The Onion

(llustration by Fritz Eichenberg)

GRUSHENKA

Let me sit on your knee, Alyosha. I’ll cheer you up, my pious boy..

NARRATOR

Alyosha didn’t speak. He sat, afraid to move, But there was nothing in his heart such as Rakitin might have fancied. The great grief in his heart swallowed up every sensation that might have been aroused Yet, in spite of the sorrow that overwhelmed him, he couldn’t help wondering at a new and strange sensation in his heart. This “dreadful” woman none of that terror that had stirred in his soul at any passing thought of woman. On the contrary, this woman, sitting now on his knee, aroused in him now a quite different, unexpected, peculiar feeling, a feeling of the most intense and most pure interest, without a trace of fear. That was what instinctively surprised him.

GRUSHENKA

Don’t make me angry, Rakitin. I love Alyosha in a different way. It’s true, Alyosha, I had sly designs on you before. For I am a horrid, violent creature. But at other times I’ve looked upon you as my conscience and I’ve thought, ‘someone like that must despise a nasty thing like me.’ I sometimes look at you and feel utterly ashamed of myself.

RAKITIN

What touching sentimentality! And she’s sitting on his knee, too! Yet he’s got something to grieve over. He’s rebelling against his God.”

GRUSHENKA

How so?

RAKITIN

His elder died to-day, Father Zossima, the saint.

GRUSHENKA

So Father Zossima is dead, Good God, I didn’t know! What have I been doing, sitting on his knee like this at such a moment!

Grushenka instantly slips off Alyosha’s knee and sits down on the sofa.

ALYOSHA

Rakitin, don’t taunt me with having rebelled against God. I’ve lost a treasure such as you’ve never had. You’d do better to look at her–do you see how she has pity for me? I came here to find a wicked soul–I felt drawn to evil because I was base and evil myself, and I’ve found a true sister; I’ve found a treasure–a loving heart. Agrafena Alexandrovna, You’ve raised my soul from the depths.

RAKITIN

(laughing)

She has saved you, it seems, And she meant to get you in her clutches, do you realize that?

GRUSHENKA

(jumping up)

Hush, both of you. Alyosha, hush, because your words make me ashamed, for I’m bad. And you hush, Rakitin, because you are telling lies. I had the low idea of trying to get Alyosha in my clutches, but now you are lying, now it’s all different.

RAKITIN

They are both crazy. I feel as though I’m in a madhouse. They’ll begin crying in a minute.

GRUSHENKA

I will begin to cry, I will. He called me his sister; I’ll never forget that. But, Rakitin, though I’m bad, I did give away an onion.

RAKITIN

An onion? Hang it all, you really are crazy.

GRUSHENKA

Alyosha, it’s only a story, but it’s a nice story. I used to hear it when I was a child. It’s like this. Once upon a time there was a very wicked peasant woman. And she died and didn’t leave a single good deed behind. The devils caught her and plunged her into the lake of fire. So her guardian angel stood and wondered what good deed of hers he could remember to tell to God; ‘She once pulled up an onion in her garden,’ said he, ‘and gave it to a beggar woman.’ And God answered: ‘You take that onion then, hold it out to her in the lake, and let her take hold and be pulled out. And if you can pull her out of the lake, let her come to Paradise, but if the onion breaks, then the woman must stay where she is.’ The angel ran to the woman and held out the onion to her. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘catch hold and I’ll pull you out.’ And he began cautiously pulling her out, when the other sinners in the lake, seeing how she was being drawn out, began catching hold of her so as to be pulled out with her. But she was a very wicked woman and began kicking them. ‘I’m to be pulled out, not you. It’s my onion, not yours.’ As soon as she said that, the onion broke. And the woman fell back into the lake where  she is burning there to this day. That’s the story, Alyosha; I know it by heart, for I’m that wicked woman. I boasted to Rakitin that I had given away an onion, but to you I say: ‘I’ve done nothing but give away one onion all my life, that’s the only good deed I’ve done.’ Don’t praise me, Alyosha, don’t think me good, I’m bad, I’m a wicked woman and you make me ashamed if you praise me. Listen, Alyosha. I was so anxious to get hold of you that I promised Rakitin twenty-five roubles if he brought you to me. I wanted to ruin you, Alyosha. I wanted to so much that I bribed Rakitin to bring you. And why did I want to do such a thing? It was because you turned away from me, Alyosha; if you passed me, you dropped your eyes. And your face haunted my heart. ‘He despises me,’ I thought; ‘he won’t even look at me.’ And I felt it so much that I said to myself, “I’ll get him in my clutches and laugh at him.” I was full of spite and anger. You see what a cur I am, and you called me your sister! Why did you not come before, you angel?”

