Facing the Firing Squad

In the previous episode, we walked with Walt Whitman down the open roads of America, hearing the chorus of ordinary lives. Now we cross continents and step into the narrow corridors of the human soul with Fedor Dostoevsky—where freedom and conscience wrestle in shadows. Whitman’s poetry celebrated the sweep of America, the chorus of countless lives, and the boundless possibilities of freedom. Across the ocean and slightly later in time, Dostoevsky turned his gaze inward, exploring the shadowed recesses of the human heart. Whereas Whitman’s lines embraced the world, Dostoevsky’s narratives probe the tensions, doubts, and moral struggles that define our inner lives. In moving from Whitman to Dostoevsky, we travel from the expansive optimism of a young nation to the intense psychological and ethical landscapes of nineteenth-century Russia—a shift that reminds us just how varied, yet universally human, the work of great writers can be.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1821–1881) is one of the towering figures of 19th-century literature and is often credited with deeply influencing modern psychological fiction. Born in Moscow into a middle-class family, he faced hardship early: his mother died when he was young, and his father was reportedly a strict and harsh figure. Dostoyevsky originally trained as an engineer, but his passion for literature led him to the literary scene in St. Petersburg.

His life was marked by intense personal struggle. He was arrested in 1849 for involvement in a group promoting liberal ideas and was sentenced to death— On December 22, 1849, Fyodor Dostoyevsky stood on a frozen parade ground in St. Petersburg. He and his fellow prisoners were blindfolded, tied to stakes, and told they had only moments left to live. The firing squad raise  d their rifles. - the prisoners realized they only had a few seconds to live …

And then—at the very last instant—the sentence was commuted. Death was postponed and his sentence was commuted at the last moment to imprisonment in a Siberian labor camp.  Life returned, with an almost unbearable intensity.

Transcript

In the previous episode, we walked with Walt Whitman down the open roads of America, hearing the chorus of ordinary lives. Now we cross continents and step into the narrow corridors of the human soul with Fedor Dostoevsky—where freedom and conscience wrestle in shadows. Whitman’s poetry celebrated the sweep of America, the chorus of countless lives, and the boundless possibilities of freedom. Across the ocean and slightly later in time, Dostoevsky turned his gaze inward, exploring the shadowed recesses of the human heart. Whereas Whitman’s lines embraced the world, Dostoevsky’s narratives probe the tensions, doubts, and moral struggles that define our inner lives. In moving from Whitman to Dostoevsky, we travel from the expansive optimism of a young nation to the intense psychological and ethical landscapes of nineteenth-century Russia—a shift that reminds us just how varied, yet universally human, the work of great writers can be.

Inside Dostoevsky

Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1821–1881) is one of the towering figures of 19th-century literature and is often credited with deeply influencing modern psychological fiction. Born in Moscow into a middle-class family, he faced hardship early: his mother died when he was young, and his father was reportedly a strict and harsh figure. Dostoyevsky originally trained as an engineer, but his passion for literature led him to the literary scene in St. Petersburg.

His life was marked by intense personal struggle. He was arrested in 1849 for involvement in a group promoting liberal ideas and was sentenced to death— On December 22, 1849, Fyodor Dostoyevsky stood on a frozen parade ground in St. Petersburg. He and his fellow prisoners were blindfolded, tied to stakes, and told they had only moments left to live. The firing squad raise  d their rifles. - the prisoners realized they only had a few seconds to live …

And then—at the very last instant—the sentence was commuted. Death was postponed and his sentence was commuted at the last moment to imprisonment in a Siberian labor camp.  Life returned, with an almost unbearable intensity.

Soon afterwards, Dostoyevsky wrote to his brother:

“When I look back on my past and think how much time I wasted on nothing, how much time I lost in futilities, errors, laziness, incapacity to live; how I did not value it, how many times I sinned against my heart and spirit—my heart bleeds. Life is a gift, life is happiness, every minute can be an eternity of happiness.”

Years later, Dostoyevsky transformed that moment of borrowed time into art. In The Idiot, Prince Myshkin recalls the thoughts of a man awaiting execution:

“He said that those five minutes seemed to him an endless span, a vast wealth of time… He remembered having noticed a church cupola gleaming in the sunlight. He gazed and gazed at it; he thought of how he would look at it again afterwards. He knew that he would have time to think of a thousand things in those last minutes… Yet he lived. And now he declares that there is nothing more real than this experience, nothing more profound.”

[Pause, then with rising energy.]
This—this brush with death, this awareness of the fragile brilliance of every moment—shaped Dostoyevsky’s entire vision of humanity. It is there in Crime and Punishment, in The Brothers Karamazov, and in the broken, radiant figure of Prince Myshkin. Dostoyevsky would spend the rest of his life trying to prove what he felt so vividly on that parade ground: that life, even in suffering, is a sacred gift.

