ISSN: 2158-7051 ==================== INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF RUSSIAN STUDIES ==================== ISSUE NO. 5 ( 2016/2 ) |
BODILY WILLFULNESS: INTENTIONALITY AND
THE NEUROLOGICAL UNCONSCIOUS IN DOSTOEVSKY'S A WRITER'S DIARY
ANYA L. HAMRICK*
Summary
This article investigates nineteenth-century
neurological theories of the unconscious by using Dostoevsky’s A Writer’s Diary as a literary case
study. The article focuses on Dostoevsky’s engagement with the famous court
cases of Anastasia Kairova and Ekaterina Kornilova, in which medical expert
testimony about the defendants’ states of mind played a prominent role in the
trials and their sensationalized coverage in the press. In his views on the
unconscious, Dostoevsky privileges the soul as the ultimate source of
consciousness and of one’s elevating unconscious drives, but also acknowledges
rare cases in which the body affects consciousness and the mind, depriving the
individual of her freedom of choice. Ultimately, Dostoevsky’s perspective
problematizes the strict spiritualist/materialist divide in late
nineteenth-century scientific views on the unconscious and simultaneously resonates
with the romantic psychology of C.G. Carus of the 1840s and the later work of
Alexander Bain and William Benjamin Carpenter in the 1870s.
Key Words: Unconscious, neurology, psychology, sciences of the
mind, court journalism, Dostoevsky.
This article
investigates nineteenth century neurological theories of the unconscious by
using Dostoevsky’s A Writer’s Diary (1876–1881)
as a literary case study. It focuses specifically on Dostoevsky’s engagement
with the famous court cases of Anastasia Kairova and Ekaterina Kornilova, in
which medical expert testimony and the female defendants’ states of mind played
a prominent role in the trials and in their sensationalized coverage in the
press. Dostoevsky’s engagement with questions of what constitutes conscious and
unconscious states, intent, and one’s subsequent
responsibility for her actions reveals a complex stance that at times comes
across as self-contradictory. The author decries the influence and implications
of the then popular “environmental theory” (teoriia
sredy) in one piece, for example, adamantly insisting on the importance of
personal responsibility and accountability for one’s actions, only to come to
the defense of Kornilova later, using her female biology and the effects of
pregnancy as an explanation for her crime.
As this
article demonstrates, Dostoevsky does not reject the relevance of sciences of
the mind for explanations of human behavior, but neither does he fully embrace
those (mostly western) theories. Aware of the most recent developments in neurology
and related fields, Dostoevsky deviates in the conclusions he draws from them.
While mental sciences of the time, for example, viewed women and the peasantry
in particular as evolutionarily inferior to the “civilized” man — as more instinctual,
primitive, weak-willed and, in the long run, doomed to their biology —
Dostoevsky acknowledges the influence of biology, but emphasizes the
exceptionality of that influence and repeatedly stresses the importance and
power of personal choice.
Whereas
the predominant scientific views of the unconscious in the late nineteenth
century stress the negative, animalistic, even atavistic nature of unconscious
drives, Dostoevsky insists that the latter can be both positive and negative,
both elevating and debasing. In his views on the unconscious, Dostoevsky
privileges the soul as the ultimate source of consciousness and of one’s
elevating unconscious drives, but also acknowledges rare cases in which the
body affects consciousness and the mind, with potential to deprive the
individual of her freedom of choice. Ultimately, Dostoevsky’s perspective
problematizes the strict spiritualist/materialist divide in late
nineteenth-century views on the unconscious and simultaneously resonates with
the romantic psychology of C.G. Carus of the 1840s and the later work of
Alexander Bain and William Benjamin Carpenter of the 1870s.
Theories of the Unconscious in Late Nineteenth-Century Western Europe
The
period from the middle of the nineteenth century through its end in both
Western Europe and Russia was immensely preoccupied with what today we would
call unconscious physical and mental processes. As Jenny Bourne Taylor points
out, these decades saw the creation of numerous names for the concept, with
terms like "unconscious cerebration," "latent mental
modification," the "reflex action of the cerebrum,
" and the "preconscious activity of the soul" (to name a
few) often somewhat nebulous and hotly debated.[1]
Unsurprisingly, these concerns manifested themselves in varying discourses and
social domains: from the exhibitionist theatricality of mesmeric
"cures" performed by Franz Mesmer and his disciples; the similarly
dramatic investigations of hypnosis by James Braid, Charcot, and eventually
Janet; the neurological concerns with reflexes and consciousness of the nerves;
to the "super-natural" fascination with unconscious communication
through processes like telepathy and seances with the dead. This article concerns
itself primarily with the third category: the neurologically-inspired theories
of the unconscious.
Although
the term ''unconscious'' is often associated with the theories of Sigmund
Freud, pre-Freudian nineteenth-century theories differ from the Freudian
construct in important respects. The nineteenth-century conceptualizations of
the unconscious grew in large part from the rapid (and often sensationalized)
developments in physiology and neurology, with particularly strong ties to
Marshall Hall's discovery of the reflex response in 1832. In general, the
pre-Freudian unconscious was thought to create actively processes that were
central to memory, behavior, and perception. According to the scientific
theories of the day, it lacked the Freudian mechanism of repression and thus
did not serve the function of containing psychic material banished from
consciousness by the super-ego. Instead, the mid-nineteenth century unconscious
functioned as part of effective information storage and efficient task delegation.
Unlike the Freudian construct, it could revert to free delivery of unconscious
content, if such delivery would lead to more efficient functioning.[2]
Hall's
discovery of the reflex response (or ''reflex arc,'' as he termed it) in 1832
paved the way for the dominant views on the unconscious in the second half of
the nineteenth century. His experiments shed light on a property of the spinal
marrow that allowed for a direct conversion of sensation into action, a process
that bypassed intentionality and the brain. According to Hall, the stimuli that
activated the reflexes affected the brain as well, but the latter's
participation was not necessary for the reflexes to take place. Hall referred
to a "system of excitor nerves, constantly operating in the animal
economy, preserving its orifices open, its sphincters closed, and constituting
the primum mobile of the important function of respiration" and, in his
later theorizations, of circulation and digestion as well.[3] By the
time Hall renamed his theorization of this new part of the nervous system the
"dyastaltic nervous system" in 1850, the topic had become the subject
of wide investigation and debate in both Western Europe and Russia. Subsequently,
it became the foundational concept that eventually led to William Benjamin Carpenter's
and Thomas Laycock's assertions that the brain, as an extension of the nervous
system, also most likely carried out reflexes that were not conscious, thus
leading to their theories of the unconscious ("unconscious
cerebration" for Carpenter and "reflex function of the brain"
for Laycock).[4]
Carpenter's
and Laycock's assertions resonated with anxieties first aroused by La Mettrie's
radical claim almost a century earlier that man was a machine, not dissimilar
to a master clock. Carpenter's and Laycock's ''mechanization'' of the brain
through the extension of reflexes into its domain therefore led to strengthened
anxieties about the threatened existence of the soul, as well as the now
questioned idea of free will and the possibility of personal accountability for
one's actions in general. In his Principles
of Mental Physiology (1874), translated
into Russian in 1877 as Osnovaniia
fiziologii uma, Carpenter summarizes the dominant viewpoints in conflict
between the so-called "materialist" and "spiritualist"
schools. According to the former, man is the product of his initially given
biology and of his subsequent external circumstances and environment. His body,
and by extension brain, in turn, constitutes or manifests in what we think of
as soul or psychic activity. With this view, biology drives consciousness, and
personal responsibility for one's actions is meaningless. The spiritualist
school, however, argued that the soul is an independent, non-physical, superior
entity that merely uses the body for accomplishing its purposes. In this view,
therefore, the body cannot determine or change the soul; instead, it can only
dim or partially distort its manifestation. From this perspective, one must be
fully accountable for her actions, since the body is only a vehicle of the
independent soul.[5] This
materialist/spiritualist divide becomes the center of both scientific and
popular debates by the time of Dostoevsky's involvement with the Kairova and
the Kornilova cases in the Writer's Diary
Dostoevsky's Involvement with Sciences of the Mind
Dostoevsky
read avidly in the areas of sciences of the mind, both before and after his
exile. During the pre-Siberian period, he had frequent (for three years, almost
daily) meetings with his then physician and friend Stepan Ianovskii, during
which Dostoevsky not only consulted with him about his own condition, but also
borrowed extensively from the doctor's library, particularly volumes related to
brain pathology, nervous disorders, and psychic illness.[6] By the
time Dostoevsky returned from exile and resumed his writing career, the latest
medical literature was being translated into Russian and reviewed in the
Russian press at much greater frequency. Furthermore, in the post-reform period
of Alexander’s Russia of the 1860s and 1870s, an unlikely venue for
dissemination and popularization of the recent advances in sciences of the mind
became prominent — the courts. Dostoevsky’s interest in Russian court cases,
beginning with his journalistic work of the early 1860s, is well documented.
