The house of the dead : $b or, Prison life in SiberiaDostoyevsky, Fyodor
General
The house of the dead : $b or, Prison life in Siberia
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor
Exiles -- Fiction; Siberia (Russia) -- Fiction
There are people who, like tigers, are greedy for blood. Those who have
possessed unlimited power over the flesh, blood, and soul of their
fellow-creatures, of their brethren according to the law of Christ,
those who have possessed this power and who have been able to degrade
with a supreme degradation, another being made in the image of God;
these men are incapable of resisting their desires and their thirst for
sensations. Tyranny is a habit capable of being developed, and at last
becomes a disease. I declare that the best man in the world can become
hardened and brutified to such a point, that nothing will distinguish
him from a wild beast. Blood and power intoxicate; they aid the
development of callousness and debauchery; the mind then becomes capable
of the most abnormal cruelty in the form of pleasure; the man and the
citizen disappear for ever in the tyrant; and then a return to human
dignity, repentance, moral resurrection, becomes almost impossible.
That the possibility of such license has a contagious effect on the
whole of society there is no doubt. A society which looks upon such
things with an indifferent eye, is already infected to the marrow. In a
word, the right granted to a man to inflict corporal punishment on his
fellow-men, is one of the plague-spots of our society. It is the means
of annihilating all civic spirit. Such a right contains in germ the
elements of inevitable, imminent decomposition.
Society despises an executioner by trade, but not a lordly executioner.
Every manufacturer, every master of works, must feel an irritating
pleasure when he reflects that the workman he has beneath his orders is
dependent upon him with the whole of his family. A generation does not,
I am sure, extirpate so quickly what is hereditary in it. A man cannot
renounce what is in his blood, what has been transmitted to him with his
mother’s milk; these revolutions are not accomplished so quickly. It is
not enough to confess one’s fault. That is very little! Very little
indeed! It must be rooted out, and that is not done so quickly.
I have spoken of the executioners. The instincts of an executioner are
in germ in nearly every one of our contemporaries; but the animal
instincts of the man have not developed themselves in a uniform manner.
When they stifle all other faculties, the man becomes a hideous monster.
There are two kinds of executioners, those who of their own will are
executioners and those who are executioners by duty, by reason of
office. He who, by his own will, is an executioner, is in all respects
below the salaried executioner, whom, however, the people look upon with
repugnance, and who inspires them with disgust, with instinctive
mystical fear. Whence comes this almost superstitious horror for the
latter, when one is only indifferent and indulgent to the former?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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