All became so jealous of the rights of their own personality that they did their very utmost to curtail and destroy them in others

Uh oh.  A Russian literary rabbit hole.  More from Fyodor Dostoyevsky.  This time from The Dream of a Ridiculous Man published in 1877.  He sure seems to have the ethos of the Woke pinned down a century and a half ago.

Here is the Woke tendency towards denying natural rights, cancelling people and censoring them.  

All became so jealous of the rights of their own personality that they did their very utmost to curtail and destroy them in others, and made that the chief thing in their lives. Slavery followed, even voluntary slavery; the weak eagerly submitted to the strong, on condition that the latter aided them to subdue the still weaker. Then there were saints who came to these people, weeping, and talked to them of their pride, of their loss of harmony and due proportion, of their loss of shame. They were laughed at or pelted with stones.

And here is the Woke as martyr for the sins of others.  The willingness to claim guilt where there is none.  The desire to be the chief confessor, taking the path to sainthood via virtue signaling sin.  

Alas! I always loved sorrow and tribulation, but only for myself, for myself; but I wept over them, pitying them. I stretched out my hands to them in despair, blaming, cursing and despising myself. I told them that all this was my doing, mine alone; that it was I had brought them corruption, contamination and falsity. I besought them to crucify me, I taught them how to make a cross. I could not kill myself, I had not the strength, but I wanted to suffer at their hands. I yearned for suffering, I longed that my blood should be drained to the last drop in these agonies.

And there's this from Letters of Fyodor Michailovitch Dostoyevsky to his family and friends.  The Woke inclination towards doom mongering, catastrophism and despair.  

Lacking external experiences, those of the inward life will gain the upper hand, and that is most dangerous. The nerves and the fancy then take up too much room, as it were, in our consciousness. Every external happening seems colossal, and frightens us. We begin to fear life.