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Hello, everyone! I’m so excited to bring you something truly special today—a once-in-a-lifetime gathering of the Top 10 Writers in the World. These literary giants have shaped our understanding of power, corruption, identity, and the human condition. From the timeless plays of Shakespeare to the deep moral struggles of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, to the social critiques of Dickens and the magical worlds of García Márquez, each of these authors has left an indelible mark on history. We also have the sharp satire of Mark Twain, the philosophical explorations of Goethe, the existential ponderings of Kafka, the stream-of-consciousness of James Joyce, and the brilliant social insights of Jane Austen.
These are truly the Top 10 Writers in the World, whose works transcend time and still resonate with us today. And now, we’ll hear them discuss one of the most profound and timeless themes: the role of power and corruption in shaping human history.
This imaginary conversation will challenge you, make you think deeply, and perhaps even change the way you view the world around you.

The Nature of Human Suffering and Redemption
Nick Sasaki: Welcome, esteemed writers. Today, we're diving deep into a topic that has long permeated literature: the nature of human suffering and redemption. Each of you has approached this theme in your own way. Dostoevsky, I’d like to start with you—your works are filled with characters who face profound inner turmoil. What does suffering mean to you, and how does it relate to redemption?
Dostoevsky: Ah, Nick, suffering is the cornerstone of the human experience. In Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov believes he can escape moral consequence, but the weight of his guilt crushes him. It is only through suffering that he confronts his true self. I believe suffering is necessary for redemption because it strips away the illusions we hold about ourselves.
Nick Sasaki: That’s powerful, Dostoevsky. Tolstoy, you also wrote extensively about human suffering, especially in the context of war and peace. How do you see suffering leading to redemption?
Tolstoy: Suffering, in my view, arises when we live against our moral conscience. In War and Peace, characters like Pierre Bezukhov suffer because they are disconnected from their true purpose, living lives dictated by vanity or ambition. But through suffering, they seek deeper truths. True redemption comes when we align our actions with universal moral principles.
Nick Sasaki: It seems like suffering serves as a kind of awakening for both of you. Shakespeare, your tragedies are filled with suffering—how does it function in your plays?
Shakespeare: Indeed, Nick, suffering is a tool of the gods, if you will. In King Lear, the old king's descent into madness is tied to his hubris. His suffering humbles him, opens his eyes to the world he once ignored, and yet, in a way, redeems him. Suffering reveals the frailty of human nature, but it also exposes our capacity for growth and transformation.
Nick Sasaki: That brings up an interesting point—suffering as a means of personal transformation. Kafka, your characters often face a more abstract kind of suffering, one tied to the absurdity of existence. How does suffering function in your work?
Kafka: My characters are trapped, Nick. In works like The Trial and The Metamorphosis, suffering comes from a sense of alienation, a world that is incomprehensible. The redemption they seek is elusive because the systems that govern their suffering are indifferent, perhaps even hostile, to their desires. It's a more existential form of suffering—one without clear resolution.
Nick Sasaki: Kafka, it sounds like for you, redemption might not always be possible in the traditional sense. García Márquez, in your magical realism, suffering often transcends individual experience. How does the collective suffering in your works tie into the possibility of redemption?
García Márquez: In One Hundred Years of Solitude, the Buendía family’s suffering is intertwined with the history and fate of their entire town, Macondo. It’s a cyclical form of suffering, inherited through generations. Redemption, if it comes, is often in the form of understanding one’s place in the flow of time and history. The act of remembrance, the collective memory of suffering, can be redemptive.
Nick Sasaki: That’s fascinating—redemption as collective, rather than individual. Jane, you explore suffering in a very personal, social context. How does it manifest in your novels, and what role does redemption play?
Austen: In my novels, suffering often stems from social constraints—expectations of class, gender, and propriety. Characters like Anne Elliot in Persuasion endure emotional suffering because of societal pressures. Redemption comes when they break free from those constraints and learn to follow their hearts. Suffering, in this sense, forces my characters to grow and to seek happiness on their own terms.
Nick Sasaki: That’s a beautiful take, Jane. It’s interesting to hear how social pressures shape suffering. Twain, you’ve written about suffering, but often with a satirical touch. How does redemption come into play for you?
