What beauty saves the world? In Dostoevsky’s The Idiot, this question quietly turns into another: how do we live with so much suffering? Prince Myshkin accepts it. He holds on to a fragile kind of beauty made of compassion and innocence, an infinite love that endures even when it can’t fix anything. Ippolít Teréntyev doesn’t accept it. He can’t stand the tragicness of human condition, and rebels against it, slowly relinquishing what makes him human. Dostoevsky leaves the question open: can beauty carry us through the pain of existing, or are we condemned to relive it every day of our lives?
I wrote this piece to shine a light on the inner darkness of the human mind. Too many people choose to never speak about their memories, their feelings and their troubles out of fear of being judged or misunderstood. If this can be of any help to even one person, then it will have been worth it. That being said, I am aware some readers might find this piece…
