Darkness at Noon

“Man, man, one cannot live quite without pity”

Set against Machiavelli’s endorsement of brutality is a quotation from Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment that speaks to the limitations of the precept “the ends justify the means,” as it reminds us of the necessity of pity for the human condition.

“Stop this comedy”

Rubashov first says this to Ivanov and repeats a version of it later. The “comedy” he refers to is the result of thinking things through to their “logical conclusion.” Logic in the absence of ethical or moral touchstones leads to absurd conclusions, or a “grotesque comedy,” within which Rubashov and those like him are trapped.

“I will pay my fare”

This phrase responds to Rubashov’s memory of his betrayal of Richard. After their meeting he takes a taxi to the train station and insists on paying the fare even though the driver, sympathetic to the cause, offers the ride for free. The “fare” that he “will pay,” then, is not the money he owed the taxi driver; this symbolic “fare” has a much larger significance. It is the moral debt he incurs as the result of his service to the Party, and the phrase is repeated several times over the course of the book when Rubashov is confronted by a memory of someone he has betrayed.

“Must one also pay for righteous acts? Was there another measure besides that of reason? Did the righteous man perhaps carry the heaviest debt when weighed by this other measure? Was his debt perhaps, counted double—for the others knew not what they did?”

Rubashov asks these questions while still in the early stages of his moral development. He still believes his actions were “righteous,” but he also knows that he will “pay his fare,” as he is beginning to understand that “righteousness” as measured by reason is not the same as “righteousness” as measured by human decency.

“They dreamed of power with the object of abolishing power; of ruling over the people to wean them from the habit of being ruled”

Given the extreme repression “the people” are subject to, this “dream” is exceedingly ironic. The Revolution’s ideological goals—to use power to abolish power and to rule people in order to bring about self-rule—are revealed as another example of logic in the absence of moral touchstones leading to absurdities.

“For the movement was without scruples; she rolled towards her goal unconcernedly and deposed the corpses of the drowned in the windings of her course. Her course had many twists and windings; such was the law of her being. And whosoever could not follow her crooked course was washed on to the bank, for such was her law. The motives of the individual did not matter to her. His conscience did not matter to her, neither did she care what went on in his head and his heart. The Party knew only one crime: to swerve from the course laid out; and only one punishment: death. Death was no mystery in the movement; there was nothing exalted about it: it was the logical solution to political divergences”

Here “the movement” is a machine, like an armored tank run amok. It is “without scruples” because of its rejection of the individual’s relevance. Without the individual, there can be no “conscience” and no “pity” for humanity. In such a context, an individual’s death is of no consequence if it is the result of the pursuit of the greater good. This is the “mathematics” of the movement that Rubashov will eventually reject because the “equation did not work out” (263).  Also significant is the way that the machine-like movement can be linked to Gletkin, whose rigidity and lack of affect are also machine-like.

“‘A mathematician once said that algebra was the science for lazy people—one does not work out x, but operates with it as if one knew it. In our case, x stands for the anonymous masses, the people. Politics mean operating with this x without worrying about its actual nature. Making history is to recognize x for what it stands for in the equation’”

In this equation, Rubashov makes clear why he is “oppositional.” His participation in the Revolution was his participation in History and was based on an understanding of “the anonymous masses” and an intention to act in ways that would improve their lives. In the context of the current repressive political state, the “masses have become deaf and dumb” (85); their “actual nature” cannot be known and thus they are acting “without worrying about its actual nature”—playing politics rather than making history.

“‘Logically, you may be right. But I have had enough of this kind of logic. I am tired and I don’t want to play this game anymore’”

Rubashov’s petulant rejection of Ivanov’s logic has a weak foundation. Though his opposition to Party logic has its roots in a latent moral decency, this refusal to “play this game” because he is “tired” is grounded in a kind of selfish arrogance. His reference to this logic as a “game” recalls his earlier reference to it as a “comedy”; each descriptor masks the wide-ranging tragedy that such logic has engendered, including the individual tragedies of Richard, Little Loewy, and Arlova that haunt Rubashov. His desire to be quit of “this kind of logic” is premature; he has not yet “paid his fare.”

“When the existence of the Church is threatened, she is released from the commandments of morality. With unity as the end, the use of every means is sanctified, even cunning, treachery, violence, simony, prison, death. For all order is for the sake of the community, and the individual must be sacrificed to the common good”

The epigraph to “The Second Hearing” is taken from a 15th-century Church doctrine, De schismate libri III, written by the Bishop of Verden. Lest the reader be tempted to fall back on Christian morality to escape the brutal logic of power, this excerpt reminds us of the Church’s own historical embrace of “the ends justify the means” precept. As an institution, even the Church cannot escape the problem that power presents. Immoral means are promoted to achieve moral ends, and, like the Revolution, the individual is subjugated to the good of the many in a utilitarian equation that excises the possibility of pity or mercy.