Twain: Well, Nick, I believe that people suffer largely due to ignorance or societal foolishness. In Huckleberry Finn, Huck suffers from the moral dilemmas imposed on him by society’s hypocrisy. His redemption comes not through suffering in the traditional sense, but through rejecting the false morals he’s been taught and choosing his own path. Sometimes, the most redemptive thing you can do is just trust your own instincts.
Nick Sasaki: That’s a wonderful contrast, Twain. For you, redemption seems more tied to personal integrity. Goethe, in Faust, you gave us one of the greatest literary depictions of the struggle between good and evil. How do you see suffering leading to redemption?
Goethe: Suffering is a consequence of desire, Nick. In Faust, the protagonist's suffering is tied to his insatiable quest for knowledge, power, and experience. He seeks fulfillment in the material and intellectual world, but it’s only when he turns to the spiritual—when he seeks to transcend his earthly desires—that redemption becomes possible. Suffering is the crucible through which the soul is purified.
Nick Sasaki: Thank you, Goethe. It seems that across all your works, suffering is not just a passive experience—it’s transformative, whether for an individual, a society, or even the soul. Each of you has shown that while suffering is inevitable, it often opens the door to a deeper understanding of ourselves and our place in the world.
Free Will vs. Fate
Nick Sasaki: Welcome back, everyone. Today’s topic is one that has intrigued philosophers and writers alike—free will versus fate. To what extent do we control our destinies, and to what extent are we shaped by forces beyond our control? Shakespeare, you’ve explored this extensively in your tragedies. What’s your take on free will versus fate?
Shakespeare: Ah, Nick, in my works, fate often plays a hand in guiding the events, but it is the characters' choices that seal their fates. In Macbeth, for instance, the witches foretell his rise to power, but it is Macbeth’s ambition and moral decay that lead him to ruin. Fate may present the opportunity, but it’s free will that turns it into tragedy.
Nick Sasaki: So, you see a tension between fate presenting paths and free will in choosing them. Tolstoy, in War and Peace, you often depict history as a series of inevitable events shaped by vast forces. How do you reconcile individual agency with the sweep of history?
Tolstoy: In my view, history is driven by forces far beyond the individual—social movements, wars, politics. Yet within that, individuals like Pierre and Prince Andrei still exercise their free will in how they react to those larger forces. The currents of history are inescapable, but the inner life, the moral choices we make, remain ours.
Nick Sasaki: So, history is a force, but individuals still have some power in their responses. Joyce, your Ulysses offers a deep dive into consciousness and decision-making. How does free will play out in your characters’ lives?
Joyce: For me, Nick, free will is tied to the mind’s internal processes. In Ulysses, Leopold Bloom’s seemingly mundane choices, from what he eats to where he walks, represent deeper existential freedoms. The stream of consciousness allows us to see how even small decisions are shaped by memory, desire, and thought. Fate may set the stage, but the everyday is an exercise in free will.
Nick Sasaki: Fascinating, Joyce. So, you find free will even in the mundane. Kafka, in contrast, your characters often seem trapped by fate or forces beyond their understanding. Do you believe in free will?
Kafka: I wouldn’t say my characters have much control, Nick. In works like The Trial, Joseph K. is caught in an absurd system he cannot understand or escape. The sense of futility and powerlessness runs through much of my writing. Even when my characters attempt to exert their free will, they are met with overwhelming, indifferent forces. Fate, in my world, is a system too large and incomprehensible to fight.
Nick Sasaki: That’s quite bleak, Kafka. It seems like your characters are almost doomed to a predetermined existence. García Márquez, in your magical realist world, fate and free will seem to blur together. How do you see them interacting?
García Márquez: Yet, within this, there’s still room for free will. The Buendías are bound by fate in many ways, but there are fleeting moments when they try to defy it. For example, Úrsula Iguarán, one of the matriarchs, fights against the family’s repeated mistakes and tries to alter the course of history. However, fate in One Hundred Years of Solitude is often cyclical—like a curse that can’t be broken—suggesting that even when individuals exercise free will, they are still part of a larger, inevitable pattern.