Grushenka falls on her knees as though in a sudden frenzy.

GRUSHENKA (Cont.)

I’ve been waiting all my life for someone like you, someone like you who would come and forgive me. I believed that, nasty as I am, someone would really love me, not only with a shameful love!

Alyosha bends over Grushenka, with a tender smile, and gently takes her hands.

ALYOSHA

What have I done to you? I only gave you an onion, nothing but a tiny little onion, that was all!

#

It was very late when Alyosha returned to the hermitage; and he timidly went into the elder’s cell where his coffin was now standing. Father Paissy was reading the Gospel in solitude over the coffin; and Alyosha fell on his knees and began to pray. His soul was overflowing but no single sensation stood out distinctly; still, there was sweetness in his heart. Again, he saw the coffin, but the poignant grief of the morning was no longer aching in his soul. Instead, he felt a sense of the wholeness of things and he longed to pour out his thankfulness and love. But when he began to pray, he passed suddenly into thought, forgetting both the prayer and what had interrupted it. He began listening to what Father Paissy was reading, but worn out with exhaustion he, gradually began to doze.

“And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee,” read Father Paissy. “And both Jesus and the mother of Jesus were there; And Jesus called his disciples to the marriage.” … “But what’s this? Why is the room growing wider? Ah, yes…It’s the marriage, the wedding… Here are the guests, here are the young couple sitting, but who is this? Who is getting up there from the great table? What! Is he here, too? He’s in the coffin, but he’s here, too. He sees me, he is coming here!”… And yes, the thin old man, came up to him, laughing softly; and he was in the same dress as he’d worn yesterday. How was this? He, too, had been called to the feast. He, too, was at the marriage of Cana in Galilee… “Yes, my dear, I too am called,” he heard a soft voice saying. “You come and join us too.” It the voice of Father Zossima. The elder raised Alyosha by the hand and he rose from his knees.

“We are rejoicing,” the old man went on. “We are drinking the new wine; here are the bride and bridegroom. Why do you wonder at me? I gave an onion to a beggar, so I, too, am here. And many here have given only an onion each–only one little onion…What are all our deeds? And you, my gentle one, you too have known how to give a famished woman an onion today. Begin your work, dear one, begin it! Do you see Him?” “I am afraid…I dare not look,” whispered Alyosha. “Do not fear Him. He is terrible in His greatness, but is infinitely merciful. He has made Himself like unto us from love and rejoices with us. He is changing the water into wine; and He is expecting new guests, He is calling new ones unceasingly forever and ever… There they are bringing new wine. Do you see…?” Something glowed in Alyosha’s heart and tears of rapture rose from his soul…He stretched out his hands, uttered a cry, and woke up.

Again, he heard the solemn reading of the Gospel. But Alyosha didn’t listen; he went right up to the coffin and gazed for half a minute at the covered, motionless dead man that lay there. He had just been hearing his voice, and that voice was still ringing in his ears. Suddenly, he turned sharply and went out of the cell. And he didn’t stop on the steps. His soul, overflowing with rapture, yearned for freedom, space, and openness. The vault of heaven, full of soft, shining stars, stretched vast and fathomless above him. The fresh, motionless, still night enfolded the earth. The gorgeous autumn flowers were slumbering till morning; and the mystery of earth was one with the mystery of the stars. Suddenly, Alyosha threw himself down on the earth. He didn’t know why, but he embraced it and kissed it, watering it with his tears, while vowing passionately to love it forever. “Water the earth with the tears of your joy,” echoed in his soul. And he longed to beg forgiveness for all men, and for everything. With every instant he felt clearly that something unshakable had entered his soul. He had fallen on the earth a weak boy, but he rose up a resolute champion, and he knew and felt it suddenly at the very moment of his ecstasy. And never, for the rest of his life, could Alyosha forget that minute.

“Someone visited my soul in that hour,” he used to say afterwards, with implicit faith in his words. Within three days, he left the monastery, in accordance with the words of his elder, who had bidden him to “sojourn in the world.”

