The Grand Inquisitor

The Grand Inquisitor

submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements of Communication II

July 2003

ephemere@gmail.com

Among Fyodor Dostoevsky's literary efforts, The Brothers Karamazov is undoubtedly his masterpiece, a description of which cannot help but inspire superlatives. As a work of art, its greatness endures without question; as a novel, it brims with challenges to the reader, very real characters, and gripping plot developments; as an exploration of man's most profound and fundamental questions, it is sublime. The Brothers Karamazov surpasses all of Dostoevsky's previous works in breadth, scope, and profundity, as the author delves deeper into human nature and reaches up ever higher in his search for God. The truths consequently brought to light form the framework of the novel, with the legend of the Grand Inquisitor at its very heart.

Plot. Taken by themselves, the events of the chapters concerned seem simple enough: the meeting of two brothers and the conversation that follows, followed by the saintly Father Zosima's last talk with his visitors and the re-telling of his life. However, against the backdrop of past and future developments, the two contrasting meetings acquire new significance -- occurring as they do a mere day or so before the parricide around which the novel revolves. Alyosha's and Ivan's discourse on the eternal questions, the meaning of life, the duality of human nature, and the question of God so colors the reader's view that the murder of the brothers' father is no surprise, but an inevitable occurrence. For in the brothers' meeting one sees their struggle against their shared Karamazov nature and their attempts to overcome the earthy sensuality which destroys their father and almost damns their brother Mitya; in a sense, the word "rebellion" that is the title of one of the chapters does not only mean rebellion against God, as is the most obvious interpretation, but also rebellion against the father. Thus, though Ivan and Alyosha did not participate actively in the murder, in the chapters comprising their meeting and conversation it is evident that they are still part of the crime: Ivan providing the impetus for it with his ideas, Alyosha allowing it to occur by his very passivity.

The second meeting in the chapters, that of the dying monk with his visitors, stands in sharp contrast to the first. In Father Zosima's teachings one finds an effort to answer the questions raised during the brothers' conversation; in his life there is an even clearer answer to the question of the redemption of man and a refutation of the legend of the Grand Inquisitor. This meeting also heralds the monk's death, as inevitable as the crime, but unlike the violent murder that the first meeting anticipated, this death was simply a conclusion to a life well-lived.

Characters. The characters in the chapters preceding and succeeding The Grand Inquisitor are, for the span of the few hours during which the legend fully plays out, more archetypes than the human beings caught up in the events of the novel's plots. Each of them stands for something vital to the human experience. Ivan, the intellectual who finds refuge from his Karamazov nature in the passionless world of abstract ideas, represents human reason; Alyosha, with his mystic spirituality, personifies the religious feeling creation is capable of inspiring in the human soul; even Smerdyakov, their bastard brother, while peripheral, has a role to play -- he temporarily stands for humanity in general, for his duality reflects the human race's capacity for flawed good and great evil.

The idealizations Ivan and Alyosha represent find further resonance in the figure of the Grand Inquisitor, the symbol of human reason superseding God in importance and worth; and Father Zosima, the symbol of faith found, of humanity redeemed by grace, and the power of love as opposed to the corruption of sin. In the Grand Inquisitor and Father Zosima the still-human characters of Ivan and Alyosha reach full consummation. That the Grand Inquisitor is a figment of Ivan's imagination and that Father Zosima dies does not detract from the totality of their nature as symbols, but instead enhances it -- in the end, reason deludes reason into reasoning that it is supreme, and the life of even the best of men must end. The Grand Inquisitor, terrible and powerful a figure as he may seem, is still only an idea taken to its logical conclusion. Father Zosima, for all the purification his soul has undergone, is still only a man.

Setting. The novel is set in a Russia that is uniquely Dostoevsky's -- where emotions run so high they drive one to murder or madness, where reason is inadequate and faith is vulnerable, where nightmares co-exist with daily life, where brothers and fathers (or mothers and daughters, masters and servants) are enemies, where religion and spirituality can and do clash, where the threat -- or promise -- of Siberia looms over every person accused of a crime. This Russia has many faults, but throughout the novel the author's love for it is clear. Redemption in Dostoevsky's Russia may be found in the most unlikely of places: here the possibility of it lies with the simple peasantry , who, in their ignorance, may also bring it to ruin. In the chapters concerned, however, setting does not play as important a part as it does in other portions of the novel. The themes and ideas of The Grand Inquisitor are universal.

Diction. At first glance, Dostoevsky's writing is daunting -- his prose abounds with long sentences and even longer paragraphs. Though many of these lengthy paragraphs are spoken, however, the characters' conversations never sound like they are making speeches. Instead the characters come across as endowed with the natural human desire to be understood, the compulsion to make themselves known to other people. Thus, once the reader is able to get past the illusion of long-windedness, the characters' verbosity enables the reader to sympathize with them and their emotions or the passion with which they affirm their ideas. The characters are realized through their words. The unique manner of speaking Dostoevsky gives each character reveals a little more about the character's personality: Ivan is direct, blunt, uncompromising; Alyosha is more sensitive. While Ivan's speech exposes him as a person who is so proud he will not swerve from his ideas even if they are wrong (he affirms it with telling conviction), Alyosha, in his reaction to Ivan's ideas, genuinely seeks to understand even perspectives that are diametrically opposite to his own.