Nick Sasaki: That cyclical nature of fate is fascinating—almost as if free will gives the illusion of choice but ultimately leads back to the same outcomes. Dostoevsky, you’ve often explored moral dilemmas and individual choices in the face of larger, existential forces. Do you see free will as truly existing, or are we bound by fate?
Dostoevsky: For me, Nick, free will is essential, but it is not without torment. My characters, such as Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment, are constantly caught between the forces of good and evil, grappling with their decisions. Raskolnikov believes he can act freely, outside of moral law, but his inner conscience—a higher power, perhaps—drags him back. He cannot escape the consequences of his choices, and in the end, his suffering leads to redemption. So, while free will exists, it operates within the bounds of moral and spiritual law, which could be interpreted as a form of fate.
Nick Sasaki: That moral dimension to free will is a fascinating layer. Shakespeare, in many of your works, fate seems to loom large, but your characters still make fateful choices. How do you see the balance between fate and free will?
Shakespeare: Nick, I’ve always been fascinated by the way fate and free will dance together. In Macbeth, for example, the witches prophesy Macbeth’s rise to power, but it is his ambition and free will that lead him to murder and tyranny. The prophecy may set events in motion, but it is Macbeth’s choices that bring about his downfall. Similarly, in Romeo and Juliet, fate places them in a world of feuding families, but their decisions—driven by love and desperation—seal their tragic end. Fate gives the circumstances, but free will creates the tragedy.
Nick Sasaki: It’s interesting how even when fate seems predetermined, personal choices still carry weight. Austen, you focus so much on personal decisions within a socially constrained world. How do you see free will working in your stories?
Austen: In my novels, characters like Elizabeth Bennet or Emma Woodhouse certainly have agency, but their choices are often restricted by societal expectations. Yet, within these confines, I believe free will is exercised in how one responds to their circumstances. Elizabeth’s refusal of Mr. Collins’s proposal in Pride and Prejudice is an act of free will in defiance of social norms, showing that even in a rigid society, personal choice can alter one’s fate. Ultimately, while fate might shape the world they live in, my characters’ happiness depends on their ability to act according to their own values.
Nick Sasaki: So, it’s a balance between societal fate and individual choices. Twain, your characters often push back against societal constraints. Do you believe free will can overcome fate, especially in a world bound by traditions and norms?
Twain: Well, Nick, I’m a firm believer in free will, but I also think most people are too bogged down by social conventions to realize they have it. Take Huck Finn, for example. He’s surrounded by a society that tells him slavery is right, but he rejects that fate and decides for himself to help Jim. That’s free will in its truest sense—choosing what’s right, even when everything around you says otherwise. Of course, the world keeps trying to pull him back, but Huck shows that you can choose your own way if you’ve got the guts to do it.
Nick Sasaki: That’s a powerful statement on resisting societal fate. Kafka, your works are filled with characters who seem crushed by forces beyond their understanding. Do you believe in free will at all?
Kafka: My characters are often trapped, Nick, not just by external forces but by their own inability to escape their circumstances. In The Trial, Joseph K. is caught in a labyrinthine legal system that seems to have no rhyme or reason. He tries to assert his free will, but no matter what he does, the outcome seems preordained. In my world, fate is like an invisible hand, guiding everything, while free will is little more than a futile struggle against forces that can’t be understood or controlled. It’s a tragic dance between hope and despair.
Nick Sasaki: It sounds like, in your view, free will is more of an illusion, Kafka, one that’s constantly crushed by overwhelming forces. Goethe, in Faust, your protagonist is torn between desire and higher spiritual forces. How do you view the relationship between free will and fate in his story?
Goethe: In Faust, the struggle between free will and fate is at the very heart of the narrative. Faust makes a conscious decision to pursue knowledge, pleasure, and power, driven by his own desires. But his fate is entangled with Mephistopheles, who represents the darker forces of the universe. Faust’s choices lead him down a path of self-destruction, yet his striving—his constant search for meaning—brings about his ultimate redemption. Fate may guide the overall arc of the story, but free will lies in his ceaseless pursuit of something higher, even if it means embracing the risks that come with it.
Nick Sasaki: That’s an intriguing take, Goethe, where striving itself becomes a form of free will within a broader fate. It seems like across all of your works, the tension between fate and free will is inescapable—whether characters are breaking free from societal constraints, grappling with inner morality, or being crushed by larger forces, they all navigate a complex web of choices and inevitabilities.