• What does the onion symbolize? To Grushenka? To Zossima? To Alyosha?

• What is the meaning or significance of Alyosha’s dream?

 

“The breath of corruption”

By three o’clock, the signs had become clear and unmistakable; the news swiftly penetrated to the monastery, throwing all the monks into amazement; and rapidly, it spread to the town.  A smell of decomposition had begun to come from the coffin and was growing gradually more marked and unmistakable.  In the past, in monks whose saintliness was acknowledged by all, the breath of corruption had come, naturally, and it had caused neither scandal nor even excitement.  I think that the frivolity, absurdity, and malice that were manifested beside the coffin of Father Zossima had several different, simultaneous causes.  These included the deeply rooted hostility to the institution of elders; and even more, jealousy of the dead man’s saintliness.  For even though the late elder had won over many loving adherents, still, he’d come to have bitter enemies both in the monastery and the outside world.  That was why many were extremely delighted that the smell of decomposition had come so quickly and many monks shook their heads mournfully, while others didn’t even conceal their delight.  The majority of the monks had been devoted to the dead elder.  But it seemed as though God had let the minority get the upper hand for a time.  It must be a sign from heaven,” some said; this premature corruption “was in excess of nature.”  And this was followed by a shower of criticism on Father Zossima.

“His teaching was false; he taught that life is a great joy and not a vale of tears,” some said.  “He followed the fashionable belief, he didn’t recognize material fire in hell,” others added.  “He wasn’t strict in fasting, allowed himself sweet things, and ate cherry jam with his tea.”  “He sat in pride,” the most malignant declared; “he considered himself a saint.”  And among the most malicious whispers were these that came from some of the oldest monks who had kept silent during the life of the deceased elder, but now suddenly unsealed their lips.  And their words had great influence on young monks who were not yet firm in their convictions.  In the crowd, Father Paissy noticed Alyosha and he cried, “Have you, too, fallen into temptation?  Can you be with those of little faith?”  Alyosha quickly turned his eyes away.  But then he suddenly gave a wry smile, cast a very strange look at the Father, waved his hand, and with rapid steps walked towards the gates away from the hermitage.

Sometimes, it’s more creditable to be carried away by an emotion, however unreasonable, which springs from a great love, than to be unmoved.  Alyosha needed no miracles for the triumph of some preconceived idea.  But for the past year, all his love for everyone and everything had been concentrated in his beloved elder.  And now the man whom he believed should have been exalted above everyone, instead of receiving the glory that was his due, was suddenly degraded and dishonored!  What for?  Who had judged him?  Who could have decreed this?  Those were the questions that wrung his inexperienced and virginal heart.  And then something strange came to the surface of Alyosha’s mind at this fatal and obscure moment.  This new something was the harassing impression left by the conversation with Ivan, the day before, which was now suddenly revived again in his soul and seemed to be forcing its way to the surface of his consciousness.

• What do you think about his conversation with Ivan might have seemed relevant to Alyosha at this point?

Zossima’s duel

(illustration by William Sharp)

I waited for an opportunity and succeeded in insulting my “rival” on a perfectly extraneous pretext.  He accepted my challenge; and our meeting was to take place at seven o’clock the next day. But then something happened that was the turning point of my life.

That evening, returning home in a savage humor, I flew into a rage with my orderly Afanasy, and I gave him two blows in the face with all my might.  I then went to bed. When I awakened, the day was breaking and I saw the sun rising; it was warm and beautiful, the birds were singing.  “What’s the meaning of it?”  I thought.  “I feel in my heart as it were something vile and shameful.  And all at once I knew that it was because I’d beaten Afanasy the evening before!  It was as though a sharp dagger had pierced me right through.  I fell on my bed and broke into a storm of tears.

Then, I remembered by brother Markel and what he’d said on his death-bed to his servants: “My dear ones, why do you wait on me, why do you love me, am I worth your waiting on me?”  All of a sudden, it flashed through my mind.  “What am I worth that another man, a fellow creature, made in the likeness and image of God, should serve me?”  My brother had said, “In truth, we are each responsible to all for all, it’s only that men don’t know this.  If they knew it, the world would be a paradise at once.”  “In truth,” I thought, “perhaps I am more than all others responsible for all, a greater sinner than all men in the world.  What should I do?”