What has received less attention, however, is the extent to which the Russian
courtroom relied on the medical and psychiatric testimony both for prosecution
and defense.
The
so-called Great Reforms of the sixties not only led to increased engagement
with western scientific ideas and greater professionalization (especially when
it came to psychiatry), but also introduced judicial reforms like trial by jury
(in 1864) and resulted in significant growth of commercial press. A decade
before the infamous Vera Zasulich case of 1878, which was sensationalized in
the press in large part because of debates surrounding the accused’s state of
mind, the courtroom had already become part of popular culture. Attendance of
trials was open to the public and proceedings were reported (and avidly
followed) in the press. In the words of Martin Wiener, courtroom trials became
“complex social performances in which a variety of scripts may be employed.”[7] Lawyers
on both sides created narratives — a combination of biography and expert
testimony — that inserted the defendant into them and addressed pressing issues
of the day. As Louise McReynolds points out, these narrative performances gave
public authority and expression to what otherwise would have remained abstract,
obscure, intellectual concepts.[8] Most
importantly, the courtrooms, served as a vehicle for the dissemination of
expert medical and scientific knowledge and its popularization.
The Cases
It is
within this context of burgeoning scientific discussions about unconscious
drives and free will, as well as these debates' popularization through the
courts and the press, that Dostoevsky's involvement with the Anastasia Kairova
and the Ekaterina Kornilova cases in the Writer's
Diary must be considered. Kairova was a thirty-year-old actress who was on
trial for the attempted murder of the wife of her lover, Vasilii Velikanov, a
retired naval officer and owner of the acting troupe Kairova belonged to.[9] On the
evening of July 7th, 1875, Kairova found Velikanov in bed with his
allegedly estranged wife at the dacha rented with Kairova’s money. The
defendant attacked Mrs. Velikanova with a razor she had purchased previously,
inflicting deep cuts on Mrs. Velikanova’s neck, chest, and head, before being
restrained. Miraculously, Mrs. Velikanova’s wounds proved non-fatal and she was
able to return to work some days later.[10]
Dostoevsky’s
commentary on the Kairova case first appears in the Diary in the May 1876 issue. In this and subsequent pieces, the
author condemns Kairova’s crime, but admits his compassion for the “wretched,
heinous criminal, who is completely guilty” and even expresses his relief at
her release, all the while deeply regretting the fact that it could not be
secured without actual acquittal (opravdanie).
Dostoevsky strongly condemns the fact that Kairova fails to acknowledge her own
guilt and responsibility for the attack. So unstable and morally confused is
Kairova, Dostoevsky argues, that she persists in believing that she, instead of
Velikanov’s wife, is the actual victim in the whole matter.
Dostoevsky’s
commentary largely focuses on this moral confusion on the part of Kairova, on
her inability to control her carnal passions and possessiveness, as well as on
her defense attorney’s, Evgenii Utin’s, misleading oratory tactics. The author
does not blame the jury for their verdict of “not guilty,” however, arguing
instead that they made the only choice they could in good conscience.
Dostoevsky insists that the jurors were limited by the restrictions of the
questions they were asked to answer, most problematic among them being the
question of whether Kairova was guilty of premeditated
murder.[11] The
determination of intent in this case, Dostoevsky insists, cannot be
definitively decided. It is this very question of intent, which is inseparably
tied to the nature of unconscious psychic drives and one’s ability to control
her response to them, that this article will turn to shortly.
Given
Dostoevsky’s strong criticism of Kairova’s acquittal, as well as his anger
towards Utin’s romanticization of his client’s passion towards her lover as
something noble, understandable, and worthy of not being called a crime, the
author’s stance towards the Ekaterina Kornilova case comes as a complete
surprise. In early 1876, Kornilova, the twenty-year-old peasant-born wife of a
widower who had a child from a previous marriage, threw her six-year-old
stepdaughter out of a fourth-story window. Miraculously, the child survived and
suffered no serious bodily harm. Kornilova immediately turned herself in and
confessed that she planned to harm the child in retaliation for her own
mistreatment at the hands of her husband. Kornilov supposedly criticized her
harshly, compared her negatively with his deceased wife, and even forbade her
to associate with her own family. Kornilova was convicted in the court of law
and sentenced to two years and eight months of hard labor, as well as to
permanent exile after the end of her prison term.[12]
The cases
of Kairova and Kornilova seem to stand in direct opposition to each other in
terms of Dostoevsky’s position towards the defendant’s culpability and her
verdict. In the Kairova case, as in the discussions of the Kronenberg case
earlier and in the essay “Environment” (1873), among other pieces, Dostoevsky
expresses his growing disappointment with the recently instituted trial by jury
system and decries the Russian jurors’ frequent tendency to acquit defendants,
despite the often overwhelming facts proving their guilt. Furthermore, in all
these instances, as well as in The
Brothers Karamazov later, Dostoevsky criticizes harshly the then popular
“environmental” theory, or the argument that crime and deviant behavior in
general resulted solely from the effects of unfavorable social circumstances on
individuals.
Whereas
in most instances Dostoevsky also consistently mocks the popularly used temporary insanity (vremennyi affekt) defense, demonstrating cautious and healthy skepticism towards the
defense’s employment of medical experts, he now appears to privilege the
medical expert testimony in the Kornilova case.[13] Although
in the Kronenberg and the Kairova cases Dostoevsky emphasizes the need to
acknowledge the guilt of the defendants, despite simultaneously agreeing with
the jurors’ willingness to show them mercy, in the Kornilova case, he suddenly
reverses his position and uses the temporary insanity defense to exculpate the
defendant, citing the fact that she was pregnant at the time of the commission
of her crime as a possible explanation for her behavior. In addition,
Dostoevsky becomes personally involved in the case, more than once meeting with
Kornilova and leading a public campaign through the Diary for her re-trial. He in fact succeeds, with the second trial
resulting in Kornilova’s acquittal.
Critics
have taken various approaches to explaining this seeming reversal of previously
held views by Dostoevsky. Harriet Murav, for example, argues that these
apparent contradictions in fact contain an underlying consistency, which she
locates in Dostoevsky’s creation of his public persona as the author of the Diary. Murav argues that in authoring
the Diary, Dostoevsky “authors
himself as a child of, and as a father to a new Russia.”[14]
According to her, Dostoevsky puts himself in the position of the (abused) child
in the earlier Kronenberg case and in the position of the parent in the
Kornilova case; in the former he resists the authority of the lawyer and the
father, but, in the latter, now as a “symbolic father” himself, he accepts that
authority.[15]
Gary
Rosenshield, in turn, also argues for important symbolic resonance of the
Kornilova case as an explanation for Dostoevsky’s seeming
reversal of views. According to Rosenshield, the manner in which Kornilova’s
second trial is conducted bears almost more importance for Dostoevsky than the
verdict itself. The trial creates the possibility of class reconciliation, and
consequently nothing less than the salvation, of Russian society as a whole. As
with Zosima’s assertions in The Brothers
Karamazov that everyone is responsible for one another, Rosenshield argues that for Dostoevsky salvation and redemption
can only come about in the context of a community, through a unified collective
will. Thus Dostoevsky turns the trial into a utopian site of numerous reconciliations:
between Kornilova and her husband, Kornilova and her stepdaughter, the jurors
who quickly agree to acquit, between the lawyers, the court and the public, the
medical experts and — ultimately — between the classes of Russian society, who
unite in their demonstration of faith in human redemption and in extending
compassion, mercy, and forgiveness towards the defendant.[16]
Finally,
Anna Schur also argues that Dostoevsky’s seeming
reversal of views with the Kornilova case does not present an aberration. Schur
points out that Dostoevsky’s defense of Kornilova can be seen as an extension
of the same impulse that led him to be admittedly happy when obviously guilty
defendants (like Kairova and the earlier-mentioned Zasulich, for example) were
acquitted. According to Schur, Dostoevsky’s criticisms in large part stem from
the absence of legal categories that would acknowledge the defendant’s guilt,
but would still allow for forgiveness. The absence of such categories,
according to Dostoevsky, often results in denial of the very existence of the
crime the defendants are being tried for, since the jurors wish to forgive, but
are legally unable to without denying the guilt itself. Schur argues that what
remains unchanged in Dostoevsky’s approach to the legal cases, including the
seemingly aberrant Kornilova affair, is his interest in moral betterment, in
“redemption and spiritual regeneration” of the defendants.[17] Whereas
in some cases, Schur points out, moral regeneration is possible through
insistence on punishment, in others it is possible only by foregoing it and
“letting the defendant go” in order to allow her to pursue the path to
redemption.[18]
All three
of the scholars point out important sources of consistency in Dostoevsky’s
engagement with the court cases, but an additional important dimension of
underlying continuity in his views is largely overlooked: personal
responsibility and potential for regeneration specifically in light of the
scientific views on the unconscious and one’s will. Both Murav and Schur do
investigate in the course of their analyses the role mental sciences play
during the trials. Murav, for example, argues that Kairova’s characterization
by her defense attorney resonates strongly with late nineteenth-century
scientific theories about the female criminal. Furthermore, in her discussion
of the Kornilova case, she argues that “becoming a father to Russia requires
that Dostoevsky discipline unruly female sexuality.”[19] Schur,
in turn, looks at views on consciousness in criminal psychology, mostly
restricting her analysis to the perspectives of doctor
A.I. Freze, the criminologist Nekliudov, and the prominent journalist V.