The Alienation of the Individual in Society
Nick Sasaki: Welcome again, everyone. Today we’re diving into a theme that appears in many of your works—alienation of the individual in society. Modern life often pulls people away from their communities, from nature, and even from themselves. Kafka, I’d like to begin with you. Your work seems to depict individuals who are hopelessly trapped by incomprehensible societal forces. How do you see alienation in your stories?
Kafka: Nick, in my works, alienation is not just a physical or emotional distance—it’s existential. My characters, like Gregor Samsa in The Metamorphosis, find themselves transformed, isolated from their own families and from the world. It’s not merely that society rejects them; it's that they no longer understand their own place in it. Bureaucracies and oppressive systems, like those in The Trial, create a barrier between the individual and a meaningful existence. My characters are alienated by forces they cannot comprehend or control, leading to a profound sense of powerlessness.
Nick Sasaki: That powerlessness is chilling, Kafka. Shakespeare, your characters often experience alienation, whether through betrayal, madness, or exile. How do you see this theme in your plays?
Shakespeare: Ah, Nick, alienation is indeed at the heart of many of my tragedies. Think of King Lear, where the old king is abandoned by his daughters, cast into the wilderness, and left to confront the raw reality of human existence. His descent into madness is a result of this alienation—from his family, his kingdom, and even his own sense of self. Similarly, Hamlet is alienated by the corruption of the court and his inability to reconcile his inner turmoil with the expectations of the world around him. In these cases, society’s betrayal leads to a personal unraveling.
Nick Sasaki: So alienation in your works often leads to a kind of existential crisis or madness. Dostoevsky, in your novels, characters are often isolated by their moral struggles. How does alienation function in your stories?
Dostoevsky: Nick, alienation is deeply intertwined with the human soul’s moral and spiritual battle. In Notes from Underground, the protagonist isolates himself from society because he cannot bear its hypocrisy and mediocrity. But his isolation also feeds his bitterness and despair. He is alienated not just from society but from God and, ultimately, from himself. In Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov’s isolation is a product of his crime—he separates himself from humanity because he believes himself superior, but this alienation only deepens his suffering. Redemption, for my characters, often comes through reconnecting with others and accepting the burden of human connection.
Nick Sasaki: It sounds like, for you, alienation is often self-imposed, but also a source of immense suffering. Dickens, you wrote extensively about social class and isolation. How does alienation manifest in your works?
Dickens: Nick, for me, alienation is often a social construct—a product of poverty, class, and inequality. In Great Expectations, Pip’s alienation stems from his desire to rise above his origins, distancing himself from the people who truly care for him, like Joe. His obsession with becoming a “gentleman” isolates him from his own identity and leads to a kind of moral confusion. Similarly, in A Tale of Two Cities, the alienation of the French peasantry from the aristocracy is what drives the revolution. When society fails to care for its members, that alienation turns into violence and upheaval.
Nick Sasaki: So you see alienation as both a personal and societal issue, driven by class and inequality. Austen, your novels often explore social structures, but do your characters experience alienation in the same way?
Austen: Yes, Nick, though perhaps in a quieter, more personal way. In my novels, alienation often arises from a clash between personal desires and societal expectations. Take Fanny Price in Mansfield Park, who is alienated within her wealthy family because of her lower social status and her quiet moral compass. She is often overlooked and underestimated, yet her internal strength sets her apart. Similarly, in Persuasion, Anne Elliot is alienated because of her decision to reject a proposal years earlier, which leaves her cut off from the prospects that society expects of her. My characters' alienation is more emotional and social, but it still speaks to a deep sense of being out of place within their world.
Nick Sasaki: It’s interesting how your characters are alienated within the very society they belong to, despite being part of its structure. Joyce, in your modernist works, alienation often takes on a psychological or existential form. How do you see it playing out?
