The mind can justify things that the heart cannot. In the cold deliberation of an armchair, we might logically justify all manner of things. And yet, there’s a difference between rationalising something and actually doing it. There’s often a kind of block that comes on — a visceral rejection of an action that’s utterly reasonable yet somehow utterly undoable.

This is one of the great themes of Dostoyevsky’s “Crime and Punishment.”.

The novel features a young man, Raskolnikov, who seems to know his philosophy. He knows well the utilitarian theories that say that an action is good if it creates the greatest outcome. Raskolnikov sees himself as some strong and powerful leader — a new Napoleon-type figure who’ll do whatever is in the interests of the greater good.

And so, Raskolnikov justifies murder. He identifies an elderly lady who he’ll kill and steal from, at least in part to help support his family. He views this person as entirely evil and cruel. She’s a parasite on society, and the world would be better off without her there. Much of the first part of the book is spent building up to this act. It’s Raskolnikov rationalising to himself the utilitarian merits of taking a life.

Of course, things do not go as planned. The murder is botched, brutal, and bloody, and he ends up killing the old lady’s younger, pregnant sister. The rest of the novel depicts Raskolnikov’s descent into madness. He’s overcome by a sense of guilt and paranoia. Everything seems cramped, squalid, and clogged, and there’s a feverish hue to things.

Crime and Punishment forces us to examine that bit of ourselves we have to live with. There’s a part of each of us — call it the psyche, conscience, or even soul — that guides and commits us to things. When we act against this or ignore its pull, it can have profound, scarring, and traumatic effects.

No matter how much we hate someone, we ache to see them sad. No matter how much we know someone’s a bad influence, we feel we can’t cut them out of our lives. And, even if we justify a killing, we can’t bring ourselves to pull the trigger. Dostoyevsky knew that we might all think or say one thing, but our being often won’t follow along.

©Mini Philosophy