Suddenly, my second came in with the pistols to fetch me.  “Wait here a minute,” I said to him.  And I ran to Afanasy’s little room. “Afanasy,” I said, “I gave you two blows on the face yesterday; forgive me.”  And in my full officer’s uniform, I dropped at his feet and bowed my head to the ground.  “Forgive me,” I said.  He burst out crying as I had done before and shook all over with his sobs.  Then, I flew out to my comrade and jumped into the carriage.  Soon, I reached the place for the duel; and we were placed twelve paces apart. He had the first shot; I stood gaily, looking lovingly at him full in the face; I didn’t twitch an eyelash.  His shot just grazed my cheek and ear.  “Thank God,” I cried, “no man has been killed,” and I seized my pistol and flung it far away into the wood.  Then, I turned to my adversary and said, “Forgive me, sir, for my unprovoked insult and for forcing you to fire at me.  I am ten times worse than you.”

And to the others, I cried, “Gentlemen, look around you at the gifts of God, the clear sky, the tender grass, the birds; nature is beautiful and sinless; only we are sinful and foolish.  If we understand that life is heaven, it will at once be fulfilled in all its beauty.  I am resigning my commission, and as soon as I get my discharge, I shall go into a monastery.”  When I’d said this, they all burst out laughing.  “You should have told us of that first; that explains everything;we can’t judge a monk.”

It was the same with the society of the town.  Now all came to know me; they laughed at me, but they loved me.  And I began then to speak aloud and fearlessly. “But how can I possibly be responsible for all?” everyone would laugh.  “Can I, for instance, be responsible for you?” “You may well not know it,” I would answer, “since the whole world has long been going on a different line, since we consider lies as truth and demand the same lies from others.  But here I have for once in my life acted sincerely.”

• What does Zossima come to understand about the world and one’s relation to others?

• How do these two views relate to each other?

• How does what  Zossima’s believes relate to the views that Ivan expressed in Book Five?

Ivan and Smerdyakov

“I feel sick with depression and yet I can’t tell what I want.” Ivan thought. “Better not think, perhaps.” Ivan tried “not to think,” but that was useless. And what made his depression especially vexatious and irritating was that it had a kind of casual, external character. Some person or thing seemed to be standing out somewhere, just as something will sometimes obtrude itself upon the eye, and though one may, for a long time,  not notice it, yet it irritates and almost torments one till at last one realizes, and removes the offending object,

So, feeling very ill-humored, Ivan arrived home, and suddenly, as he neared the garden gate, he guessed what was worrying him. On a bench, in the gateway, the valet Smerdyakov was sitting and immediately Ivan knew that it was Smerdyakov that was on his mind, that it was this man that his soul loathed. “Is it possible that a miserable, contemptible creature like that can worry me so much?” he wondered.

Ivan had come to feel an intense dislike, almost a feeling of hatred, for Smerdyakov especially during the last few days. And yet, when Ivan first came to the neighborhood he’d felt quite differently. Then, he had taken a marked interest in Smerdyakov, and had even thought him very original. He had encouraged him to talk to him, although he’d always wondered at a certain restlessness in his mind, and he couldn’t understand what it was that so continually worked upon the brain of “the contemplative.”

And then, Smerdyakov began to betray a boundless vanity, and a wounded vanity, too, that Ivan disliked. When there had been trouble in the house, when Grushenka had come on the scene, and there had been the scandals with his brother Dmitri, they discussed it. But although Smerdyakov always talked with great excitement, it was impossible to discover what he wanted to happen. And there was something surprising in the illogicality and incoherence of some of his desires, accidentally betrayed and always vaguely expressed. Smerdyakov was always inquiring, putting certain indirect but obviously premeditated questions, without explaining what his object was.

What finally irritated Ivan most, however, and confirmed his dislike for him was the peculiar, revolting familiarity which Smerdyakov began to show more and more markedly. Not that he forgot himself and was rude; on the contrary, he always spoke very respectfully; yet he’d obviously begun to consider–goodness knows why!–that there was some sort of understanding between him and Ivan. He always spoke in a tone that suggested that the two of them had some kind of compact, some shared secret, one that had at some time been expressed on both sides, was only known to them, and was beyond the comprehension of those around them.

For a long while, Ivan didn’t recognize the real cause of his growing dislike and only lately had he come to realize what was at the root of it.