Joyce: In my works, Nick, alienation is largely a matter of internal struggle. Take Stephen Dedalus in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man—he feels alienated from his family, his church, his country. His journey is one of self-realization, rejecting the confines of the society that seeks to mold him. In Ulysses, Leopold Bloom experiences a quieter alienation, one that comes from his status as an outsider—a Jewish man in largely Catholic Dublin. His wanderings through the city reflect the psychological and emotional distance he feels from those around him. For me, alienation is about the disconnection between the self and the world, but also the self and its own consciousness.
Nick Sasaki: So in your view, alienation is deeply tied to identity and self-perception. García Márquez, in your magical realism, alienation often seems both mythical and personal. How do you approach it?
García Márquez: In One Hundred Years of Solitude, the Buendía family’s alienation is a reflection of their entrapment within a cycle of solitude. The town of Macondo itself is isolated from the rest of the world, and this physical isolation mirrors the emotional and generational alienation experienced by the family. Each generation repeats the mistakes of the previous one, unable to escape their fate. Their alienation is deeply intertwined with memory, history, and time—things that are not easily overcome. In the end, their solitude is not just personal, but cosmic, a reminder that humans are often isolated by forces beyond their understanding.
Nick Sasaki: That cosmic level of alienation is a powerful metaphor for the human condition. Twain, your characters often seem to be at odds with society. Do they experience alienation in the same way?
Twain: Well, Nick, my characters are often alienated because they reject the nonsense that society tries to impose on them. Huck Finn, for example, is alienated from society because he refuses to conform to its moral hypocrisy—especially when it comes to slavery. His decision to help Jim escape, even though society tells him it’s wrong, is his way of asserting his own moral compass. Huck might be isolated, but he’s free. That’s the trade-off. Alienation in my books is often a result of trying to live by your own rules, even when the world around you doesn’t agree.
Nick Sasaki: So for you, alienation is almost a form of liberation, a way to escape societal constraints. Goethe, your work deals with profound philosophical questions. How do you see alienation in Faust?
Goethe: In Faust, alienation comes from Faust’s insatiable desire for knowledge and experience. He is disconnected from the world because he constantly seeks something beyond what is humanly attainable. His deal with Mephistopheles is driven by this alienation—his dissatisfaction with life, his inability to find meaning in the ordinary. Faust’s alienation is existential; he is cut off from humanity because of his relentless striving for more. It’s only at the end, when he finally accepts the limits of human existence, that he finds a kind of redemption. But until that point, he is trapped in his own sense of isolation.
Nick Sasaki: It seems like alienation, for you, Goethe, is both a curse and a driving force toward self-discovery. What strikes me across all your works is that alienation can be driven by society, internal conflict, existential forces, or even self-imposed isolation. Yet in some cases, it leads to growth and understanding, while in others, it only deepens the individual’s suffering.
The Search for Identity and Self-Understanding
Nick Sasaki: Welcome back, everyone. Today, we’ll be discussing a topic that lies at the heart of many of your works: the search for identity and self-understanding. This theme takes many forms, from personal journeys to existential quests. Joyce, your modernist works focus intensely on the inner workings of the mind. How does the search for identity manifest in your characters?
Joyce: Nick, the search for identity is central to both A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses. Stephen Dedalus’s journey is one of rejecting the identities imposed upon him by family, religion, and country, in favor of becoming an autonomous artist. He must break free from these chains to create his own identity. Leopold Bloom, on the other hand, is less dramatic in his search, but no less profound. His day-long journey through Dublin in Ulysses is a kind of meditation on his role as a father, husband, and outsider. His quiet reflections show that identity is constantly being shaped by our experiences, thoughts, and interactions with the world.
Nick Sasaki: It sounds like identity, for you, is deeply tied to internal reflection and the breaking free from societal constraints. Austen, your characters often grapple with identity within the rigid structures of society. How do they come to understand themselves?
Austen: In my novels, the search for identity is often tied to social standing and personal growth. Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice must reconcile her sense of self-worth with her family’s lower status and society’s expectations. But her journey isn’t just about social identity—it’s about self-awareness. She must confront her own flaws, particularly her initial misjudgments of Mr. Darcy. Similarly, Emma Woodhouse in Emma believes she knows herself and others quite well, but her attempts to manipulate people’s lives reveal her lack of true self-understanding. For both characters, the search for identity involves learning to balance individual desires with an awareness of others’ perspectives and values.
