"The Fatalist" as Metafiction

Mikhail Lermontov approaches the titular theme elusively.

The contrasts he sets up beneath his language initially suggest that Vulich’s passiveness is the epitome of fatalism, an expectation that is subverted and then doubly so. A theory for the role of fate in Lermontov – and his narrator Pechorin – will be more nuanced. As the reader, what distinguishes for us immediate fate from eventual fate? The whole is greater than the sum of its parts; acceptance that each moment determines the next a la Schrodinger’s equation is independent from – even contrary to – an understanding of the narrative direction. This is the fundamental conflict that inhibits Pechorin from realizing his role in fate, as fate, as the author of his story, as Lermontov’s self-insert.

Pechorin’s diary has Vulich play in to the stereotypes of fatalism: resigned, disciplined – sometimes to the point of obstinacy, and far removed from whatever’d be taking place around him, well off from Pechorin’s own activeness and aggressiveness. The anticipation of a counterpoint to the appeal to free will at Vulich’s entrance is thickened by his description as “не способного делиться мыслями и страстями с теми, которых судьба дала ему в товарищи” – so closely bound by fate as to seem his soul itself caged by the unyielding nature of fate. The theme of fate continues in the guise of luck; as expected Vulich is always unshaken by its mechanisms, rendered as unlucky break or flying bullets. But Pechorin narrates a less eccentric perspective. “Исполнив этот неприятный долг” the burden of fate at the very least is shown; the threefold долг is Vulich’s literal debt, duty as soldier, and honor as dealer – all manifestations of fate, carrying the weight of completion of “Исполнив”.

As we are made to presuppose, Vulich’s fatalism permits him to carry an air of extraordinary certainty. His declaration to demonstrate “может ли человек своевольно располагать своею жизнью” is worded so obliquely so as to nearly embody his entire conflict with narrator Pechorin – life is merely the vehicle and we are not the driver; we cannot “give out” our life like flyers – and the Nabokov’s translation “dispose of his life” encapsulates this: for Pechorin, where does the autonomy of managing end and “disposing” begin? He later commands “Майор, вы будете судьею; вот пятнадцать червонцев, остальные пять вы мне должны…”, continuing to betray no qualms, with assertions in the nature of “будете судьею”, “вы мне должны”, and “сделайте мне дружбу прибавить их к этим”, leaving courtesy so sparingly that it seems as if the only reason he understands the societal expectation thereof is his acceptance of “whom fate had given him for companions.”

Following this Vulich does not die. As the character, Pechorin is dismayed at the loss of his bet and at what looked like a confirmation of his narrative inability. As the narrator Pechorin is incensed – he is, plausibly, writing this after the events themselves have transpired; he is still, despite Vulich’s fate, outraged at how willingly Vulich accepts any possible outcome, at how desireless Vulich is – see, for instance, how he narrates Vulich’s voice as “глухим” – toneless, sealed, mute – as if Vulich is entirely absent of this supreme symbol of autonomy Pechorin the character cannot accept fatalism precisely because of how desireless it is. The fact that we have not upturned fatalism, much to Pechorin’s infinite chagrin, is the first subversion.

Immediately after is the second subversion – at least, its beginning, when Vulich suddenly starts fearing Pechorin’s portents: why? What is Pechorin going to be saying about fate? We draw our sights to the theme of autonomy and control. Vulich doesn’t actually accept any possible outcome – only those within his control, which we now see revealed to be a crucial aspect of Vulich’s character: control of his disposition to be “медленно и спокойно” in the face of death, control of those around him as if “он приобрел над нами какую-то таинственную власть”, and most importantly a nearly egomaniacal control of the present instants, tempered only by (or perhaps from which arises) his desirelessness. But it is this obsession with the present instant that deludes Vulich and due to which he cannot actually accept fate, for he could only be unshaken when he himself holds the gun – like in the first battle scene, when aimed at by a gun he wrestles the gun out of the hand and points it at himself, making it a voluntary choice, as if with the attitude of “if I live then it’ll be my problem later; if I don’t then it won’t” – but he cannot wrestle out of Pechorin’s hand Chekhov’s gun. Even in the absence of concrete evidence towards Vulich recognizing that the gun is indeed Chekhov’s, Pechorin’s restatement of his premonition into an invisible and indefinite facet of fate is enough to erode Vulich’s certainty in fate, the foundation of his control. He cannot accept that a story is written for him, is being written for him. Here thus marks the pivot of the fate in concern from microscopic to macroscopic, from scene to narrative, and incidentally, from Vulich to Pechorin.