Zaitsev.
Whereas
these two analyses focus primarily on the dominant, overwhelmingly materialist
paradigm, especially prevalent in criminal psychology, however, this article
focuses on the theories that begin problematizing the materialist/spiritualist
divide, and which are introduced in Russia chiefly through the work of G.H.
Lewes, who popularized scholars like Alexander Bain and William Benjamin
Carpenter. Lewes’s Physiology of Common
Life was written for the general audience and was a tour-de-force introduction into most areas of physiology and
neurology — from its relevance to issues surrounding proper digestion and blood
circulation, to the relationship between the brain and the mind — with a
specific emphasis on the British tradition. In addition to providing an
excellent, detailed, and yet accessible primer on physiology, neurology, and
the most current debates stemming from both fields, the book also introduced
prominent British psychologists like Alexander Bain and William Benjamin
Carpenter to the Russian audience, before their individual monographs were
translated into Russian. Physiology of
Common Life’s popularity in
Russia is attested to not only by its translation into Russian in 1861, only
two years after its original publication in English, but also by the fact that
it went through two additional editions in Russian in the next three years.[20]
As
discussed earlier, the materialist/spiritualist divide represented the major
source of tensions when it came to shifts in scientific perspectives on the
human psyche in the nineteenth century. The materialists (who dominated the
sciences) embraced biological determinism and reduced human consciousness to
the product of one’s biology, thus eliminating free will and choice, whereas
the spiritualists argued that the body (including the nervous system and the
brain) was but a vehicle for the manifestation and the expression of the soul,
with emphasis on personal responsibility and free will. Popular discussions of
nineteenth-century views on the unconscious often situated it squarely in
either one camp or the other, and the Kairova and Kornilova cases were no
exception. As this article will demonstrate, however, situating the unconscious
exclusively in the materialist or the spiritualist school of thought,
does not reflect the reality of the nuanced theories of the unconscious and
human intentionality during the time. Bain and Carpenter challenged this binary
opposition, and views of the unconscious were at the center of the debates in
their work. Carpenter in particular eventually became well known for arguing
that the strict separation between the mind and the body was reductive, as was
the insistence that only the body affected the mind. Instead, he argued that
the mind, or consciousness, could also intentionally affect and ultimately
change the body, although this process was much more arduous and difficult than
the automatic effects of the body on the mind.
Thus this
article argues that another source of underlying consistency in Dostoevsky’s
views on personal responsibility in the Kairova and the Kornilova cases is in
his reliance on a more nuanced understanding of the unconscious and
intentionality, similar to that of Bain and Carpenter. This view both embraces
the less reductive theories of the time and rejects their predominant
counterparts that insist on strictly materialist views of consciousness.
Furthermore, Dostoevsky’s insistence on punishment in one case, but not in the
other, is rooted in large part in the defendant’s reaction to her crime, which
in turn is connected with the possibility of future positive effects of the
changed, regenerated mind on the body.
On “Uterine Lust” and Irresistible Impulses: Biologized Intent in the
Cases
While Utin, Kairova’s defense
attorney, argues for his client’s exculpation using a combination of outdated
Romantic tropes and forensic (criminal) psychology, Dostoevsky criticizes defense’s
valorization of her actions that ultimately leads to the denial of the crime as
such. Denying the reductive assumptions underlying biological determinism,
Dostoevsky’s views do not in fact reject the relevance of biology for Kairova’s
actions. It is impossible to determine whether Kairova acted with premeditation
of murder, Dostoevsky argues, because, had she not been subdued, she could have
acted in any number of ways, given the same circumstances. Her actions are
therefore not predetermined by biology or environment. At the same time,
however, Kairova’s actions are a result of her previous lifestyle, intentions,
and choices. In general, there are possibilities, Dostoevsky argues, for future
redemption and change for Kairova, but this chance to rise above her moral
confusion and carnal desires cannot come about if defense and the public as a
whole refuse to call her crime a crime.
Defending
his client, Utin simultaneously portrays Kairova as a passionate, selfless
heroine who succumbed to the purity and intensity of her love for Velikanov on
the one hand, and as a victim of her social
environment, female biology, and heredity on the other. In the process,
according to Dostoevsky, he conflates two types of instincts, or unconscious
drives: the selfless, protective, maternal instincts that are oriented
primarily towards the well-being of another (her lover/child) on the one hand,
and the selfish, possessive, carnal desires that are concerned mainly with its
own satisfaction and self-gain on the other. Utin, for example, compares
Kairova to a “lioness protecting her cub,” when he speaks of the woman’s
feelings towards Velikanov and towards the threat she perceives from her
lover’s wife.[21] He also
informs the jury that the defendant “considered him hers,” “her creation,” and
“a darling child… whom she wanted to elevate and ennoble.”[22]
Dostoevsky, of course, does not hesitate to point out that this “lion cub” and
“darling child” is “tall, of solid ‘grenadier’s’ build, with curly hairs on the
back of his neck.”[23]
Furthermore, Dostoevsky dismisses the affair as а “petty intrigue” (intrizhka).[24]
The
author’s stance implies two things about unconscious motivations in this case:
not all unconscious drives are negative (as instincts for self-sacrifice
demonstrate), and yet Kairova’s unconscious motivations definitely do not
belong to the latter, elevating category and must be correctly labeled. This
insistence on correctly labeling the nature of Kairova’s unconscious drives
appears to bring into conflict psychological discourses from two periods: the
time before and after the height of the spiritualist/materialist debates in
Russia. Dostoevsky’s privileging of the psyche over the body, for example, as
well as his acknowledgement of the positive, elevating unconscious drives, as
opposed to their atavistic, primitive counterparts in late nineteenth-century
sciences, shares roots with the Romantic psychology
of C.G. Carus, whose work made a deep impression on Dostoevsky in the 1840s.[25] In Carus’s views, all illness and, by extension, pathological behavior
is an expression of an underlying spiritual, psychic imbalance or distortion,
located in his version of the unconscious. In classic spiritualist fashion,
Carus privileges the soul’s primacy over the body and envisions a much more
benign unconscious than his later nineteenth-century colleagues. For him,
although nervous and other physical illnesses become expressed through the
body, one always has access to healing through acknowledging and removing
imbalances in one’s unconscious.[26] This view, of course, is reversed in the materialist claims that
consciousness (as well as the unconscious) is solely the product of the nervous
system and the brain, with pathological mental states resulting from physical
abnormality and thus requiring a physiologically oriented approach to
treatment. As this article demonstrates later, however, Dostoevsky’s views not
only share important similarities with Carus’s theories, but are also in line
with later nineteenth-century views that go against the strict
materialist/spiritualist divide when it comes to the psyche.