Nick Sasaki: Austen, it’s fascinating how your characters’ search for identity is as much about self-reflection as it is about navigating society’s expectations. Dostoevsky, your characters often face existential dilemmas when searching for their identities. How does this process unfold in your works?
Dostoevsky: Nick, the search for identity in my novels is deeply tied to moral and spiritual struggle. In The Brothers Karamazov, each brother represents a different aspect of human identity—intellectualism, sensualism, and faith. Their search for meaning and identity is not just a personal quest but a reflection of broader philosophical questions about the nature of good and evil. Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment struggles with the notion of being an extraordinary man, someone above moral law. His search for identity leads him to a crisis, as he grapples with guilt and the consequences of his actions. Ultimately, true self-understanding comes when my characters confront their own humanity, often through suffering.
Nick Sasaki: For you, it seems that identity is something that must be earned or uncovered through deep moral and existential questioning. Dickens, your characters are often shaped by their social circumstances. How does the search for identity play out in your novels?
Dickens: In my novels, Nick, identity is often a struggle between personal desire and the limitations imposed by social class. In David Copperfield, David’s search for identity is tied to his desire to rise above his humble beginnings. His journey is one of self-education, resilience, and moral growth. Pip in Great Expectations is another example—he believes that wealth and status will define his identity, but as the story progresses, he learns that true identity comes from inner character, not external circumstances. My characters often have to unlearn society’s values in order to discover their true selves.
Nick Sasaki: So in your works, the search for identity involves breaking free from societal expectations and discovering an internal moral compass. García Márquez, in your magical realist world, identity seems intertwined with history and destiny. How do your characters grapple with self-understanding?
García Márquez: In One Hundred Years of Solitude, the search for identity is deeply tied to family history and the cyclical nature of time. The Buendía family is constantly searching for their place in the world, but their identities are shaped by the patterns of the past. They struggle to break free from the fate that seems to bind them, but often, they are unable to escape their history. Identity in my works is not just personal—it’s collective, passed down through generations. The search for self-understanding, then, becomes a question of whether we can ever truly define ourselves, or if we are forever bound by the weight of history and memory.
Nick Sasaki: That’s a profound take on identity as something that is shaped by the forces of history and memory, rather than just personal decisions. Twain, your characters are often in conflict with society’s rules and expectations. How do they come to understand themselves?
Twain: Nick, I’ve always believed that the search for identity is about throwing off the nonsense that society piles on you and figuring out what matters to you personally. Huck Finn, in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, starts off just trying to escape the restrictions of society. He doesn’t want to be “sivilized,” and through his journey down the river, he learns to trust his own instincts. When he chooses to help Jim, despite what society tells him is right, he’s making a stand for his own identity. It’s not about fancy ideals—it’s about knowing what’s right for yourself and acting on it. That’s what self-understanding looks like in my world.
Nick Sasaki: So for you, self-understanding is about rejecting societal hypocrisy and discovering personal values. Goethe, your protagonist in Faust is constantly searching for meaning and identity. How does this play out in his journey?
Goethe: In Faust, the search for identity is central. Faust is a man who has explored the limits of human knowledge, yet finds himself dissatisfied. His pact with Mephistopheles is an attempt to break free from the constraints of ordinary life, to experience everything and find a deeper sense of self. However, his search for identity becomes a spiritual quest, one that leads him through both destruction and redemption. Faust’s journey is about realizing that true self-understanding comes not from endless striving but from accepting the limitations of human existence. It is only in the end, when he surrenders to something greater than himself, that he finds peace.
Nick Sasaki: It seems that, for you, the search for identity is as much about confronting limits as it is about striving for more. Kafka, your characters are often trapped by forces they cannot understand. How do they grapple with their sense of self?
Kafka: Nick, my characters are often alienated from themselves, as well as from society. In The Metamorphosis, Gregor Samsa’s transformation into an insect symbolizes the collapse of his identity—he no longer recognizes himself, and neither does his family. The search for self-understanding is futile because the world is indifferent to their struggles. In The Trial, Joseph K. seeks to understand the forces controlling his fate, but he is continually frustrated by the lack of clarity. My characters’ search for identity is often a search for meaning in a world that offers none. Their struggle is existential—how can one understand oneself when the world itself is absurd?