There is little visual description in The Grand Inquisitor and its related chapters, but the characters' words and actions are so vivid the lack of anything to "see" by hardly matters. The reader "hears" and "feels" so intensely that at times the characters seem to be speaking directly to him. In a way, they are.

Themes. One of the most compelling questions in the chapters concerned is also one of the questions central to the whole novel. What is freedom and how much is it worth? In the legend of the Grand Inquisitor freedom is a double-edged sword: while it cuts away the chains binding a person to an oppressive school of thought or society, it can also kill. Freedom, with happiness, is the ultimate goal of man, but as the Grand Inquisitor claims, it is also man's most dreadful burden. To be free to make one's choices for oneself, one must also be ready to bear the crushing weight of responsibility for the consequences of those choices. To the Grand Inquisitor, freedom is the cause of suffering, and if one would take away the people's freedom their suffering would cease and they would find happiness. The argument rings true because it is true. If man were not gifted with free will, he would not be able to make those choices whose consequences so torment him; if ever he did something that caused harm, he himself would not be held accountable because he had no choice in the matter. Free will, the ability to choose, leads to the possibilities of sin and punishment. Most men, the Grand Inquisitor says, should not be permitted to handle such a terrible gift. By offering men true and unalloyed freedom, which only a few are capable of accepting at the cost of their happiness, Christ reveals Himself as indifferent to the plight of the majority of people who are weak, afraid of freedom, and unable to exercise it. Tragically, the Grand Inquisitor overlooked the reality of Christ's great love even for the weak and the power of His mercy and grace, as evidenced in the kiss that was His response to the Grand Inquisitor's threats.

The Grand Inquisitor's arguments against Christ revolve around the three temptations which would ease man's life but undermine his freedom of faith: the performance of a miracle by turning bread into stone, which would provide man with his daily needs; the giving of unquestionable proof that He is the Son of God; and dominion over all kingdoms of the world. By rejecting these temptations, Christ, according to the Grand Inquisitor, refused the three powers that could cause men to follow Him: miracle, mystery, and authority. Thus the Grand Inquisitor took upon himself "the burden of the strong," accepted these three powers to give the masses happiness at the cost of their freedom. Only he and those like him will have to bear freedom's ghastly price, but the people will live happy lives though even the Grand Inquisitor cannot save souls. The Grand Inquisitor's vision is a twisted attempt to cancel all the effects of man's fall from grace, which was caused by man's having the freedom the Grand Inquisitor condemns, by giving man a false sense of innocence while still allowing him to sin.

Another important theme, which also appears in Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, is the question of justice, suffering, and the existence of God. Life-versus-death -- why people live only to die, and why a person merits his death -- is the most basic problem of justice, but not the most questioned. If there is a just God, man asks instead, why is there so much suffering in this world? The issues Ivan raises and the stories he tells about the suffering of children turns the haunting question into an angry denunciation. Why? Yet Ivan's arguments against God contain seeds of suffering's cause: with humanity as flawed as it is, how could there not be suffering in the world, since man is given the freedom to choose his actions? Ivan's refusal to change his mind even if he can be proven wrong betrays him as a rebel against God, angry and bitter because of the suffering in the world. While he loves the God-created world with his heart, his reason cannot accept the paradox of suffering. He has yet to realize the inter-relatedness of the questions of freedom and justice he has raised.

The theme of the inherent flaw in human nature was developed throughout preceding chapters but reaches maturity in The Grand Inquisitor -- a pivotal point, since human degeneracy is as central to the novel as is the question of justice. Ivan in fact contradicts himself by appealing to his conception of human justice even as he cites examples of human wretchedness; if the human race is capable of such ugliness it is horribly cruel to innocent children, how can one expect any justice from humanity? In The Grand Inquisitor we find an acceptance, perhaps unconscious, of the inevitability of human failures and the actuality of human weakness. "Man will err while yet he strives," asserted Goethe, and in The Grand Inquisitor that insight is affirmed with dreary, even hopeless, certainty. If it were not for other themes interwoven in this and succeeding chapters, man's condition would have rendered the novel an abandonment of hope.

Yet there is hope in other themes, though it may be hard to find amidst the uncertainty of questions lacking final answers. The necessity for God is implied if not explicitly stated; if God did not exist, it is said, man would invent Him anyway, out of his pride and in his own image. Underlying the whole novel is the existence of a spiritual vacuum in many characters' souls, an affliction of despair and lack of real purpose. Many of them do not know the answer to that most eternal of questions. But in the end it is faith that is the essential answer -- an unshakeable faith in God that Ivan is blinded from seeing, that Alyosha is struggling to find, and that was the cornerstone of Father Zosima's life. Ultimately, what is the meaning of life, and how can we know if God is true?

Faith, the dying priest would answer. Faith is beyond reason, but it is the only way.

It is the connections it draws between life and death, faith, freedom, justice, truth, and man's final choice that makes The Brothers Karamazov so powerful. It is a work that asks terrifying questions with far-reaching consequences. If only for that, it holds the essence of the height and the depth of human experience.