As a writer, Dostoyevsky’s importance lies in his ability to probe the human psyche with unprecedented depth. He was a pioneer in exploring existential themes, moral ambiguity, and psychological realism. His novels often feel like case studies in human consciousness, combining philosophical inquiry with storytelling.

Like most writers, Dostoevsky often used his personal experiences and feelings to develop his characters and their emotions.  For example, in The Brothers Karamazov – Smerdyakov expresses his feelings regarding death and fear - 

“I stood there, knowing that my life hung by a thread, and yet a curious calm spread over me. Perhaps it was madness, or perhaps it was the recognition that in facing death, all pretenses fell away. Nothing mattered except the raw, unbearable truth of existence in that instant.”

Not surprisingly, this reflects the mental state of Dostoevsky  himself facing a firing squad.

And in the author’s classic Crime and Punishment, the character of Raskolnikov describes his near-collapse.

“I thought I was going mad. The walls, the air, the very earth seemed to close in. A moment ago I had been plotting, calculating, sure of myself—and now, confronted with the shadow of my own end, I felt utterly exposed, trembling under the weight of consequences I could neither escape nor understand.”

Some critics say this even illustrates the existential terror that Dostoyevsky experienced at the execution square.

And in this brief section from the Idiot, the author writes regarding Prince Myshkin on facing a crisis

“A strange quiet fell over me, and yet my heart raced as if it would tear itself from my chest. Every sound, every face, every movement seemed amplified, charged with meaning I could not name. And in that unbearable stillness, I felt the immense vulnerability of being alive, and the fragile miracle of surviving another moment.”

Many literary critics say such a passage shows the interior intensity of confronting extreme fear - just as Dostoyevsky had experienced extreme fear when standing in front of a firing squad.

Now Dostoyevsky was to eventually have three wives - and the relationships are deeply revealing of his personal turbulence, emotional intensity, and the way his personal life fed into his writing.  

First there was Maria, the widow of a family friend.  Their marriage was marked by financial instability and ill health. Dostoyevsky’s compulsive gambling and debts caused tension. Maria suffered from tuberculosis, and her declining health added emotional strain. Their union was short and tragic, ending with her death. This early experience of loss, dependence, and emotional vulnerability influenced Dostoyevsky’s recurring themes of human suffering, compassion, and moral struggle.

Polina Suslova was not a wife but became Dostoyevsky's lover - she was an intense and independent-minded woman. Their relationship was extremely passionate, very tumultuous, and psychologically complex. Polina’s strong personality clashed with Dostoyevsky’s own compulsions and insecurities. Some scholars even see Polina as a model for characters like Nastasya Filippovna in The Idiot, reflecting a mix of charm, moral ambiguity, and destructive allure. This liaison highlights Dostoyevsky’s recurring attraction to women who are both inspiring and destabilizing.

Dostoevsky’s second wife was Anna Snitkina. She was 25 years younger and initially worked as his stenographer. She helped him complete The Gambler under extreme pressure to pay off gambling debts. Their marriage was intellectually and emotionally supportive. Anna managed finances, shielded her husband from creditors, and provided stability. She became his devoted companion until his death in 1881, allowing Dostoyevsky to focus on writing later masterpieces like The Brothers Karamazov.
She worked tirelessly to stabilize his finances and manage his obligations.
Beyond practical support, Anna safeguarded Dostoyevsky’s literary legacy. She organized manuscripts, protected copyrights, corresponded with publishers, and ensured posthumous publication of his works.

Anna’s steadiness contrasts with the chaos of Maria and the intensity of Polina, emphasizing the spectrum of turbulence versus stability in Dostoyevsky’s personal life.

Now one unfortunate characteristic of Dostoyevsky was his obsession with the gambling that I mentioned.  Even in remote, harsh circumstances, Dostoyevsky’s mind was preoccupied with risk, chance, and compulsion—the very essence of his gambling obsession. For Dostoevsky, gambling was more than a vice; it was a lens into human desire, obsession, and moral tension. Whether at the roulette table or deprived of it entirely, he was always spinning the wheel in his mind—testing impulse, luck, and conscience.”

Note this section from his novel The Gambler - words that describe the feelings of almost any gambler.

“Every time the ball spun, I convinced myself that luck had turned. I was sure the next moment would bring victory, that the wheel would bend to my will. And yet, it never did.”