Nick Sasaki: Kafka, it sounds like for your characters, the search for identity is a tragic endeavor, one doomed by the chaos and absurdity of the world. Across all your works, it seems the search for self-understanding is deeply intertwined with both external forces—society, history, and family—and internal conflicts, like moral choices, self-awareness, and personal desires. Some of your characters succeed in defining themselves, while others are left adrift, unable to break free from the forces that shape them.
The Role of Power and Corruption in Human History
Nick Sasaki: Welcome, everyone. Today’s discussion is on a topic that has influenced both individuals and entire civilizations: the role of power and corruption in human history. Each of you has explored power in your works, whether in the personal, political, or societal realms. Tolstoy, let’s start with you. In War and Peace, power plays a central role in shaping both history and individual lives. How do you see the interplay between power and corruption?
Tolstoy: Nick, in War and Peace, I aimed to show how history is often shaped by forces far beyond individual control—power is concentrated in the hands of a few, but even they are swept up by the tides of history. Napoleon, for example, believes himself to be a great man of destiny, but his ambition leads to widespread suffering and destruction. Power corrupts because it distances people from moral truth. True power comes from inner strength and living according to one’s conscience, not from political or military might.
Nick Sasaki: So for you, power is often an illusion, and those who seek it are susceptible to corruption. Shakespeare, in your tragedies, characters often grapple with power and its corrupting influence. How does this theme play out in your works?
Shakespeare: Ah, Nick, power is a double-edged sword. In Macbeth, the titular character’s ambition for power leads to his downfall. He is not content with the prophecy that he will be king—he must seize power through murder and deceit. His corruption is the result of his own unchecked ambition. Similarly, in Julius Caesar, we see the corrupting influence of political power, as Brutus and the other conspirators justify their betrayal by claiming they are preventing Caesar from becoming a tyrant. Yet, in trying to prevent corruption, they themselves become corrupted by the very power they seek to control.
Nick Sasaki: It’s interesting how in your plays, the desire for power leads to moral decay. Dostoevsky, your characters often struggle with power on a psychological level. How do you view the corrupting nature of power in your novels?
Dostoevsky: Nick, in my works, the corruption of power is tied to the inner struggle between good and evil. In The Brothers Karamazov, the father, Fyodor Pavlovich, uses his wealth and power to manipulate and control those around him. His corruption is spiritual—he is disconnected from any sense of morality or responsibility. Raskolnikov, in Crime and Punishment, believes that power comes from the ability to transcend moral law, to act without consequence. But his attempt to wield that power leads to his psychological and moral disintegration. Power without compassion, without a moral foundation, corrupts the soul.
Nick Sasaki: It sounds like for you, power is corrupting when it is divorced from morality and compassion. Dickens, your novels often depict the corruption of power in social institutions. How does power and corruption manifest in your stories?
Dickens: Nick, in my novels, power is often wielded by those at the top of the social hierarchy—whether it’s the wealthy, the government, or the legal system. In Bleak House, the legal system is so corrupt that it ruins lives, dragging people through endless court cases while those in power profit. In Oliver Twist, the poor are at the mercy of the workhouses and corrupt officials who exploit them. Power, in these cases, becomes a tool of oppression. Those in positions of authority use their power to maintain the status quo, often at the expense of the vulnerable. Corruption is systemic—it’s built into the very structures of society.
Nick Sasaki: So you see corruption as something that infects not just individuals, but entire social systems. García Márquez, your works often depict power in a more mythical or historical context. How does power and corruption play out in your narratives?
García Márquez: In The Autumn of the Patriarch, I explore the nature of absolute power and the way it corrupts not just individuals, but entire nations. The dictator in the novel holds power for so long that he becomes almost a mythical figure, detached from reality. His corruption is total—he believes he is eternal, infallible. In One Hundred Years of Solitude, the Buendía family experiences the rise and fall of power across generations. Power, whether political or familial, often leads to isolation and madness. It corrupts because it isolates people from their humanity, from their community, and from the natural flow of time.
Nick Sasaki: It seems that in your works, power leads to isolation and a loss of humanity, almost turning individuals into mythic figures detached from reality. Twain, your characters often push back against authority. How do you see power and corruption in your stories?