• How would you characterize Ivan’s feelings about Smerdyakov?

• How do Ivan’s feelings relate to what Smerdyakov subsequently says and does in Book V?

The Grand Inquisitor

(illustration by William Sharp)

GRAND INQUISITOR

“Judge Thyself who was right–Thou or he who questioned Thee then? Remember the first question; its meaning, in other words, was this: Thou wouldst go into the world with empty hands, with some promise of freedom which men in their simplicity and their natural unruliness cannot even understand, which they fear and dread–for nothing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom. But seest Thou these stones in this parched and barren wilderness? Turn them into bread, and mankind will run after Thee like a flock of sheep, grateful and obedient, though for ever trembling, lest Thou withdraw Thy hand and deny them Thy bread.”

“But Thou wouldst not deprive man of freedom and didst reject the offer, thinking, what is that freedom worth if obedience is bought with bread? Thou didst reply that man lives not by bread alone. But dost Thou know that for the sake of that earthly bread the spirit of the earth will rise up against Thee and will strive with Thee and overcome Thee, and all will follow him, crying, “Who can compare with this beast? He has given us fire from heaven!” Dost Thou know that the ages will pass, and humanity will proclaim by the lips of their sages that there is no crime, and therefore no sin; there is only hunger?”

“’Feed men, and then ask of them virtue!’ that’s what they’ll write on the banner, which they will raise against Thee, and with which they will destroy Thy temple. Where Thy temple stood will rise a new building; the terrible tower of Babel will be built again, and though, like the one of old, it will not be finished, yet Thou mightest have prevented that new tower and have cut short the sufferings of men for a thousand years; for they will come back to us after a thousand years of agony with their tower. They will seek us again, hidden underground in the catacombs, for we shall be again persecuted and tortured. They will find us and cry to us, “Feed us, for those who have promised us fire from heaven haven’t given it!” And then we shall finish building their tower, for he finishes the building who feeds them. And we alone shall feed them in Thy name, declaring falsely that it is in Thy name. Oh, never, never can they feed themselves without us! No science will give them bread so long as they remain free. In the end they will lay their freedom at our feet, and say to us, “Make us your slaves, but feed us.”

“At last, they will understand that freedom and enough bread for all are inconceivable together, never will they be able to share between them! They will be convinced, too, that they can never be free, for they are weak, vicious, worthless, and rebellious. Thou didst promise them the bread of Heaven, but, I repeat again, can it compare with earthly bread in the eyes of the weak, ever sinful and ignoble race of man?”

What might be some implications of Ivan’s poem for his relation to his brothers and his father?

Ivan on the suffering of children

“I’ve never understood,” Ivan said, “how one can love one’s neighbors.. To me, Christ-like love for men is a miracle impossible on earth. He was God. But we are not gods. One can love one’s neighbors in the abstract, or even at a distance, but at close quarters it’s almost impossible. Children, however, can be loved, even at close quarters, even when they are dirty or ugly. Grown-ups , besides being unworthy of love, have a compensation–they’ve eaten the apple and know good and evil; they’ve become ‘like gods.’ But the children haven’t eaten anything; they are innocent. So, if children suffer horribly on earth, they must be suffering for their fathers’ sins, they must be being punished for their fathers, who have eaten the apple. But that reasoning is of the other world and is incomprehensible here on earth. The innocent must not suffer for another’s sins, and especially such innocents!”

“I’ve collected a great many stories about Russian children, Alyosha. It’s a peculiar characteristic of many people that they love torturing children. To all other types of humanity these torturers behave mildly and benevolently, but they are very fond of tormenting children. It’s their defenselessness that tempts the tormentor, the angelic confidence of the child who has no refuge and no appeal that sets his vile blood on fire.  I understand solidarity in sin among men. I understand solidarity in retribution, too; but there can be no such solidarity with children. And if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their fathers’ crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension.

Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy, giving them peace and rest at last, but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature–that baby beating its breast with its fist, for instance–and to found that edifice on its unavenged tears, would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me the truth.” “No, I wouldn’t consent,” said Alyosha softly.

“Well, can you admit that men for whom you are building it would agree to accept their happiness on the foundation of the unexpiated blood of a little victim? And accepting it, would remain happy forever?” “No, I can’t admit it. Brother,” said Alyosha suddenly, with flashing eyes, “But there is a Being who can forgive everything because He gave His innocent blood for everything. You have forgotten Him, and on Him is built the edifice of human happiness. It is to Him that they cry aloud, ‘Thou art just, O Lord, for Thy ways are revealed!’

