The Murder is a short story written by Anton Chekhov in 1895. It’s a wonderfully witty, tongue-in-cheek story that follows Matvey Terehov, a devout Eastern Orthodox Christian, and the escapades leading up to his murder. The aftermath of his death explores the cover-up, guilt, and punishment of the perpetrators, one of which is his cousin Yakov Ivanitch.
Throughout The Murder, Chekhov satirizes Matvey and Yakov’s religious fanaticism, critiquing their resulting lack of introspective ability, which makes them unable to focus on genuine self-improvement and growth. Over a hundred years after The Murder’s publishing, Chekhov’s critique of the cousins’ superficiality remains relevant to contemporary times. It eerily parallels the State of Texas’s approach to education—a focus on virtuous outward appearances, rather than internal improvements, gravely limits progression in K-12 public education quality.
Early on in The Murder, long swaths of monologue characterize Matvey as self-centered: his two favorite topics are his own religion and his hatred for Yakov, who ironically provides Matvey free room and board. In a soliloquy at a bar, Matvey declares himself holier than priests and monks, brags about icon-worship and others viewing him as a savior, and sighs that Yakov doesn’t worship properly. Chekhov’s characterization of the cousins, Matvey especially, is overtly obnoxious yet relays an important point: their hypocrisy clouds their judgement, and they display an utter disregard for practicing what they preach.
Similar criticisms have fallen upon the state government’s attitude towards education. In Texas’ 89th Legislature, proponents of the infamous Senate Bill 10 (SB 10)–which requires public schools to display the Ten Commandments in public school classrooms–neglect the hypocrisy of passing SB 10. Supporters deem the Ten Commandments a “foundational moral compass” for students, ignoring that some Commandments, like one against coveting your neighbor’s wife, entirely don’t apply to K-12 students. The Commandments also speak against working on the Jewish Sabbath, Saturday, though ironically, the Texas House preliminarily passed the bill on that day, as Christian Rep. James Talarico pointed out. Yet again, the bill’s strongest advocates take a moral high ground but fail to hold themselves to those standards.
In The Murder, Yakov does not attend church because he,like Matvey, deems the priests overly sacrilegious. His at-home worship time is often interrupted by a caustic Matvey telling him to “Repent!” as both cousins fancy the other practices religion incorrectly. Chekhov relays this irony beautifully: Matvey and Yakov dismissing actual clergy leaders and each other as the true religious authority defies the Eastern Orthodox teaching of respect for authority.
Similarly, SB 10 supporters ignore the words of actual religious leaders, like the dozens in Texas who signed a letter to the Texas Legislature denouncing SB 10’s government-sponsored religion in schools. Attorney General Ken Paxton justified SB 10 by saying the Ten Commandments are “intertwined” with “America’s historical heritage,” conveniently contrary to the fact that America was largely founded to avoid having government control in individuals’ religious practices. Such ignorance to the actual foundations of faith and history sound uncannily like Matvey and Yakov. Given Chekhov’s personal struggle with growing up in the Church, The Murder almost reads like a warning of the weaponization of religion to appear pious while enforcing a disingenuous agenda.
Matvey’s murder happens–spoiler–right after an instance of him calling out Yakov’s “sins.” It’s during Lent, a time in which Matvey claims he entirely abstains from eating oil, per the religious custom. After a ritual chiding of Yakov, Matvey demands Yakov’s sister Aglaia for some oil for his potatoes, which he eats after defending it by calling himself a “layman… not a monk.” Yakov is angry at Matvey’s impiety and starts a fight. It is during this altercation that Aglaia smashes the Lenten oil bottle over Matvey’s head. Matvey dies.
The collapse of public education is happening just as instantly. The irony of Matvey’s death lies in that his demise was caused by the one thing–religious rites–he revolved his life around; this is symbolically apparent in the murder weapon being the very thing Matvey sacrificed piety for. The irony of SB 10–and other legislation affecting public education, like the replacement of the singular, State of Texas Assessments of Academic Readiness (STAAR) test with three other standardized tests–is that its supporters fail to listen to the very people the bill affects. With the STAAR testing bill, any student can speak to the grueling nature of standardized testing, any teacher to the seemingly futile processes it entails: two more tests just exacerbates the issue. Vocal SB 10 proponents similarly ignore the voices of the aforementioned religious leaders and religious and secular students on the matter.
Though SB 10 is in litigation, the fact that it was passed in the first place represents a deeper issue with an interference of education. Religion is not the issue: Practicing faith superficially and mobilizing religion as a shield to promote impractical schemes is. Calling the Ten Commandments a moral guide allows others to ignore its breach of America’s fundamental church and state separation. Instead of reflecting on their own hypocrisy, Matvey and Yakov take out their frustrations on each other; Instead of genuinely addressing crumbling public school systems, like the possible closing of 13 AISD schools due to budget deficits, Texas has decided to bandage the issue with a mask of holiness.
Summarizing The Murder doesn’t do its brilliant quips justice. Along with its subtle humor, it remains a wondrous story due to its jarring relevance to the present-day. Though hopefully someday the shallowness caused by disingenuous relationships with religion, like Matvey and Yakov’s story, can simply remain a tale.