Twain: Well, Nick, I’ve always had a healthy distrust of authority. In The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Huck is constantly at odds with the so-called powers that be—whether it’s the law, the church, or his abusive father. Those in positions of power often use it to control and exploit. Huck’s journey down the river with Jim is, in part, a rejection of that corrupt power. Jim’s very existence as a slave is a result of the corrupt institution of slavery, which is propped up by the people in power. Power, when it’s used to oppress or limit freedom, is corrupt to its core.
Nick Sasaki: For you, power is often an instrument of oppression, especially when it’s used to limit individual freedom. Goethe, in Faust, your protagonist seeks ultimate knowledge and power. How does power and corruption intertwine in his story?
Goethe: In Faust, the search for power is Faust’s driving force—he seeks to transcend the limits of human knowledge and experience. His pact with Mephistopheles is a symbol of the corrupting influence of this desire for absolute power. Faust’s journey is one of hubris, believing that through power he can overcome the human condition. But as he gains more, he becomes increasingly disconnected from the world around him. Power, in this sense, corrupts because it blinds the individual to the consequences of their actions. True redemption only comes when Faust relinquishes his desire for power and accepts his limitations as a human being.
Nick Sasaki: That’s a compelling perspective, Goethe, where power corrupts by leading individuals away from their humanity. Kafka, your works often depict characters who are powerless in the face of overwhelming systems. How do you view power and corruption?
Kafka: Nick, in my world, power is abstract and often incomprehensible. In The Trial, Joseph K. is caught in a bureaucratic nightmare, powerless against the faceless authorities that control his fate. The corruption lies not in any single individual, but in the system itself—a system that is so vast and indifferent that it becomes corrupt simply by existing. Power, in my stories, is not something one can fight or reason with. It’s a force that operates without logic or morality, and individuals are left alienated and powerless in its wake.
Nick Sasaki: It seems that in your works, power is a kind of impenetrable force, where corruption is systemic and individuals are helpless against it. Across all your works, there’s a recognition that power, when unchecked or wielded without moral responsibility, leads to corruption—whether it’s on a personal, political, or societal level. Some of you show power as an illusion, others as a tool of oppression, and still others as a force that isolates individuals from their humanity. But in all cases, corruption seems to follow wherever power is concentrated.
Short Bios:
William Shakespeare, the English playwright and poet, is known for his timeless exploration of human nature, power, ambition, and love in works like Macbeth, Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet. His influence on drama and literature is unmatched.
Leo Tolstoy, the Russian novelist, delved into the complexities of power, morality, and history in War and Peace and Anna Karenina. His philosophical approach questioned the very foundations of society and human behavior.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, another Russian giant, explored the psychological and spiritual dimensions of human existence. In Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov, he examined how power, guilt, and redemption play out in the human soul.
Charles Dickens, the English social critic and novelist, exposed the power structures of Victorian society in works like Great Expectations and A Tale of Two Cities. His vivid portrayals of poverty and social injustice highlighted systemic corruption.
Gabriel García Márquez, a Colombian author known for magical realism, explored the cyclical nature of power and history in One Hundred Years of Solitude and The Autumn of the Patriarch. His stories weave personal and political struggles with myth and legend.
Mark Twain, the American humorist and novelist, critiqued societal power and hypocrisy through satire in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and The Gilded Age. His works emphasize individual morality in the face of corrupt institutions.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, a German writer, poet, and philosopher, reflected on the quest for knowledge and the corrupting influence of power in Faust, where the search for ultimate power leads to both downfall and redemption.
Franz Kafka, the Prague-born modernist, is renowned for his dark, existential portrayals of individuals trapped by overwhelming, often absurd systems of power. The Trial and The Metamorphosis reflect the alienation and helplessness of the modern man.
James Joyce, the Irish modernist, revolutionized literature with his exploration of consciousness and personal identity in Ulysses and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. His characters' struggles with societal norms reveal deep layers of power dynamics within personal freedom.
Jane Austen, the English novelist, keenly observed how social class and gender shape personal power and identity. In Pride and Prejudice and Emma, she explored the subtle ways individuals navigate societal expectations to assert their independence and self-worth.
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