“Ah! the One without sin and His blood! No, I haven’t forgotten Him; on the contrary I’ve been wondering why you didn’t bring Him in before, for usually all arguments on your side put Him in the foreground. In fact, I made a poem about this a year ago, a poem in prose. You can  be my first listener. Shall I tell it to you?” “I am all attention.” said Alyosha. “My poem is called The Grand Inquisitor,” Ivan said.

• How do Ivan’s theological observations about the suffering of children relate to other suffering that has appeared in the novel?

Morality and responsibility

FATHER ZOSSIMA

When the monk realizes that he is responsible to all men, for all and everything, for all human sins, national and individual, only then is the aim of our seclusion attained. For every one of us is undoubtedly responsible for all men–and everything on earth, not merely through the general sinfulness of creation, but each one personally for all mankind and every individual man. This knowledge is the crown of life for the monk and for every man. For monks are not a special sort of men, but only what all men ought to be.

[Compare “Existentialism is a humanism” by Jean-Paul Sartre]

When we say that man is responsible for himself, we do not mean that he is responsible only for his own individuality, but that he is responsible for all men. Everyone must choose who they are; but in choosing for oneself, one chooses for everyone.  For, in effect, of all the actions a man may take in order to create himself as he wills himself to be, there is not one which is not creative, at the same time, of an image of man such as he believes he ought to be. To take a personal case, if I decide to marry and to have children, even though this decision proceeds simply from my personal desire, I am thereby committing not only myself, but humanity as a whole, to the practice of monogamy. I am creating a certain image of human beings as I would have them be. In fashioning myself I fashion mankind.

• Practically, what does such an extended notion of human responsibility imply?  How, e.g., might Alyosha incorporate such an understanding in his life outside the monastary?

Lacerations

lacerate: to cut skin jaggedly so that the wound is deep with irregular edges; to cause deep, agonizing distress.

“Your brother is in there with Katerina Ivanovna, Alyosha,”  Madame Hohlakov said. “Not that dreadful brother who was so shocking yesterday, but the other one; they are having a serious conversation. If you could only imagine what’s passing between them now; it’s awful. I tell you, it’s lacerating; it’s like some incredible tale of horror. They are ruining their lives for no reason anyone can see. They both recognize it and revel in it.”

#

The word “lacerating,” which Madame Hohlakov had just uttered, almost made him start, because, half waking up towards daybreak, he had cried out “Laceration, laceration,” probably applying it to his dream. He’d been dreaming all night of the previous day’s scene at Katerina Ivanovna’s between her and Grushenka. Now Alyosha was impressed by Madame Hohlakov’s assertion that Katerina Ivanovna was in love with Ivan, and only deceived herself through some sort of pose, from “self-laceration,” that she tortured herself by her pretended love for Dmitri from some fancied duty of gratitude. “Yes,” he thought, “perhaps the whole truth lies in those words.”

#

Were there not, Alyosha thought, new grounds for hatred and hostility in the family? And with which of his brothers was he to sympathize? And what was he to wish for each of them? He loved them both, but what could he desire for each in the midst of these conflicting interests? He found nothing but uncertainty and perplexity on all sides. “It was lacerating,” as was said just now. But what could he understand even in this “laceration”? He did not understand the first word in this perplexing maze.

#

“I am obliged to return to Moscow, Katerina Ivanovna, to leave you for a long time,” Ivan said suddenly. “To-morrow–to Moscow!” her face was suddenly contorted; “but- but, dear me, how fortunate!” she cried in a voice suddenly changed. In one instant there was no trace left of her tears. She underwent an instantaneous transformation, which amazed Alyosha. Instead of a poor, insulted girl, weeping in a sort of “laceration,” he saw a woman completely self-possessed and even exceedingly pleased, as though something agreeable had just happened.

#

“What I see,” Alyosha said, “ is that perhaps you don’t love Dmitri at all. and never have, from the beginning…And Dmitri, too, has never loved you and only esteems you. Somebody must tell the truth. You’re torturing Ivan, simply because you love him–and torturing him, because you love Dmitri through ‘self-laceration’ – with an unreal love – because you’ve persuaded yourself.” “You…you…you are a little religious idiot–that’s what you are!” Katerina Ivanovna snapped. Her face was white and her lips were moving with anger.