Now, Dostoyevsky himself had epilepsy, and this condition is famously reflected in his writing. Epilepsy in his work is not just a physical ailment—it becomes a literary device, a lens through which he explores consciousness, crisis, and transcendence. Prince Myshkin in The Idiot is perhaps the most famous epileptic character in literature. Myshkin’s seizures are intertwined with his insight, sensitivity, and moral perception, suggesting that extreme human experiences—like seizures—can offer unique windows into truth and empathy.  

Note the description of an epileptic seizure experienced by Prince Myshkin in The Idiot

He had fallen in an epileptic fit.

As is well known, these fits occur instantaneously. The face,
especially the eyes, become terribly disfigured, convulsions seize the
limbs, a terrible cry breaks from the sufferer, a wail from which
everything human seems to be blotted out, so that it is impossible to
believe that the man who has just fallen is the same who emitted the
dreadful cry. It seems more as though some other being, inside the
stricken one, had cried. Many people have borne witness to this
impression; and many cannot behold an epileptic fit without a feeling
of mysterious terror and dread.

The prince’s body slipped convulsively down the stone steps till it rested at
the bottom. Very soon, in five minutes or so, he was discovered, and a
crowd collected around him.

A pool of blood on the steps near his head gave rise to grave fears.
Was it a case of accident, or had there been a crime? It was, however,
soon recognized as a case of epilepsy, and identification and proper
measures for restoration followed one another.

The sufferer was immediately taken to his room, and though he partially
regained consciousness, he lay long in a semi-dazed condition.

Dostoyevsky often used epileptic fits to symbolize moments of heightened spiritual or psychological awareness. These seizures gave him a way to dramatize the fragility, vulnerability, and extraordinary insight of human life.

In essence, epilepsy in Dostoyevsky’s work isn’t just a medical condition—it’s a vehicle for exploring the borderlands between reason and emotion, sanity and madness, mortality and transcendence.

However, Dostoyevsky treats epilepsy differently in The Brothers Karamazov than he does in The Idiot, and the contrast tells us a lot about his evolving exploration of consciousness, morality, and human vulnerability.

In The Idiot, Prince Myshkin’s epilepsy is central to his character. It occurs unpredictably and is tied to his extreme sensitivity, empathy, and almost Christ-like innocence.

The seizures often coincide with heightened emotional or moral moments, suggesting that his condition opens him to a deeper, intuitive understanding of people.

Epilepsy here functions as a literary lens: it frames Myshkin as “otherworldly,” simultaneously fragile and spiritually perceptive. The fits are both a literal affliction and a symbol of his moral and emotional intensity.

In The Idiot, epilepsy is literal, physical, and moral-spiritual at the same time—a way to manifest Myshkin’s exceptional moral vision.

In The Brothers Karamazov, the idea of “fits” is symbolic and psychological, focusing less on physicality and more on the chaos of conscience, passion, and moral responsibility.

Essentially, Dostoyevsky evolves from using epilepsy as a personalizing trait to using the concept of sudden, uncontrollable “crises” as a broader tool to explore human morality and existential tension.

In The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoyevsky explicitly gives Smerdyakov epilepsy. Unlike Prince Myshkin, Smerdyakov’s seizures are tied to cynicism, calculation, and moral corruption, rather than innocence and spiritual insight.

Smerdyakov is sly, resentful, and manipulative; his epileptic fits highlight his instability and hint at a deeper, almost pathological intensity. The seizures underscore a sense of unpredictable danger, emphasizing that his moral and emotional life is fraught, self-serving, and disconnected from compassion.

This contrasts sharply with Myshkin, whose epilepsy enhances empathy and moral vision. With Smerdyakov, epilepsy becomes a literary marker of moral dysfunction and the darker extremes of human psychology, rather than moral illumination.

So, in short: Dostoyevsky uses the same condition to explore opposite poles of human experience—the “heightened moral perception” of Myshkin versus the “cold, destructive instability” of Smerdyakov.  In other words, unlike Myshkin in The Idiot, Smerdyakov’s epilepsy is not tied to moral insight or spiritual sensitivity—it marks instability, cynicism, and a much darker psychological edge.

Now going back to my “no literature is created than a vacuum” emphasis, 
all you need to do is go back and look at dickens’ concern for the poor and compare it to Dostoyevsky's concern with society’s under class and morally marginalized.

You see, Charles Dickens (1812–1870), writing in Victorian England, focused on the social ills of industrialization: child labor, urban poverty, bureaucratic cruelty, and the dehumanizing effects of wealth and class. His novels often dramatize systemic injustice, highlighting institutions like workhouses, courts, and schools as sites of oppression. Think of Oliver Twist or Bleak House, where social critique and empathy for the downtrodden are intertwined.