As Murav
points out, Utin portrays his client both as the (by 1876 outdated) literary
Romantic hero who becomes transfigured in her outburst of passion, merging with
nature and losing all traces of self-consciousness in the process and, at the
same time, as the “embodiment of new scientific theories about the psychology
and physiology of the female criminal in late nineteenth-century Russia.”[27]
Describing the moment Kairova discovered Velikanov with his wife, Utin is
reported as saying:
Passion
overwhelmed her. […] Jealousy consumed, destroyed her reason and forced her to
play a terrible game. […] Jealousy made her mind crumble [iskroshila], nothing was left of it. How could she control herself?
[…] Really, gentlemen of the jury, is it possible for a woman to remain calm? She
would have to be a stone… The man she
passionately loves is in her bedroom, in her bed, with another woman! Her
feelings were a stormy torrent that destroys everything it encounters in its
path; she raged and destroyed. If we ask this torrent what it is doing, why it
does evil, could it answer us? No, it is silent.[28]
As the dominant discourses in criminal psychology of
the time would have it, Kairova, as a woman, is presented as constitutionally
incapable of premeditation when it comes to her crime, with her deviant
behavior coming about simply as a result of being overwhelmed by strong
emotions and as an automatic reaction due to inability to exercise restraint.[29] Utin
thus attempts to convince the jurors (and the courtroom audience) that Kairova
is in fact not guilty of a crime at all, since, implicitly, she had no free
will to rely on in the matter. The
inclusion of the testimony of Kairova’s mother further underscores the fact
that she is a product of her biology, with degenerate history of her family resulting
in her greater physiological irritability and sensitivity.[30] Thus,
when presented with an overwhelming stimulus in the form of her loved one in
the arms of a rival, Utin’s argument suggests, the “givens” of Kairova’s
biology lead to a “natural” reaction, with the woman herself bearing no
responsibility for her subsequent actions. In this portrayal, as the “silent
torrent,” she is beyond the reach of language or reason: she is body, nature,
pure force. She is the outdated Romantic hero who has been reinterpreted in
neurological terms.
While
both the defense and criminal psychology emphasize the lack of premeditation in
the case, Dostoevsky focuses on the impossibility of determining that sustained
intent instead. Denying both biological and environmental determinism,
Dostoevsky reintroduces the possibility of personal choice into the case and
complicates his readers’ conceptualization of the unconscious. Discussing
Kairova’s state of mind, the author insists that he does not think that the
defendant “was in an unconscious state [v
bessoznatel’nom sostoianii]” at the time of the attack, further adding:
I don’t
even allow for the possibility of the slightest madness. On the contrary, I
think that, in that minute, when she was cutting, she knew that she was
cutting, but whether or not she wanted to kill her rival, having consciously
set that goal — that she might not have known in the highest degree […] She
might have been cutting, in anger and hatred, without thinking about the
consequences.[31]
In his discussions of the Kairova case Dostoevsky
appears to use the term “unconscious” (bessoznatel’nyi)
in its more narrow, legal sense, as something done in an alternate state of
consciousness and which would not be remembered later.[32] As will
be seen soon, however, Dostoevsky problematizes the narrowness of this term in
his pieces on the Kornilova case, reaching for definitions of the unconscious
beyond the legal sphere. For the purposes of this discussion, this article
relies on the broader definition of the unconscious that includes actions that
are taken automatically, or without conscious intent instead. Ultimately, this
is the dominant definition in the sciences of the mind outside criminal
psychology at this time and one Dostoevsky himself leans towards in his
discussions of Kornilova’s state of mind later.
Denying
the possibility of determining the defendant’s sustained intent in relation to
her crime, Dostoevsky takes his reader on a tour of her possible actions had
she not been subdued in mid-attack. He asks:
And what
if, after having slashed Velikanova once across the throat with the razor, she
had given out a scream, had started to tremble and had run off? How can you
know that this might not have happened? […] And what if it had so happened
that, after having slashed Velikanova once across the throat with the razor and
after having taken fright, she had started to slit her own throat instead? Yes,
might she not perhaps have started here to slit her own throat? And, finally,
what if she not only had not taken fright, but, on the contrary, having felt
the first splashes of hot blood, she had flown into a frenzy and not only had
finished slicing up Velikanova, but had also begun to mutilate her body,
cutting off her head “completely,” then cutting off her nose and lips, and only
later, after this severed head had already been taken away from her, she had
suddenly asked: “What is it that I have done?” I am asking you this because all of these things could well have
happened, all of these things could well have come out of one and the same
woman, one and the same soul.[33]
The
author’s recreation of Kairova’s possible reactions to the realization of her
own offense presents three versions of the same structural scenario: Kairova
acts on impulse, without the intentional decision to attack her rival; sometime
during the act, she experiences the first moment of self-awareness and she now
has a choice in terms of various ways of reacting to it. In the first instance,
the moment of awareness is followed by “fright” at the conscious recognition of
her actions and then by avoidance and escape in the form of physical fleeing.
In the second scenario, the moment of self-consciousness is once again
accompanied by horror and by subsequent desire to escape, this time through
attempted suicide. The previous failure to recognize another’s humanity is now
accompanied by what can be seen as a warped attempt at empathy, or
“co-feeling,” as imaginary Kairova inflicts the same wounds on herself that she
a second ago “mindlessly” inflicted on her dehumanized rival. The action also
appears as a physical self-punishment, a disavowal and rejection of the
“unconscious,” physiological drives that led to her violent outburst. Finally,
in the last, most sensational and violent scenario, after the encounter with
hot blood Kairova goes into a form of a violent trance and loses any semblance
of humanity, as she cuts Velikanova to pieces. Only after the
severed head of her rival is taken away from her, does Kairova experience a
moment of conscious awareness and possibility for reflection.
Dostoevsky’s
imaginative recreation of Kairova’s possible reactions to her violent outburst
emphasizes three main things for his readers: First, that Kairova’s actions are
“automatic,” or void of volition, up to a certain point; only after she gains
self-awareness of her actions does she have an opportunity to make a choice as
to how to react further. Second, Dostoevsky points out that, once the imaginary
Kairova has an opportunity to choose, that choice can take a number of forms,
ranging from avoidance (fleeing from the scene) and harsh, violent
self-punishment (cutting her own throat) to a yet another response that
Dostoevsky does not describe altogether (following her question of “What have I
done?”). In the first two scenarios, Kairova’s “moral humanity” becomes activated
shortly after her initial attack; in the third scenario, she embodies the most
extreme scientific assumptions about the atavistic, “primitive,” animalistic
unconscious drives that supposedly lurk within. Even in this case, however,
Dostoevsky denies biological determinism, as he points out that Kairova nonetheless
eventually experiences a moment of self-consciousness and eventual choice. In
addition, whereas the materialist, biologically deterministic sciences would
eliminate the very concept of the soul, insisting that consciousness arises
from the nervous system and the brain, Dostoevsky here emphasizes the fact that
the many possible courses of action that would have been available to Kairova
once she is self-aware would have arisen precisely from the soul.
Dostoevsky’s
description makes it clear that the imaginary Kairova’s actions originally lack
self-awareness and volition and that
she eventually has access to choice and, implicitly, possibility for future
change. If Kairova’s actions are not completely predetermined by her biology or
social environment, however, then what drives the violence of her initial
“automatic” outburst? And what role might the exercise of her will after the
moment of self-awareness play in similar future states lacking awareness? To
get at the answers, this article turns to the Kornilova case,
particularly to the way Dostoevsky continues to problematize the meaning of the
term “unconscious.”
The insistence on the inadequacy of the narrow legal definition of the
unconscious lies at the heart of Dostoevsky’s arguments in Kornilova’s defense. In
response to Dr. Nikitin’s assertion that the defendant committed her crime
“consciously” [soznatel’no], “but not
without the possibility of irritation and affect,”[34]
Dostoevsky responds:
The most
important element of the prosecution’s case [against Kornilova], of course, is
that she committed the crime consciously.
But once more I ask: what role does consciousness play in a case like this?