“But who will be proved right? It will only be known later. Meanwhile he is bound to act on credit and to sell his soul to the devil, in the hope of history’s absolution”

At various points in Rubashov’s moral development, he focuses on history as the ultimate arbiter of right and wrong. Rubashov’s references to selling one’s soul to the devil and to acting “on credit” connect to other moments in the text—such as reading Faust in the art gallery while waiting for Richard to arrive or when he repeatedly refers to Gletkin as having “paid cash.”

“Its mental sphere seemed to be composed of such various and disconnected parts as the folded hands of the Pietà, Little Loewy’s cats, the tune of the song with the refrain of ‘come to dust’, or a particular sentence which Arlova had once spoken on an occasion. Its means of expression were equally fragmentary; for instance, the compulsion to rub one’s pince-nez on one’s sleeve, the impulse to touch the light patch on the wall of Ivanov’s room, the uncontrollable movements of the lips which murmured such senseless sentences as ‘I shall pay’, and the dazed state induced by day-dreams of past episodes in one’s life”

This passage describes the “mental sphere” of the “grammatical fiction”—Rubashov’s “I” or conscience. The catalogue of “disconnected” things his conscience grapples with is symbolic of his guilt over his role in the suffering of people who trusted him. The “fragmentary” ways the “grammatical fiction” expresses itself are compulsive expressions of guilt and symbolize Rubashov’s desire to see things more clearly, to bring back the ideals for which the revolution was begun, and to account for the choices he has made.

“He probably had only a few weeks left to live, and he felt a compelling urge to clear up this matter, to ‘think it to a logical conclusion’. But the realm of the ‘grammatical fiction’ seemed to begin just where the ‘thinking to a conclusion’ ended. It was obviously an essential part of its being, to remain out of the reach of the logical thought, and then to take one unawares, as from an ambush, and attack one with day-dreams and toothache”

This passage illustrates the conflict between the “morality” of consequent logic and a morality based in humanism, which do not exist on the same plane, as the objectivism of logic has no way of taking into account the subjective experiences of individuals. It can only deal with humanity in terms of abstractions like “the masses”; individual consciousnesses “remain out of […] reach.” Though Rubashov has spent his life trying to figure out the “ultimate truth,” this passage indicates that he will never reach it, since any “logical conclusion” he reaches only brings him to the far edge of self-knowledge.

“Die in silence”

These words are written on a piece of paper the prison barber slips to Rubashov and encapsulate one of the options open to Rubashov. However, the demand that he “die in silence” is presented as the easy way out and the opposite of his revolutionary ethic. To “die in silence” is to give up the cause, and ultimately he decides that it is self-indulgent to give up fighting for his beliefs.

“The whimpering of Bogrov unbalanced the logical equation. Up till now Arlova had been a factor in this equation, a small factor compared to what was at stake. But the equation no longer stood. The vision of Arlova’s legs in their high-heeled shoes trailing along the corridor upset the mathematical equilibrium. The unimportant factor had grown to the immeasurable, the absolute; Bogrov’s whining, the inhuman sound of the voice which had called out his name, the hollow beat of the drumming filled his ears; they smothered the thin voice of reason, covered it as the surf covers the gurgling of the drowning”

The significance of this passage is in its structural insertion of Rubashov’s internal symbols of human suffering into “the logical equation.” He has just had firsthand experience with the “whimpering of Bogrov,” and it has set off chain reaction that forces his memory of “Arlova’s legs in their high-heeled shoes” to meld with the much more recent memory of Bogrov’s legs as they are dragged down the prison corridor. The two images intertwine and then combine with the auditory resonance of Bogrov’s whimpering and the prisoner’s drumming, becoming “immeasurable, the absolute,” while reason and logic drown within. The logic of Rubashov’s math cannot deal with what is “immeasurable.”

“‘The greatest temptation for the likes of us is: to renounce violence, to repent, to make peace with oneself. Most great revolutionaries fell before this temptation, from Spartacus to Danton and Dostoevsky; they are the classical form of betrayal of the cause. The temptations of God were always more dangerous for mankind than those of Satan. As long as chaos dominates the world, God is an anachronism; and every compromise with one’s own conscience is perfidy. When the accursed inner voice speaks to you, hold your hands over your ears….’”

This passage is part of Ivanov’s advice to Rubashov and connects with his allegorical representation of Rubashov as a “saint” over whom God and the Devil are fighting. Significantly, Ivanov is on the side of the Devil and associates the “accursed inner voice”—or conscience—with a misplaced or “anachronistic” God. While Rubashov’s betrayal of people like Richard, Little Loewy, and Arlova is what drives his “accursed inner voice,” Ivanov characterizes paying attention to it as the real “perfidy.” In this way, the equation is set up as the betrayal of individual humans versus the betrayal of human progress, with God as the “tempter.”