Ivan suddenly laughed and got up. “You are mistaken, my good Alyosha,” he said, “Katerina Ivanovna has never cared for me! She has known all the time that I cared for her, but she didn’t care for me. She kept me at her side as a means of revenge. She revenged with me and on me all the insults which she has been continually receiving from Dmitri ever since their first meeting. For even that first meeting has rankled in her heart as an insult–that’s what her heart is like! She has talked to me of nothing but her love for him. I am going now; but, believe me, Katerina Ivanovna, you really love him. And the more he insults you, the more you love him–that’s your ‘laceration.’ You love him just as he is; you love him for insulting you. If he reformed, you’d give him up at once and cease to love him. But you need him so as to contemplate continually your heroic fidelity and to reproach him for infidelity. And it all comes from your pride. Oh, there’s a great deal of humiliation and self-abasement about it, but it all comes from pride. I’ve loved you too much. But I am going far away, and shall never come back…It is forever. I don’t want to sit beside a ‘laceration.’

#

“Alyosha,”  how she tormented me!” Ivan said. It certainly was sitting by a ‘laceration.’ She knew how I loved her! And she loved me, not Dmitri. Her feeling for Dmitri was simply a self-laceration. All I told her just now was perfectly true, but the worst of it is, it may take her fifteen or twenty years to find out that she doesn’t care for Dmitri, and loves me whom she torments, and perhaps she may never find it out at all, in spite of her lesson to-day. Well, it’s better so; I can simply go away for good. By the way, how is she now? What happened after I departed?” Alyosha told him she had been hysterical, and that she was now, he heard, unconscious and delirious.

• The psychological laceratiions in this Book are mirrored by  the physical laceration of Alyosha finger. What might Dostoevsky’s general point/perspective be in Book Four regarding “lacerations.”?

Immortality and morality (selections from Books I, II, and III)

As soon as ALYOSHA reflected seriously, he was convinced of the existence of God and immortality, and at once he instinctively said to himself: “I want to live for immortality, and I will accept no compromise.” In the same way, if he had decided that God and immortality did not exist, he would at once have become an atheist and a socialist. For socialism isn’t merely the labor question; it is, before all things, the atheistic question, the question of the form taken by atheism today, the question of the tower of Babel built without God, not to mount to heaven from earth but to set up heaven on earth.  (I.5)

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“There’s no proving life beyond the grave,” FATHER ZOSSIMA said, “but you can be convinced of it. By the experience of active love. Strive to love your neighbor actively and indefatigably. In so far as you advance in love you will grow surer of the reality of God and of the immortality of your soul. If you attain to perfect self-forgetfulness in the love of your neighbor, then you will believe without doubt, and no doubt can possibly enter your soul. This has been tried. This is certain.” (II.4)

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“I will tell you,” Miusov  said, “an interesting and rather characteristic anecdote of IVAN Fyodorovitch. Only five days ago, in a gathering here, principally of ladies, he solemnly declared in argument that there was nothing in the whole world to make men love their neighbors. That there was no law of nature that man should love mankind, and that if you were to destroy in mankind the belief in immortality, not only love but every living force maintaining the life of the world would at once be dried up. Moreover, nothing then would be immoral, everything would be lawful, even cannibalism. And that’s not all. He ended by asserting that for every individual who does not believe in God or immortality, the moral law of nature must immediately be changed into the exact contrary of the former religious law, and that egoism, even to crime, must become not only lawful but even be recognized as the inevitable, the most rational, even the honorable outcome of his position.”

“Excuse me,” DMITRI cried suddenly; “if I’ve heard rightly, crime must not only be permitted but must be recognized as the inevitable and the most rational outcome of his position for every infidel! Is that so or not?” “Quite so,” said Father Paissy. “I’ll remember it,” Dmitri said. And having uttered these words, he ceased speaking as suddenly as he’d begun. Everyone looked at him with curiosity. (II.6)

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“Did you hear your brother IVAN’s stupid theory just now,” Rakitin said, “that if there’s no immortality of the soul, then there’s no virtue, and everything is lawful. (And by the way, do you remember how your brother MITYA cried out: ‘I will remember!’) An attractive theory for scoundrels! Or maybe not scoundrels, but for pedantic poseurs, ‘haunted by profound, unsolved doubts.’ He’s showing off. His whole theory is a fraud! Humanity will find in itself the power to live for virtue even without believing in immortality. It will find it in love for freedom, for equality, for fraternity.”  (II.7)

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FYODOR

Ivan, speak, is there a God or not? Speak the truth, speak seriously.