She might well have been fully conscious, but could she have resisted the wild
and perverted fit of temporary insanity even with the clearest consciousness in
the world? Does this really seem so impossible? Had she not been pregnant, at
the moment of her outburst of anger she might have thought: ''That wretched
little brat ought to be thrown out of the window; at least that would stop him
[the husband] from nagging me about her mother all the time.'' She might have
thought it, but she would not have done it. But in her pregnant condition she could not resist and she did it.[35]
As Dostoevsky argues in the passage, it is not simply
enough to retain sensation during one’s actions and to be able to recollect
them later for something to be considered a fully conscious act. The passage
differentiates between impulse (unconscious drive) and one’s ability to resist
it through the assertion of one’s will. Following a somewhat similar
argumentative move to the one used by Utin in Kairova’s defense, the author
argues that although Kornilova is in part responsible for her initial ill
intent towards her step-daughter, she cannot be held responsible for carrying out her actions. Like Utin before
him then, Dostoevsky, at first glance appears to eliminate the defendant’s free
choice in the matter, arguing that her biology dictated her actions.
In
addition, whereas in his discussion of the Kairova case, Dostoevsky places
emphasis on the fact that the defendant’s actions arise from her soul, in the
Kornilova case, as the passage demonstrates, he emphasizes the fact that the
body influences the spirit. Dostoevsky tells his readers, for example, “Everyone knows that
during pregnancy (especially with her first child), a woman quite often becomes
affected by certain strange influences and impressions, to which her spirit [dukh] strangely and fantastically submits.
These influences sometimes take on — although this happens in rare cases —
extraordinary, abnormal, almost ridiculous forms.”[36] It happens rarely,
Dostoevsky asserts, but the circumstances of (in this case female) biology do
in certain cases eliminate the possibility of a conscious choice and an
exercise of will on her part, with the mechanism by which this happens
remaining mysterious and unknown.
In his discussion of
the Kornilova case, Dostoevsky also insists that the physiologically based
effects of pregnancy and its at times criminal results transcend class
differences, pointing out that medical science does not necessarily understand
fully these “strange and fantastic” influences. The author shares the story of
his female acquaintance, for example, “a lady by far not poor, educated, and of
good social standing,” who compulsively steals from family members and
acquaintances while pregnant, despite the fact that she is not in financial
need.[37] Dostoevsky shares with
the reader:
Her consciousness was
fully retained, but it was the impulse [vlechenie]
that she couldn’t resist. It seems that even now it is doubtful that medical
science can say something definite about such occurrences, or rather about the
spiritual [dukhovnoi] side of these
occurrences: due to what precise laws do such ruptures [perelomy], such submission [podchinenie]
and influence, such madness without madness occur, and what role exactly can
consciousness play here and what does it [consciousness] mean in this case?[38]
Once again, Dostoevsky points out that to have mental
sensations is not the same as having access to one’s will. Dostoevsky’s
anecdote emphasizes two additional things: the fact that Kornilova’s actions do
not result from a deeply rooted degenerate criminal tendency, as many criminal
psychologists of the time would have it, especially given her peasant origin.
In addition, Dostoevsky disavows environmental influences in this example: it
is beyond doubt, for instance, that his female acquaintance steals not out of
financial (i.e. environmentally imposed) need, but due to some other “strange,
fantastical” reason. Similarly, Dostoevsky’s initial (mocking) dismissal of the
predominance of environmental factors in Kornilova’s motivations when he first
mentions the case during his discussion of the Kairova affair stands here.[39] In other words,
Kornilova did not commit her crime because of the unfortunate circumstances of
her marriage, the hard daily labor she is subjected to, her difficult
upbringing, or other purely social, environmental circumstances. The latter
would have wide generalizable applications to the rest of the population; by
contrast, Dostoevsky argues that Kornilova’s (and his acquaintance’s)
submission to the “strange and fantastical influences” is rare and
exceptional.
Thus,
Dostoevsky challenges both the strictly materialist and the strictly
spiritualist views on the unconscious and personal responsibility. With his
rejection of Utin’s usage of forensic (criminal) psychology to acquit Kairova,
for example, he can at first glance come across as rejecting physiological
explanations for defendants’ actions altogether. With the Kornilova case, however,
we see Dostoevsky’s acknowledgement of the physiological effects of pregnancy
on one’s unconscious and ability to control one’s impulses. Although his
stances on these two cases appear contradictory in their seeming rejection of
materialist claims in one instance and later rejection of a purely spiritualist
perspective in the other, Dostoevsky’s approach is in fact in line with the
most recent developments in scientific views on the psyche contemporary to his
time.
As
mentioned earlier, the dominant narrative in the mental sciences was heavily
materialist, insisting that consciousness was influenced by the body, but not
the other way around, as well as arguing that women and other “deviants” and
“degenerates” were particularly susceptible to the more “primitive,” atavistic
unconscious drives. This absolute insistence on biological determinism,
was far from universal by the time of the trial, however. Prominent scientists
like Alexander Bain and William Benjamin Carpenter, among others, insisted that
the scientific explanations for the unconscious were much more complicated than
the rigid materialist/spiritualist divide accounted for. In his highly
respected Mind and Body: The Theories of
Their Relation (1873), for example, Bain bluntly relegates the reduction of
mind to body to “the cruder forms of materialism” and goes on to discuss
explicitly the fact that some scholars at this point are insisting that “the mind and the body act upon each other.”[40] He ultimately disagrees with the latter perspective on
the grounds that it assumes a separation between the mind and the body, whereas
Bain himself argues that the two cannot actually be conceived apart from one
another. Instead, he speaks of an inter-related entity akin to present-day
discussions of the “mind-body.”
It is in
fact the ideas of William Benjamin Carpenter, however,
another prominent British scientist introduced in Russia most notably through
Lewes’s extended favorable discussion of his work in Physiology of Common Life, that is particularly relevant to this
discussion. Carpenter’s influential arguments surrounding the role of one’s
will in affecting and ultimately changing one’s body and, by extension, one’s
physiological unconscious drives, resonates strongly with Dostoevsky’s own
stance on the cases. By attending to Carpenter’s work, one can see that
Dostoevsky’s rejection of defense’s employment of criminal psychology does not
represent a dismissal of the relevance of mental sciences for the cases as a
whole. Instead, Dostoevsky’s views are in line with a rejection of the
reductive, incomplete understanding of the scientific explanations presented by
Utin and by the “crude” (to borrow Bain’s word) materialist stance prevalent in
much of criminal psychology and mental sciences in general.