“Either it was right—or it was wrong to sacrifice Richard, Arlova and Little Loewy. But what had Richard’s stutter, the shape of Arlova’s breast or Bogrov’s whimpering to do with the objective rightness or wrongness of the measure itself?”

The question posed in this passage is another example of the failure of the ideology of consequent logic to sufficiently account for individual human suffering, which is inherently subjective and thus stands apart from objective measures of rightness or wrongness. The construction of the first sentence of the passage, with its sectioning off of “either it was right” in front of the dash, firmly places the sacrifice of Richard, Arlova and Little Loewy on the side of wrongness.

“Occasionally words must serve to veil the facts. But this must happen in such a way that no one becomes aware of it; or, if it should be noticed, excuses must be at hand, to be produced immediately”

This is the epigraph to Part Three and is taken from Machiavelli’s Instructions to Raffaello Girlami. It describes the problem with “consequent logic,” which requires much theorizing to “veil the facts” of its excessive brutality. Rubashov’s struggles could be said to exist in the space between his awareness of “the facts” and his production of excuses, which are not always “immediately” at hand.

“But let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil”

This epigraph to Part Three comes from verse 37 of the Book of Matthew. Like the epigraphs to the book as a whole, this second quotation serves as a kind of moral rebuke to the Machiavellian logic of the first. It is also significant that Vassilij quotes this verse in Part Four in his own rebuke of the way that “decency” has been replaced by “cunning” and “cleverness,” noting, further: “It’s not good for a man to work things out too much” (254). “Working things out too much” is the same problem of “thinking things to their logical conclusion,” and this connection further illustrates how Rubashov’s theorizing is a way to “veil the facts.”

“Even he himself was beginning to get lost in the labyrinth of calculated lies and dialectic pretences, in the twilight between truth and illusion. The ultimate truth always receded a step; visible remained only the penultimate lie with which one had to serve it”

This passage connects back to quotation 13 in its discussion of the “ultimate truth” that Rubashov is unable to get to via logical deduction. His logical “thinking things through” can only get him to the “penultimate lie,” and the question underlying this observation is, “How can one be in service of truth with lies?”

“The essential point was that this figure of misery represented the consequence of his logic made flesh”

Rubashov makes this observation in relation to Hare-lip, whose confession has sealed both of their fates. Rubashov makes this observation as he is conceding Gletkin’s point: even though he is not guilty of plotting to assassinate No. 1, he is essentially guilty of Hare-lip’s suffering. Also significant is the description of Hare-lip as “the consequence of [Rubashov’s] logic made flesh,” as it mirrors his description of Gletkin as the “brutal embodiment of the State” and the “spiritual heir of […] the old intelligentsia” (233).

“He had to follow the road until the end. Then only, when he entered the darkness with open eyes, had he conquered the right to sleep and not to be wakened any more”

While Rubashov’s preoccupation has been with following the logic to its end, which can be seen as undertaking a journey into the light of understanding, here he reframes his purpose as a physical journey on “the road” into darkness. A journey into darkness could be interpreted as death, and “the right to sleep and not to be wakened any more” supports this interpretation, and also posits death as a “right.” In this context, though, “the road” is also his compulsion to argue every charge with Gletkin, which he describes as his duty, suggesting that his duty leads him away from the light of understanding and into darkness. Either way, Gletkin’s almost inhuman adherence to “consequent logic” is the only reliable way for Rubashov to come to a full account of his true guilt, which earns him the right to die.

“Show us not the aim without the way. / For ends and means on earth are so entangled / That changing one, you change the other too; / Each different path brings other ends in view”

This extract is from Ferdinand Lassalle’s 19th-century play, Franz von Sickingen. As the epigraph to Part Four, it is an explicit response to the precept “the end justifies the means,” suggesting that the means one uses to achieve an end also work to define that end. From brutal means will come brutal ends, regardless of an individual’s or a movement’s good intentions.

“The best of them kept silent in order to do a last service to the Party, by letting themselves be sacrificed as scapegoats—and, besides, even the best had each an Arlova on his conscience. They were too deeply entangled in their own past, caught in the web they had spun themselves, according to the laws of their own twisted ethics and twisted logic; they were all guilty, although not of those deeds of which they accused themselves. There was no way back for them. Their exit from the stage happened strictly according to the rules of their strange game”

This passage works in support of quotation 22 and illustrates how Gletkin, as a master of consequent logic, acts as the enforcer of the rules of a game created by Rubashov and his colleagues. The “essential point” is that “they were all guilty”; even if the “crimes” they are convicted of are fabrications that cover up the real crimes against the Arlovas of their consciences.