To set a glowing example, Vulich and his self-deceiving model of control through accepting fate becomes irrelevant as Pechorin elevates the theme of fate from an immediate personal experience to a grander narrative force. Pechorin’s premonition intrinsically holds weight – a weight that perhaps Vulich subconsciously understands; it is not that they become correct only when Pechorin begins to believe in predestination as Pechorin had them while literally betting against predestination. Pechorin can read narrative currents in a way Vulich could only hope to; as he recognizes in his deliberation on Vulich’s stunt – “как будто он без меня не мог найти удобного случая!” – that his presence there was significant; we recognize and take for granted this significance as narrative significance, owing to how Lermontov sets it up and narrator Pechorin reads it out for us.

As Pechorin swipes his paws through the crack beneath Lermontov’s door of fate we see that Pechorin fundamentally wants to perceive, understand, shape the larger currents of destiny. Pechorin harbors an internal discord, dissatisfied with the lack of agency fatalism implies but simultaneously subject to a very apparent lack of agency that he refuses to attribute to fate. His lack of agency – inability to control – is set in stark contrast from Vulich by his very real lust and desire, culminating in a contempt for fate, for Lermontov, so strong that his course of action is an exile to a state of soul-penetrating boredom in the face of his unacknowledged post as protagonist. This transcendental boredom occurs precisely when Pechorin is faced with significance he has no say over, most obviously in the betting scene – “Мне надоела эта длинная церемония” – when everyone is talking over him about the events unfolding that he is effectively forced to watch. But more generally, as in his daydreams that he got “скучно и гадко” of, he cares very much about genuinely crafting – holding a sole authorship – of his story, yet his dreams fall flat because it is simply not how reality works, nor how narratives in realistic backdrops work.

Or is it? In Princess Mary it would seem that Pechorin largely lives out his dreams, with varying mileage; his dreams of momentary spotlights are fulfilled, as in his victory over Grushnitski, but his dreams of a happy life are evidently not enough to divert the tragic ending. He holds Vulich’s arrogance over fate combined with narratively much more to lose than Vulich’s life, ending with the loss of both Vera and Princess Mary. He has thus thoroughly forsaken the idea of taking initiative as doing so is useless without fate and even more useless with. However, he remains the author of his diary. As the narrator of his own story, fate is his, not the fate cast upon him by others. If he can read several paragraphs ahead, why not write them? He discovers he can.

It is fate itself that obstructs Pechorin from making himself the hero he envisions himself to be; the underlying conflict of “The Fatalist” is not inherently Pechorin’s but a tension pulled taut between two sides of fate that manifests itself within Pechorin. The first sees character Pechorin against Vulich in the transfer of fate from the real to the ethereal while now we see Pechorin against Lermontov as character Pechorin attains apotheosis and unifies with his narrator identity. As he raises the conductor’s baton he sees the path onto this cosmic stage that his predecessor carved for him as the “напрасной борьбе”, so that he will become the rival, the fatalist, the one to shatter the chains of the narrative – for he was put in this current with the initial conditions to ascend. If everything is predetermined, if compatibilism is an illusion, what is our role? As we bask in illusions sufficiently it becomes ever more contrived to reject the illusion for an infinite descent of escapes. Even if fate drives us on one single direction, we are shaped by what precedes us – we cannot let it go to waste; for we cannot see the author, leaving us to take up the job of writing our story. Pechorin, born in the pages of Lermontov, is resurrected in the digital file that we see today, content as he shapes us into his next conductor.