Crime and Punishment that allows us to better understand the extent of Sonya’s faith in a Savior God and that, at the same time, plays a central role in Raskolnikov’s (and the reader’s) potential path to salvation. The young protagonist asks Sonya to read the account of the resurrection of Lazarus in the Gospel of John (cf. John 11). The episode is told in a compelling way: the narration alternates the words of the Gospel with the description of the young woman’s strong emotion during the reading. Sonya first reaffirms her faith inwardly, following in the footsteps of Mary, Lazarus’ sister. Then she expresses the hope that this faith in Christ as the Savior can be shared by Raskolnikov himself.
Sonya’s unshakeable hope in the resurrection invites the reader to think of Christianity as a religion of the impossible: faith in the risen Christ pushes us to face the most desperate situations with confidence, to live a Christ-like attitude to the point of sacrifice, in the belief of a promise of life for every human being. Only by believing in the impossible does it become possible; this is truly a faith that saves. It is faith in the resurrection that makes any sacrifice possible in situations with no apparent way out.
The dynamics of the Gospel narrative prepare the reader for what follows. The episode of the resurrection of Lazarus, referred to at the end of the novel, takes shape in the lives of Sonya and Raskolnikov. This suggests the saving power of the Gospel itself. What is told acts in the lives of the readers. Sonya becomes the Mary of the text, who intercedes with Jesus. The miracle, which began with the reading of the Gospel, is fulfilled at the end of the novel, when we learn of Raskolnikov’s “resurrection.”
It is a reflection, extraordinary from a narrative point of view, of the performative power of the Gospel, which is not just a narrative, but an action, a force capable of transforming the world and the lives of the people with whom it comes into contact. The reading of a Gospel episode can become an authentic story of salvation today, with a real impact on life.
Furthermore, thanks to a complex interplay of references, the episode opens up the possibility of a third level of salvation, that of the reader. By telling us a story, Dostoyevsky presents us with a possibility, a new perspective that can influence our lives. Through the power of a deeply moving story, he gives us a glimpse of a truth that can challenge the way we are and the way we see things.
It is there, deep within our being, that the vibrant vigor of the story acts like the unexpected action of grace, to challenge us beyond any logical explanation. Could the moving story of Sonya’s and Raskolnikov’s love perhaps give us a glimpse of the beauty of sacrifice, its power to give new impetus to life or to awaken new hope? Just like Sonya – who finds in the story of Lazarus’ resurrection the possibility of believing in something impossible – the reader, too, challenged by the “resurrection” of Raskolnikov, of which Sonja is in a sense the “mediator,” can glimpse the possibility of a personal promise. In a way, the book helps the reader to imagine unexpected possibilities, preparing the way to accept grace, to recognize the call of a God who makes himself present in our lives. An exciting story, touching one’s heart, can awaken the ability to listen to a call and, once heard, to respond, to begin a journey of salvation.
In conclusion, mercy, the fruit of a compassionate gaze, averse to all forms of violence, is central to the whole of Jesus’ life – as it is to that of the prince and Sonya – and finds an extraordinary manifestation in the context of the passion. It is a salvation that begins with an encounter with the face of Christ in this life, to find its full flowering – against all hope – after death.
We find this last concept, in different terms, in Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. The young Alyosha is shocked after discovering the decomposing corpse of the elder Zosima, an example of sanctity. This tragic and discouraging state of a dead figure with the “scent of sanctity” seems to belie the state of grace of the deceased. Then Alyosha, falling asleep while listening to the reading of the episode of the wedding at Cana, receives a visit from the staretz in a dream. Here is the beautiful text: “We are rejoicing, we are drinking new wine, the wine of great joy […]. Here is our Lord, do you see Him? […] Do not be afraid of Him. He is terrible to us because of his majesty, he frightens us because of his greatness, but he is infinitely merciful, he became like us out of love and he rejoices with us, transforming water into wine, that the joy of the guests may not end. He is waiting for new guests, he is ceaselessly calling new ones, and so it will be for all eternity!”
Finally, with his heart full of joy, Alyosha wakes up and, leaving the cell, throws himself to the ground and embraces the earth, crying and swearing to love it. As in the story of Alyosha, it is the encounter with the merciful face of the Savior that transforms us, that saves us by giving us the authentic desire for a love lived in fullness. Dostoevsky with his extraordinary novels can help us grasp this magnificent dimension of salvation. In Crime and Punishment, where God is mentioned several times, this dimension of a path to salvation is in a sense explicit. In The Idiot, the absence of explicit references to Christ and the tragic epilogue only indirectly evoke the splendor of Jesus’ merciful face. However, this can be seen as a premise for a salvific encounter with him. The reader is always the ultimate recipient of a writer’s vision, the recipient of a guide to a possible journey of conversion.
DOI: https://doi.org/10.32009/22072446.0225.11
[1]. F. Dostoevskij, Epistolario, vol. I, Naples, Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 1951, 168 f.
[2]. Cf. B. Sesboüé, Jésus-Christ l’unique Médiateur, Paris, Desclée, 2003, 259-268.
[3]. Cf. ibid., 293-297.
[4]. Cf. ibid., 357-360.
Reproduced with permission from La Civiltà Cattolica.