William Carpenter: Beyond the “Materialist” and “Spiritualist” Divide
William
Benjamin Carpenter’s chief work, Principles
of Mental Physiology (1874), was translated into Russian around the time of
the trials.[41] In Principles, Carpenter announces that he
aims to investigate two seemingly opposing concepts central to his study: the
dependence of automatic psychic activity on the material conditions of the
environment, on the one hand, and the existence of an independent entity that
controls this automatic action — the will — on the other.[42] Man’s
consciousness is the interaction between “I” and the “not I,” Carpenter states
in the opening of his work, proceeding to reveal explicitly his position
outside the spiritualist/materialist binary by announcing that he will
investigate not only the effects of the body on the mind, but the effects of
the mind on the body as well.[43]
Furthermore,
Carpenter argues for the need to investigate the mutual relationship between the
body and the mind/soul, as opposed to insisting on the primacy of one over the
other. The most interesting and useful area of investigation, he asserts, is
where body and soul “touch and come together.”[44] The
physiologists’ claim that certain states of, or changes in, the body influence
the mind is self-evident, Carpenter says, as changes in psychic states due to
intoxication or poisoning readily demonstrate. And yet, much more radically,
Carpenter insists that the process works the other way around as well, with
certain psychic states influencing and changing the body.[45]
This
mental ability to change the body, according to him, is inextricably tied to
the individual’s will. “We have within us a self-determining power which we
call Will” Carpenter insists, adding, “it is in fact by virtue of the Will that
we are not mere automata, mere
puppets to be pulled by suggesting strings, capable of being played by everyone
who shall have made himself master of our strings of action.”[46]
Carpenter is certainly not the first to theorize the will, but what makes his
ideas particularly bold and original is his claim that the will can actually
exert changes on the body, initially, through one’s directed attention. He
informs the reader:
It is
thus that each individual can perfect and utilize his natural gifts; by
rigorously training them in the first instance, and then by exercising them
only in the manner most fitted to expand and elevate, while restraining them
from all that would limit and debase. In regard to every kind of mental
activity that does not involve
origination, the power of the Will, though limited to selection, is almost unbounded. […] By concentrating the mental
gaze (so to speak) upon any object that may be within its reach, it can make
use of this to bring in other objects by associative Suggestion. And, moreover,
it can virtually determine what shall not
be regarded by the Mind, through its power of keeping the Attention fixed in some other direction; and thus it can
subdue the force of violent impulse and give to the conflict of opposing
motives a result quite different from that which would ensue without its
interference.[47]
Carpenter thus insists that one can change one’s
physiological, unconscious drives and, implicitly, the nervous system itself,
through the cultivation of one’s attention. Even more radically, he asserts
that this skill is within the power of ordinary people and should be the main
focus of spiritual and mental development. One can direct attention to one's
natural strengths and talents, developing them further (these cannot be
created, however, they must first be a given), as well as direct one’s
attention away from less desirable information and impulses. With passing time,
things that we choose to focus our attention on become "acquired
habits" encoded into our nervous system and, eventually, our automatic
actions, bodies, and minds bear more and more of the effects exercised by our
will and directed attention.[48]
Despite
this hopeful picture, however, Carpenter cautions the reader:
It may be
freely admitted, however, that […] thinking Automata do exist; for there are many individuals whose Will has never been
called into due exercise, and who gradually or almost entirely lose the power
of exerting it, becoming mere creatures of habit and impulse; and there are others in whom […] such
Automatic states are of an occasional occurrence, whilst in others, again, they
may be artificially induced.[49]
From “Creature” to “Creation”: Rethinking Personal Responsibility
Carpenter’s
investigation of the way body and mind interact and the effect they have on one
another complicates notions of personal responsibility and potential for
individual’s future regeneration. As he promises in the opening of his book,
Carpenter emphasizes both body and the
mind in exploring human behavior and choice. One’s personal responsibility, for
example, is in part limited by one’s heredity and biology. The “natural gifts”
available for cultivation cannot be created, but are a biological given. At the
same time, however, the individual is responsible for “training” herself
through directing attention and re-inforcing certain impulses, eventually
making them automatic by “coding” them into one’s nervous system. Dostoevsky’s
approach to personal responsibility in the
Diary’s cases is very similar, although his outlook places more emphasis on the
psyche, as opposed to the body. For Carpenter, for example, the physiological
aspect of the unconscious drives is much more powerful (precisely because it is
initially unconscious). For Dostoevsky, in turn, whose approach in part
resonates with Carus’s view that the psyche (and by extension the unconscious)
is the more powerful source of both positive and negative drives, the psyche is
ultimately privileged over (but not independent of) the body.
In
light of these scientific views, Dostoevsky’s approach to the Kairova and
Kornilova cases no longer appears self-contradictory. Kairova is both
responsible for her actions, and yet worthy of compassion because that
responsibility is limited. Heredity and biology play a role in her
predispositions and behavior, but they do not eliminate personal responsibility
altogether. Dostoevsky’s description of Kairova resonates strongly with
Carpenter’s description of the “automatum,” or a person who has never exercised
her will consciously and has become a “mere creature of habit and impulse.” The
author describes Kairova as “something so unserious, so disorganized [bezalabernoe], not understanding
anything, something unfinished, empty, impulsive [predaiushcheesia], not in control of itself, [and] mediocre [seredinnoe],” also calling her a
“disorderly and unstable [shataiushchaiasia]
soul.”[50] The
moment of her self-consciousness that Dostoevsky imagines in the Diary simply never comes. She does not
recognize her guilt as such and, now that both the defense and the jury have
reinforced her previous faulty beliefs, she lost an important chance for
conscious reflection and the opportunity to exercise her will at last. Did
Kairova have such moments of self-awareness in the past, intentionally having
failed to “organize” her life and make her impulses less “wild?” Neither
Dostoevsky nor the reader can know. Her lifestyle and previous choices,
however, reinforced the “violent impulses” she was predisposed for, debasing
her, instead of elevating, encoding those automatic impulses even further into
her nervous system and making such actions more and more likely in the future.
She is guilty, Dostoevsky asserts, and yet “she knows not what she does” — all
while her actions are making future uncontrolled impulses and violent outbursts
more likely.
The
concept of the unconscious itself simultaneously becomes more fluid and more defined in light of Carpenter’s
and Bain’s theories. Lewes summarizes pithily the main issue at hand, “To have
sensations and to be conscious of sensations is one and the same thing. To have a sensation and to know that we have it are
two things, not one thing. Knowledge cannot exist without consciousness; but
consciousness may, and often does, exist without knowledge.”[51] Put more
simply, one can be conscious, but not “know” what one does. And yet, although
many unconscious impulses (especially physiological ones, like breathing or
heartbeat, for example) are primarily outside our awareness and control, not
all of the unconscious is. By exercising one’s attention, the individual has
control over what eventually becomes habitual and thus unconscious (outside of
our awareness or volition). By training one's attention on “positive” things,
one therefore makes it much more likely that future unconscious impulses will
be less likely to be “negative” or violent, according to Carpenter.
If
Kairova is akin to Carpenter’s “automatum,” with her acquittal as yet another
reinforcement of a habitual life of impulsive self-indulgence, Kornilova’s
violent automatic actions have been “artificially induced” (to borrow
Carpenter's phrase) by her pregnancy. Whereas Kairova’s chances for moral
regeneration after the case are low, Kornilova’s prospects for future
betterment are very high. Unlike the “morally confused” Kairova who has not
been consciously exercising her will, Kornilova fully admits her guilt and
accepts responsibility for her actions. According to Dostoevsky, Kornilova told
him that she “harbored ill will, but it’s as if this was not at all [her] own
will, but someone else’s,” adding that she also “didn’t want to go to the
precinct [to report the crime], but came as if on [her] own.”[52] The
author himself, in turn, adds that she acted “as if in a delirium [v bredu], ‘as if not of her own will,’
despite full consciousness [soznanie].”[53]
Kornilova’s
automatic state is thus characterized by both violent and moral unconscious drives. She acted “as if she were someone
else” both when she threw her step-daughter out of the window, but also when
she came to the precinct to turn herself in. Thus, even in the automatic state
after the commission of her crime, she still behaves in a “moral” fashion. In
light of Carpenter’s views, previous exertion of Kornilova’s will, it seems,
has already made her unconscious behavior in part moral. Absent the
pathological effects of pregnancy, Kornilova’s temporarily weakened ability to
resist the remaining negative impulses, it seems, would be restored, whereas
her commitment to morality would ensure continued influence of her will on her
body.
This
prospect is further reinforced by Kornilova’s prison warden’s testimony about
the woman’s complete personality change while in custody. Dostoevsky reports
the warden saying, “It was a completely different creature [sushchestvo] — coarse, mean — which
suddenly, after two to three weeks, completely changed: there appeared a
creature that was meek, quiet, and affectionate.”[54] The word
“creature” in the passage is used in two distinct ways: the first instance
emphasizes the animalistic, inhuman qualities of Kornilova. She is referred to
as “it,” and the animalistic qualities accompanying her “creaturely” state
resonate strongly with the atavistic unconscious drives that have erupted due
to her temporarily disabled restraint. The second usage of the word “creature”
in the same sentence, however, gives it the connotations of “that, which has
been created,” ostensibly, by Kornilova herself through her habitual exercise
of will.[55]
Dostoevsky himself once again explains this change as “the passing of the
well-known, illness-inducing stage of pregnancy — a period of an ill will and ‘insanity without
insanity.’”[56] Kornilova’s
“abnormal” state, in turn, is once again characterized as a condition of a
faulty will, or a will that cannot be properly asserted.
To
conclude, Dostoevsky’s engagement with the Kairova and the Kornilova cases
reveals a nuanced stance on personal responsibility and intentionality that
both opposes the dominant, heavily materialist narrative in the mental sciences
of the time and simultaneously resonates with the emerging nineteenth-century theories
that trouble the materialist/spiritualist divide. Although his initial criticism
of medical testimony in the Kairova case at first appears as a disavowal of
determinist scientific explanations for human behavior altogether, his views in
the Kornilova case indicate that he rejects reductive
materialist scientific approaches to human behavior instead. Whereas popularly
presented scientific theories in the courtroom primarily stressed materialist
biological and environmental determinism, Dostoevsky’s simultaneous insistence
on personal responsibility and its
limitations resonates with the theories of Alexander Bain and especially
William Benjamin Carpenter. Both Dostoevsky and these mental scientists agree
on the fact that heredity and biology do in fact dictate certain aspects of
human behavior, but do not, however, eliminate personal responsibility for
one’s choices altogether or definitively determine one’s future behavior. Each
person, in turn, in addition to containing a physiologically based atavistic
unconscious “creature” within, also bears the responsibility to craft oneself continually
as one's own ''creation'' through exertion of will and gradual bodily
transformation as well.
