Halfway around the world can find its way here

Kirk Ericson | Mar 03, 20220

Way back in the 20th century, those of us in Mrs. Jannsen’s 12th-grade English class at Mead High School in Spokane County had to read the novel “Fathers and Sons.” Ivan Turgenev, a Russian, wrote it, and it was published in 1862, so imagine our excitement.

The book’s main character was a young man named Yevgeny Bazarov — a name I had to retrieve from the internet — but what has stuck with me is that Bazarov was a nihilist, a philosophical outlook rooted in its Latin base “nihil,” which translates as “nothing.”

“Nihilism is the belief that all values are baseless and that nothing can be known or communicated,” says the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. “It is often associated with extreme pessimism and a radical skepticism that condemns existence. A true nihilist would believe in nothing, have no loyalties, and no purpose other than, perhaps, an impulse to destroy.”

Bazarov’s parents weren’t pleased with their son’s choice.

The idea of nihilism intrigued me as a teen, maybe because it’s so wonderfully contradictory. If you believe in nothing, isn’t that believing in something? And, how would that philosophy express itself in a human?

Thanks to the invasion of Ukraine, most people can now see how that philosophy expresses itself in a human. Most people. We do have people in this country — the land of the free, the home of the brave — who justify Vladimir Putin’s attack on Ukraine by accusing Ukraine of asking for it.

It’s like ridiculing a rape victim — while the person is being raped.

The New Yorker magazine published a profile of then-German Chancellor Angela Merkel in 2014 that recounted a visit she had with Putin. The story gave a hint of the cauldron of bile that animates this man. Here’s an excerpt:

“In 2007, during discussions about energy supplies at the Russian president’s residence in Sochi, Putin summoned his black Lab, Koni, into the room where he and Merkel were seated. As the dog approached and sniffed her, Merkel froze, visibly frightened. She’d been bitten once in 1995 and her fear of dogs couldn’t have escaped Putin, who sat back and enjoyed the moment, legs spread wide. ‘I’m sure it will behave itself,’ he said. … The German press corps was furious on her behalf — “ready to hit Putin,” according to a reporter who was present. Later, Merkel interpreted Putin’s behavior. ‘I understand why he has to do this — to prove he’s a man,’ she told a group of reporters. ‘He’s afraid of his own weakness. Russia has nothing, no successful politics or economy. All they have is this.’ ”

Kyiv, Ukraine, is 5,505 miles from Shelton. You fly east from here to get there. Wuhan, China, is 5,983 miles from Shelton, and you fly west from here to get there. Both cities are halfway around the Northern Hemisphere from us.

And yet what’s happening there is being felt here. When you’re dealing with a virus, or a nihilist with an army and nuclear weapons, halfway across the world isn’t far enough. You can argue what’s happening in Ukraine isn’t affecting us here, but it’s only been a week. No one was dying of COVID-19 in Western Washington a week after the virus emerged in Wuhan.

What motivates Putin? Why would a person choose to cause so many people so much suffering?

A scene from a 1993 movie gets close to an explanation. In “Tombstone,” Wyatt Earp is in a room with Doc Holliday, who’s sick in bed, suffering from tuberculosis. They’re contemplating the evil that is Johnny Ringo, a gunman and a sadist of the rankest order.

Wyatt Earp: “What makes a man like Ringo, Doc? What makes him do the things he does?”

Doc Holliday: “A man like Ringo has got a great empty hole right through the middle of him. He can never kill enough or steal enough or inflict enough pain to fill it.”

Wyatt: “What does he need?”

Doc: “Revenge.”

Wyatt: “For what?”

Doc: “Being born.”

■ Contact Kirk Ericson at [email protected]