Scan barcode
A review by greden
Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky
5.0
one knows how to torture himself better than anyone else
being a martyr of justice, is a mild punishment. shivering from cold and a whip at least i would know i'd grow stronger. behind moans of pain would be self-righteousness, secretly enjoying the satisfaction of virtue
nor is the best torture gluttony, self-destruction, nor debauchery - although it may play a part
i wouldn't grant myself the pleasure of destruction, it's too heroic, and also i could enjoy secretly being my own victim - although i do not deny the possibility that i avoid it out of cowardice
nah. i found the perfect torture. idleness. man is a strange creature. we like to punish ourselves. i punish myself with idleness. it gnaws on my industrious soul. there's no pleasure. no glory. no martyrdom!
sitting idle, doing nothing, in a lukewarm existence. cowardly, not daring to destroy anything. coward! coward! your suffering is lukewarm. punishing myself with pain yields a calloused skin. anything that's secretly virtuous is pseudo-punishment - i punish myself with idleness, rotting in inertia! comfort! my idleness breeds yet more self-contempt, which give me all the more reason to punish myself with more idleness - i congratulate and pride myself on one thing, my ability to know exactly how to hurt myself.
if only! if only!
if only my idleness was mere laziness. out of sheer exhaustion. lack of energy! a beautiful reason.
i am full of vitality. i could run up mountains. i could work. i want to work!
yet i choose to lay and do nothing. let the potential rot!
is this all to my profit? am i doing this because i believe that i will benefit?
perhaps a sick demonstration of power. i am secretly plotting revenge
a plan of rigorous self-discipline
i shall love myself by means of sheer will power!
the great irony is, left to my own, i'd act in ways that ultimately does not serve me.
strange is the human, who seeks revenge on oneself
for some misdoing. some trespass, some injustice
there is no time i am more compelled to wreak havoc after moralizing
there is no time i am more compelled to watch pornography after writing triumphantly that i don't watch it, and encourage others not to as well
there is no other time i am more compelled to destroy my health after bragging about my healthy habits - "wait a minute, who do you exactly think you are, mister?"
am i the rule or the exception? perhaps the long row of history of holy men committing the vilest sacrilegious acts is proof i am the rule. those poor holy souls, whose status has robbed them of the gift, the privilege of confession.
in notes from underground, he describes this spiteful part of us in vivid, colourful, nuanced detail to an almost painful, sickening degree.
rebellion is in our blood. this becomes comical when man free's himself from oppression and becomes his own master, and so the master has all good intentions for himself. i will rebel against myself, for i have no one else to raise my fist at, and so, i will act against my own interest! our hatred for authority must go somewhere...
- a girl i've been seeing for a year - countless intimate moments - only in our last argument, we had intense eye-contact, when her eyes bolted to mine, was the first time i actually noticed the color of her eyes. they were dark brown. this realization hit me so hard that for some time i could not hear her passionate rage at me, her insults, that i was narcissistic, etc... and all i was thinking to myself was whether i should mention this or not. i didn't. i think i was too embarrassed.
anyway, this is a real book
being a martyr of justice, is a mild punishment. shivering from cold and a whip at least i would know i'd grow stronger. behind moans of pain would be self-righteousness, secretly enjoying the satisfaction of virtue
nor is the best torture gluttony, self-destruction, nor debauchery - although it may play a part
i wouldn't grant myself the pleasure of destruction, it's too heroic, and also i could enjoy secretly being my own victim - although i do not deny the possibility that i avoid it out of cowardice
nah. i found the perfect torture. idleness. man is a strange creature. we like to punish ourselves. i punish myself with idleness. it gnaws on my industrious soul. there's no pleasure. no glory. no martyrdom!
sitting idle, doing nothing, in a lukewarm existence. cowardly, not daring to destroy anything. coward! coward! your suffering is lukewarm. punishing myself with pain yields a calloused skin. anything that's secretly virtuous is pseudo-punishment - i punish myself with idleness, rotting in inertia! comfort! my idleness breeds yet more self-contempt, which give me all the more reason to punish myself with more idleness - i congratulate and pride myself on one thing, my ability to know exactly how to hurt myself.
if only! if only!
if only my idleness was mere laziness. out of sheer exhaustion. lack of energy! a beautiful reason.
i am full of vitality. i could run up mountains. i could work. i want to work!
yet i choose to lay and do nothing. let the potential rot!
is this all to my profit? am i doing this because i believe that i will benefit?
perhaps a sick demonstration of power. i am secretly plotting revenge
a plan of rigorous self-discipline
i shall love myself by means of sheer will power!
the great irony is, left to my own, i'd act in ways that ultimately does not serve me.
strange is the human, who seeks revenge on oneself
for some misdoing. some trespass, some injustice
there is no time i am more compelled to wreak havoc after moralizing
there is no time i am more compelled to watch pornography after writing triumphantly that i don't watch it, and encourage others not to as well
there is no other time i am more compelled to destroy my health after bragging about my healthy habits - "wait a minute, who do you exactly think you are, mister?"
am i the rule or the exception? perhaps the long row of history of holy men committing the vilest sacrilegious acts is proof i am the rule. those poor holy souls, whose status has robbed them of the gift, the privilege of confession.
in notes from underground, he describes this spiteful part of us in vivid, colourful, nuanced detail to an almost painful, sickening degree.
rebellion is in our blood. this becomes comical when man free's himself from oppression and becomes his own master, and so the master has all good intentions for himself. i will rebel against myself, for i have no one else to raise my fist at, and so, i will act against my own interest! our hatred for authority must go somewhere...
- a girl i've been seeing for a year - countless intimate moments - only in our last argument, we had intense eye-contact, when her eyes bolted to mine, was the first time i actually noticed the color of her eyes. they were dark brown. this realization hit me so hard that for some time i could not hear her passionate rage at me, her insults, that i was narcissistic, etc... and all i was thinking to myself was whether i should mention this or not. i didn't. i think i was too embarrassed.
anyway, this is a real book