[1]Jenny
Bourne Taylor, “Obscure Recesses: Locating
the Victorian Unconscious,” in Writing and Victorianism, ed. J.B. Bullen
(London: Addison Wesley Longman, 1997), 142.
[2]Matus, 20–61; Taylor, 137–79; Jonathan Miller, “Going Unconscious,” in New
York Review of Books 42.7 (1995), 59.
[3]Marshall
Hall, Memoirs on the Nervous
System, ed. Ernest Hart (London: Sherwood, Gilbert, and Piper, 1837), 74; Synopsis
of the Diastaltic Nervous System: Or the System of the Spinal Marrow and Its
Reflex Arcs; As the Nervous Agent in All the Functions of Ingestion and of
Egestion in the Animal Oeconomy (London: J. Mallett, 1850), vii.
[4]Jonathan Miller, “Going
Unconscious,” in New York Review of Books 42.7 (1995), 57.
[5]Karpenter, 1–8.
[6]Stepan D.
Ianovskii, “Vosponinaniia o Dostoevskom,” Russkii
vestnik 4 (1885), 797–98 and 805–806. Ianovskii’s records are
particularly useful since we cannot reconstruct Dostoevsky’s pre–Siberian
library.
[7]Martin
J. Wiener, “Judges v. Jurors: Courtroom Tensions in Murder Trials and the Law
of Criminal Responsibility in Nineteenth-Century England,” Law and History Review 17.3 (1999), 481.
[8]Louise McReynolds, “Witnessing for the Defense: The
Adversarial Court and Narratives of Criminal Behavior in Nineteenth-Century
Russia,” Slavic Review 69 (2010),
624.
[9]For
biographical information on Kairova, see Mary F. Zirin, “Meeting the Challenge:
Russian Women Reporters and the Balkan Crisis of the Late 1870s,” in An Improper Profession: Women, Gender, and
Journalism in Late Imperial Russia, ed. Barbara T. Norton and Jehanne M.
Gheith (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2001), 140–66.
[10]Harriet
Murav gives a summary of newspaper accounts about the case, which appeared in Golos in Russia’s Legal Fictions (Ann Arbor, Mich.: University of Michigan
Press, 1998), 145–46. Ol’ga Makarova cites the more scandalous details
(Mrs. Velikanova’s alleged sexual frigidity, Velikanov’s weak-willed character,
the problems of the Velikanov marriage, as well as Kairova’s controlling
personality, among others) that were included in periodicals like Novoe vremia, Peterburgskaia gazeta, and
Sankt-Peterburgskie vedomosti in
“‘Sud’ba kakim-to rokovym obrazom stavit menia poperek Vashei dorogi…’: Delo
Kairovoi i ego sled v biografii A.S. Suvorina, Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie 75 (2005) (“Prilozhenie: Dnevnik Nastas’i Vasil’evny Kairovoi v
sumasshedshem dome”), 110–21. Excerpts of Kairova’s manuscripts have been
published by O.A. Babuk as “Avtobiograficheskii ocherk A.V. Kairovoi,” Rossiiskii arkhiv 11 (2001), 375–87.
[11]The
summary of all four questions asked of the jury is as follows: (1) Did Kairova inflict wounds with a razor on Velikanova with the
premeditated intention of killing her, but was stopped by Velikanova and her
husband? (2) Did she inflict these wounds, for the same purpose, in a fit of
anger (v zapal’chivosti i razdrazhenii)?
(3) Did Kairova act in a fit of madness (umoistuplenie)
that was precisely established? (4) If she acted not under the influence of
madness, then is she guilty of the crime in the first or second questions? The
jurors answered the first two questions in the negative and did not respond the
third and fourth questions.
[12]Pss, 23: 138.
[13]For
example, in his notes for the Kairova case, Dostoevsky writes, “Affect! I beg
your pardon, one can say that all impressions, every impression is an affect!
Sunrise is an affect, a glance at the moon is an affect, and what an affect at
that!” Pss, 24: 207.
[14]Murav, Russia’s Legal
Fictions, 127.
[15]Ibid.
[16]Gary
Rosenshield, Western Law, Russian
Justice: Dostoevsky, The Jury Trial, and the Law (Madison, Wisc.: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005), 68–104.
[17]Schur, Wages of Evil, 67. For additional
readings of the Kairova case, also see the various pieces by Gary Saul Morson:
“Introductory Study: Dostoevsky’s Great Experiment” in Fedor Dostoevskii, A Writer’s Diary, trans. Kenneth Lantz
(Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 1993), 1–120 (henceforward,
translations from this edition will be designated by “WD” and page number), esp. “Sideshadowing in the Diary: Kairova Time,” 90–93; Narrative and Freedom: The Shadows of Time (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 142–45; “Contingency and Freedom, Prosaics
and Process,” New Literary History 29:4
(1998), 673–86; and “Paradoxical Dostoevsky,” Slavic and East European Journal 43:3 (1999), 471–94. On the
Kornilova case, see Eric Naiman, “Of Crime, Utopia, and Repressive Complements:
The Further Adventures of the Ridiculous Man,” Slavic Review 50:3 (1991), 512–20.
[18]Schur, Wages of
Evil, 67.
[19]Murav, Russia’s Legal
Fictions, 142. For importance of gender and sexuality for the cases,
see the same piece. Also, for other readings of women and sexuality in the Diary and in Dostoevsky’s oeuvre as a
whole, see Ronald D. LeBlanc,
“Dostoevsky and the Trial of Nastasia Kairova: Carnal Love, Crimes of Passion,
and Spiritual Redemption,” Russian Review
71 (2012), 630–54; Nina Pelikan Straus, Dostoevsky
and the Woman Question: Rereadings at the End of the Century (New York: St.
Martin’s Press, 1994); and Susan Fusso, Discovering
Sexuality in Dostoevsky (Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press,
2006). Although gender is an important component of the cases, it is not the
central focus of my own analysis. I am primarily interested in the more general
scientific scholarship on consciousness and volition.
[20]The
second edition came out in 1862 and the third in 1863.
[21]Pss, 23:18.
[22]Ibid, 13–14.
[23]Ibid.
[24]Ibid.
[25]
Specifically on C.G. Carus and Dostoevsky’s fiction, see: Samuel Smith and
Andrei Isotoff, The Abnormal from Within: Dostoevsky (Eugene, Oreg.:
University of Oregon, 1935). This piece also draws a connection between Carus’s
and Freud’s work. Also, see George Gibian, “C. G. Carus’ Psyche and
Dostoevsky,” American Slavic and East European Review 14.3 (1955),
371–82.
[26]Carl
Gustav Carus, Psyche. Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte der Seele (Pforzheim:
Flammer und Hoffmann, 1846), 1–12. The volume was translated into Russian as
Karl Gustav Karus, Sravnitel’naia psikhologiia ili
istoriia razvitiia dushi na razlichnykh stupeniakh zhivotnogo mira (Moscow:
K. Shamov, 1867).
[27]Murav, Russia’s Legal Fictions, 148–49.
[28]Pss, 23: 14–15. “Страсть обуревала ее. […] [Р]евность уничтожила,
поглотила ее ум и заставила играть страшную игру. […] [Р]евность искрошила ее
рассудок, от него ничего не осталось. Как же могла она управлять собою. […]Это
было свыше ее сил. Ее чувства били бурным потоком, который истребляет всё, что
ему попадется на пути; она рвала и метала; она могла истребить все окружающее
(!!!). Если мы спросим этот поток, что он делает, зачем причиняет зло, то разве
он может нам ответить. Нет, он безмолвствует.”
[29]Murav, Russia’s Legal
Fictions, 149. As Murav notes, for example, the
law professor I.Ia. Foinitskii argues that women are inherently
incapable of premeditation when it comes to crime (cited in Murav).
[30]Ibid, 147.
[31]Pss, 23: 9. “Заметьте, этим я вовсе не говорю, что она была в
бессознательном состоянии; я даже ни малейшего помешательства не допускаю.