IVAN

No, there is no God.

FYODOR

Alyosha, is there a God?

ALYOSHA

There is.

FYODOR

Ivan, is there immortality of some sort, just a little, just a tiny bit?

IVAN

There is no immortality either.

FYODOR

None at all?

IVAN

None at all.

FYODOR

There’s absolute nothingness then. Perhaps there is just something? Anything is better than nothing! Alyosha, is there immortality? God and immortality?

ALYOSHA

God and immortality. In God is immortality.

FYODOR

H’m! It’s more likely Ivan’s right. Good Lord! to think what faith, what force of all kinds, man has lavished for nothing on that dream, and for how many thousand years. Who is laughing at man? Ivan, for the last time, once for all, is there a God or not? I ask for the last time!

IVAN

And for the last time there is not.

FYODOR

Who’s laughing at mankind, Ivan?

IVAN

It must be the devil,

FYODOR

And the devil? Does he exist?

IVAN

No, there’s no devil either.

FYODOR

It’s a pity. Damn it all, what wouldn’t I do to the man who first invented God! Hanging on a bitter aspen tree would be too good for, him.

IVAN

There would have been no civilization if they hadn’t invented God.”

FYODOR

Wouldn’t there have been? Without God?

IVAN

No. And there would have been no brandy either. But I must take your brandy away from you, anyway.

FYODOR

Stop, stop, stop, dear boy, just one more little glass…  (III.8)

• How do different views about the immortality of the soul affect how one understands the need to act morally? (philosophical question)

• What does the different views  that characters express about  the relation between immortality and morality reflect about these characters, e.g., their personality, their typical motivation.

Sensuality and honesty

DMITRI

I threw away money by the handful on music, rioting, and Gypsies. Sometimes I gave it to the ladies, too, for they’ll take it greedily. But, I always liked side-paths, little dark back-alleys behind the main road–there one finds adventures and surprises. I/m speaking figuratively, brother. In that town,  there were no back-alleys in the literal sense; but morally there were. And if you were like me, you’d know what that means. I loved vice, I loved the ignominy of vice. I loved cruelty. Am I not a bug? Am I not a noxious insect? In fact a Karamazov! Once we went, a whole lot of us, for a picnic, in seven sledges. It was dark, it was winter, and I began squeezing a girl’s hand, and forced her to kiss me. She was the daughter of an official, a sweet, gentle, submissive creature. She allowed me much in the dark. She thought, poor thing, that I’d come next day to make her an offer. But I didn’t say a word to her for five months. I used to see her in a corner at dances, watching me. I saw how they glowed with fire–a fire of gentle indignation. This game only tickled that insect lust I cherished in my soul. Five months later she married an official and left the town, still angry, and still, perhaps, in love with me. Now they live happily. But observe that I told no one. I didn’t boast of it. Though I’m full of low desires, and love what’s low, I’m not dishonorable. You’re blushing, Alyosha. Your eyes flashed. But, enough of this filth. You can’t suppose I brought you here simply to talk of such nonsense. No, I’m going to tell you something more curious; and don’t be surprised that I’m glad to tell you, instead of being ashamed.

ALYOSHA

You say that because I blushed. I wasn’t blushing at what you were saying or at what you’ve done. I blushed because I’m the same as you are.

DMITRI

You? Come now, that’s going a little too far!

ALYOSHA

No, it’s not too far. The ladder’s the same. I’m at the bottom step, and you’re above, somewhere about the thirteenth. That’s how I see it. But it’s all the same. Absolutely the same in kind. Anyone on the bottom step is bound to go up to the top one.

DMITRI

Then one ought not to step on at all.

ALYOSHA

Anyone who can help it had better not.

DMITRI

But can you?

ALYOSHA

I think not.

DIMITRI

Hush, Alyosha, hush, darling! I could kiss your hand, you touch me so.

• Should we believe  that Dmitri and Alyosha are being honest about themselves? Why or Why not?