Fydor Dostoyevsky (1821–1881), writing in Imperial Russia, was equally concerned with the poor, criminals, and outcasts, but his lens is more psychological and philosophical. He examines not only the external pressures of society but also the inner moral and existential crises that oppression and desperation provoke. In novels such as Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov, poverty and injustice are inseparable from questions of guilt, redemption, and the struggle between good and evil within the human soul.

In his sometimes complex novels, Dostoyevsky was a master of expressing psychological tension - In, The Brothers Karamazov, Smerdyakov reflects upon his life -

“I stood there, knowing that my life hung by a thread, and yet a curious calm spread over me. Perhaps it was madness, or perhaps it was the recognition that in facing death, all pretenses fell away. Nothing mattered except the raw, unbearable truth of existence in that instant.”

And note the psychological tension from his novel The Gambler - 

“I could not tear myself away from the wheel. Even when I knew the risk, even when I knew ruin was near, I felt a force within me that would not be denied. I was its prisoner, and yet I followed willingly.”

And the character of Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment reflects:

“I thought I was going mad. The walls, the air, the very earth seemed to close in. A moment ago I had been plotting, calculating, sure of myself—and now, confronted with the shadow of my own end, I felt utterly exposed, trembling under the weight of consequences I could neither escape nor understand.”

MUSICAL BREAK

“Separated by more than a thousand miles—Dickens in London, Dostoyevsky in St. Petersburg—these two writers lived in different worlds.”
And so, separated by distance, culture, and empire, Dickens and Dostoyevsky became unlikely twins of the 19th century—two writers who looked at society and asked the same haunting question: what happens to the human soul when justice is denied?” 

“And yet, despite the thousands of miles of land and empire between them, both were staring at the same truth: societies that crushed the poor and tested the human spirit.”

“So whether in foggy Victorian England or in the frozen expanse of Russia, Dickens and Dostoyevsky were asking the same urgent question—what does it mean to be human in a world stacked against you?”

Charles Dickens often used social realism and satire—he dramatizes social problems to inspire reform and empathy. Characters such as Ebenezer Scrooge or Mr. Bumble embody social injustice and moral neglect.

Dostoyevsky, by contrast, blends social critique with existential philosophy. Poverty and crime aren’t just societal failures; they are catalysts that reveal the depths and contradictions of human psychology. Both writers spotlight the lives of those society ignores or punishes. In other words they have empathy for the marginalized. Dickens shows the cruelty of bureaucracies; Dostoyevsky shows how societal pressures interact with personal responsibility and moral choice.  And while Dickens often externalizes moral failings in social structures; Dostoyevsky tends to internalize them, exploring how society’s ills resonate inside the human psyche.

In short: Dickens and Dostoyevsky are kindred spirits in their concern for justice and compassion, but while Dickens exposes social wrongs with clarity and pathos, Dostoyevsky probes the interior consequences of those wrongs, asking what they do to the human soul. One shows the world’s cruelty; the other shows what that cruelty awakens—or corrodes—within us.

That last paragraph was pretty heavy, so I'll say it in a different way - Charles Dickens and Fyodor Dostoyevsky both turned their attention to society’s outcasts and the marginalized, but from very different perspectives. Dickens dramatized social injustice with vivid characters and biting satire, exposing cruelty in institutions like workhouses and courts to stir empathy and call for reform. Dostoyevsky, on the other hand, explored how poverty and oppression shape the inner lives of his characters, revealing moral struggle, guilt, and the battle between good and evil within the human soul. Dickens shows us the world’s cruelty; Dostoyevsky shows us how it lives inside us—and together, they remind us why literature matters both outwardly and inwardly.

To reiterate - you have two writers, two countries, and one obsession - the lives of those that society forgets. Dickens shows us the cruelty around us; Dostoyevsky shows us the chaos it awakens inside us.” “Dickens and Dostoyevsky both look at the margins of society—but where Dickens shows the cruelty that surrounds us, Dostoyevsky reveals the storm it ignites within us - that both Dickens and Dostoyevsky were fascinated by the forgotten, the poor, the morally overlooked—but one writes about the world outside us, the other about the world inside us.” One shows the world’s harshness; the other shows how it lives within us—and together, they remind us why literature matters.

Join celebrate creativity for our next episode as we develop into the life of Leo Tolstoy, Russia’s OTHER literary giant — he was a master of epic storytelling, moral inquiry, and psychological insight. His genius lies in observing the human soul with relentless curiosity, asking the questions every creative mind wrestles with: How do we live well? How do we understand ourselves and others? In Tolstoy, as in Dostoyevsky, we see that the tension between human desire, conscience, and society fuels some of the most enduring art ever written.

Thank you for listening to Celebrate Creativity