Напротив, наверно, в ту минуту, когда резала, знала, что режет, но хочет ли,
сознательно поставив себе это целью, лишить свою соперницу жизни — этого она
могла в высшей степени не знать […] [О]на могла резать, в гневе и ненависти, не
думая вовсе о последствиях.”
[32]I
discuss the breadth of the various uses of the term “unconscious” in chapter
one. Lewes decries the breadth of the definitions of consciousness, stating
“But what is consciousness? Unhappily there are scarcely two people who
precisely agree in their use of this term. Some use it as the synonym for the
soul; others as a distinct faculty. It is sometimes employed to designate
sensation, and at others only those sensations that usurp our attention,” in Physiology of Common Life, II: 48–49.
For similar sentiments, also see A.I. Freze’s commentary on the lack of clarity
in scientific definitions of consciousness and unconsciousness. Freze was a
medical doctor and the director of the Kazan Hospital for the Insane. He
comments: “The majority of psychological terms […] which are used to indicate
the so-called psychic faculties are very vague. […] The word ‘consciousness’
denotes a most elastic notion. Sometimes it means a specific mental state or
even a fleeting psychic act; other times it means general capacity to relate to
one’s surroundings or to oneself in a certain way, etc.” Ocherk sudebnoi psikhologii (Kazan’: K.A. Tilli, 1874), 143–44. For
a discussion of Freze’s work and its relevance to Dostoevsky’s views on the
Kornilova case, see Schur, Wages of Evil,
68–79. Schur focuses primarily on the views predominant in criminal
(physiological) psychology (in addition to Freze, for example, she also looks
at the work of the criminologist Nekliudov and the prominent journalist V.
Zaitsev, who held strong materialist views). By contrast, I explore the views
outside criminology/criminal psychology (which are overwhelmingly materialist) and
in contemporaneous psychological theories that trouble the
materialist/spiritualist divide.
[33]Pss, 23:10. My emphasis. “А что если она, полоснув раз бритвой по
горлу Великановой, закричала бы, задрожала бы и бросилась бы вон бежать? Почему
вы знаете, что этого не случилось бы? […] А что если бы так случилось, что она,
полоснув раз и испугавшись, принялась бы сама себя резать, да, может быть, тут
бы себя и зарезала? А что, наконец, если бы она не только не испугалась, а,
напротив, почувствовав. первые брызги горячей крови, вскочила бы в бешенстве и
не только бы докончила резать Великанову, но еще начала бы ругаться над трупом,
отрезала бы голову "напрочь", отрезала бы нос, губы, и только потом,
вдруг, когда у нее уже отняли бы эту голову, догадалась бы: что это она такое
сделала? Я потому так спрашиваю, что всё это могло случиться и выйти от одной и
той же женщины, из одной и той же души, при одном и том же настроении и при
одной и той же обстановке.”
[34]Pss, 23: 138.
[35]WD, 727. Original emphasis. “Но, во-первых, что может означать тут
слово: сознательно? Бессознательно редко что-нибудь делается людьми, разве в
лунатизме, в бреду, в белой горячке. Разве не знает даже хоть и медицина, что
можно совершить нечто и совершенно сознательно, а между тем невменяемо.
[…]Произошло бы, например, вот что: оставшись одна с падчерицей, прибитая
мужем, в злобе на него, она бы подумала в горьком раздражении, про себя: ‘Вот
бы вышвырнуть эту девчонку, ему назло, за окошко’, - подумала бы, да и не
сделала. Согрешила бы мысленно, а не делом. А теперь, в беременном состоянии,
взяла да и сделала.”
[36]Pss, 23: 138. My emphasis. “Всем известно, что женщина во время
беременности (да еще первым ребенком) бывает весьма часто даже подвержена иным
странным влияниям и впечатлениям, которым странно и фантастично подчиняется ее
дух. Эти влияния принимают иногда, — хотя, впрочем, в редких случаях, —
чрезвычайные, ненормальные, почти нелепые формы. Но что в том, что это редко
случается (то есть слишком уж чрезвычайные-то явления)”
[37]Pss, 23: 138–39.
[38]Ibid, 139. “Сознание сохранялось вполне, но
лишь перед влечением она не могла устоять. Надо полагать, что медицинская наука
вряд ли может сказать и до сих пор, в подобных явлениях, что-нибудь в точности,
то есть насчет духовной стороны этих явлений: по каким именно законам
происходят в душе человеческой такие переломы, такие подчинения и влияния,
такие сумасшествия без сумасшествия, и что собственно тут может значить и какую
играет роль сознание?”
[39]Ibid, 23: 19. “Кстати, я уж воображаю себе
невольно, как эту мачеху защищать адвокаты: и безвыходность-то положения, и
молодая жена у вдовца, выданная за него насильно или вышедшая ошибкой. Тут
пойдут картины бедного быта бедных людей, вечная работа. Она, простодушная,
невинная, выходя, думала как неопытная девочка (при нашем-то воспитании
особенно!), что замужем одни только радости, а вместо радостей — стирка
запачканного белья, стряпня, обмывание ребенка, — "г-да присяжные, она
естественно должна была возненавидеть этого ребенка — (кто знает, ведь может
найдется и такой "защитник", что начнет чернить ребенка и приищет в
шестилетней девочке какие-нибудь скверные, ненавистные качества!), — в
отчаянную минуту, в аффекте безумия, почти не помня себя, она схватывает эту
девочку и... Г-да присяжные, кто бы из вас не сделал того же самого? Кто бы из вас не вышвырнул из окна ребенка?”
[40]Alexander Bain, Mind and Body: The
Theories of Their Relation (New York: D. Appleton & Company, 1873), 139
and 130. The work was translated into Russian as Aleksandr Ben, Dusha i telo: Sochinenie Aleksandra Bena (Kiev:
F.A. Ioganson, 1880). Although the translation did not come out until 1880, as
I mentioned earlier, Dostoevsky did own a copy of the Russian volume.
Furthermore, G.H. Lewes references Bain’s work extensively in his Physiology of Common Life, a work
Dostoevsky owned. Lewes privileges Bain above all other psychologists in terms
of his contributions to the study of volition and will and even devotes an
entire section to him, titled “Mr. Bain’s Ideas.”
[41]Uil’iam Bendzhamin Karpenter, Osnovaniia
fiziologii uma s ikh primeneniem k vospitaniiu i obrazovaniiu uma i izucheniiu
ego boleznennykh sostoianii (St. Petersburg: Znanie, 1877).
[42]Ibid, iii.
[43]Ibid, 1.
[44]Ibid, 1–2.
[45]Ibid, 13.
[46]Carpenter, 27–28.
[47]Ibid,
25–26. Original emphasis and capitalization.
[48]
Karpenter, 22–23. Original emphasis and capitalization.
These views are strikingly similar to present day theories on neuroplasticity,
which are currently at the cutting edge of neuroscience and according to which
gradual, long-term exercise of “mindfulness” eventually leads to “re-wiring” of
the brain.
[49]Carpenter, 27. My emphasis.
[50]Pss, 23: 8.
[51]Lewes, Physiology of Common Life, II: 48.
[52]Pss, 24: 39. ''Пожелала злое, только совсем уж тут не моя как бы
воля была, а чья то чужая.'' ''Идти в участок совсем не хотела, а как то так
сама пришла туда, не знаю зачем.''
[53]Ibid, 43.
[54]Ibid. “Это было совсем
другое существо, грубое, злое, и вдруг через две-три недели совсем
изменившееся: явилось существо кроткое, тихое, ласковое.”
[55]Dostoevsky repeats the
same construction again: “Г-жа А. П. Б. сообщила мне, между прочим, одно
любопытное свое наблюдение, а именно: когда вступила к ним в острог Корнилова
(вскоре после преступления), то это было совсем как бы другое существо, грубое,
невежливое, злое, скорое на злые ответы. Но не прошло двух-трех недель, как она
совсем и как-то вдруг изменилась: явилось существо доброе, простодушное,
кроткое, ‘и вот так и до сих пор.’” Kornilova, initially referred to as “it” and “the
creature” becomes a “she” and a “creation” by the end of the passage.
[56]Ibid. My emphasis.
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*Anya (Аnna) L. Hamrick - PhD, Assistant Professor, Department of English, College of Arts and Sciences, New York Institute of Technology, Nanjing Campus e mail: a.v.nevinglovskaya@gmail.com
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