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The Brothers Karamazov
Of all the odd incidents in this novel, perhaps the most inexplicable for me is Zossima’s rapid corruption after death. For me, it’s amusing and enlightening in how it shows the fickleness and back-biting of even the most "holy" monks. But what does Dostoyevsky mean by it? I’m only going to repeat a few revealing passages, but, to sum up the situation in a few words, Zossima died and he began to rot in less than a day when it was anticipated he would be immune from such a fate due to his saintliness.
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And this was followed by a shower of criticism and blame of Father Zossima. “His teaching was false; he taught that life is a great joy and not a vale of tears,” said some of the more unreasonable. “He followed the fashionable belief, he did not recognize material fire in hell,” others, still more unreasonable, added. “He was not strict in fasting, allowed himself sweet things, ate cherry jam with his tea.... Is it for a monk of strict rule to drink tea?” could be heard among some of the envious. “He sat in pride,” the most malicious declared vindictively...
What I find interesting in this is how difficult it is to rule a Cargo Cult. The core belief of a Cargo Cult is that if you copy the actions of the people who seemed to command the appearance of cargo ships full of all kinds of wonderful things, then you can command the appearance of your own ships. The problem, of course, is getting the ritual just right. The failure of the ships to appear means that the person in charge doesn’t have the ritual quite right so he becomes disgraced and someone with a “better” idea of the ritual steps in. All religions have this character since what they are promising is something that is paid off in the “next” life. It’s only when they try to promise things in this life or expect some sign of favor -- after death for example -- that they can truly be put to the test. Zossima didn’t fail his expectations (I’m bound to say), but he failed the expectations of the people around him. And what Dostoyevsky shows is how very far from “heaven on earth” people, even particularly religious people, are. Why Dostoyevsky is making my point is what I least understand here.
Book VII. 2.
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p389 [At this point in the story our strange and mysterious narrator -- sometimes omniscient, sometimes not -- is suddenly all up in our business. Here it is the narrator speaking about Alyosha, who has been stunned by the reversal of fortune suffered by his master,] ...My hero had faith, a faith steady and steadfast, but still I am not going to apologize for him.
...it was not a question of miracles. There was no frivolous and impatient expectation of miracles in Alyosha’s mind... what he saw before all was one figure -- the figure of his beloved elder, the figure of that holy man whom he revered with such adoration. The fact is that all the love that lay concealed in his pure young heart for everyone and everything had, for the past year, been concentrated -- and perhaps wrongly so -- on one being, his beloved elder... But, again it was not miracles he needed but only “the higher justice” which had been in his belief outraged by the blow that had so suddenly and cruelly wounded his heart...
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p390 ... I will not, however, forget to mention something strange which came for a time to the surface of Alyosha’s mind at this fatal moment. This new something was the harassing impression left by the conversation with Ivan, which now persistently haunted Alyosha...
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p392 [Alyosha to Rakitin who has come to pester him,] “I am not rebelling against my God. I simply ‘don’t accept His world.’ Alyosha suddenly smiled a forceful smile. [This was Ivan’s line.]
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[Alyosha accepts some sausage from Rakitin] “What! You’re going to eat it! Why, it’s a regular mutiny with barricades!...
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[Alyosha accepts Rakitin’s suggestion that they go to visit Grushenka.] “And how glad she will be, how delighted,” he [Rakitin] murmured, but he lapsed into silence again. And indeed it was not to please Grushenka that he was taking Alyosha to her. He was a practical person and never undertook anything without a prospect of gain for himself. His object in this case was twofold: first a revengeful desire to see “the downfall of the righteous,” and Alyosha’s fall “from saint to sinner,” and in the second place he had in view a certain material gain for himself... [Grushenka has promised him 25 rubles if he brings Alyosha to her.]
“So the critical moment has come.” he thought to himself with spite, “and we shall catch it on the hop, for it’s just what we want.”
Rakitin is like a particularly pathetic Mephisto. (I'm thinking of Adrian's tour guide of Leipzig, who leads him astray to the house of ill repute, in Doctor Faustus.)
Dostoyevsky, in his role as novelist, needs to shake Alyosha up here so he can interact with Grushenka as he wouldn’t normally do. Could Dostoyevsky have dreamed up the quickly rotting elder just for this purpose? I suggest this only because it seems to go against what Dostoyevsky wants to do as a Christian utopian. If story caused this plot development then it is a perfect example of my view of story as the driving force in the universe. If even Dostoyevsky falls prey to turning against his Christian paragon in the name of story, then story is a mighty force indeed.
Small Victories
"Market Street"
That believing in God is less nonsensical than believing in George W. Bush is a pretty weak argument. She would have done better suggesting that the presidency of Bush 2 proves the existence of the Devil which, ipso facto, confirms the existence of God. (Though Ivan's visitor in Bk XI. 9. rightly calls into question this notion.)
This eagerness to believe in an authority figure (I admit she may have just written this as a joke) or, failing that, an imaginary source of universal solace, is kind of sad. Lamott and I probably agree on the majority of social and political topics but, like a child, she needs a parental deity -- with a plan -- always watching out for and supporting her.
As with The Brothers K. section above (I originally wrote this about VI. 1., the section about Zossima's brother, but it works here, too), this really boils down to an insistence that God exists because we really need him to exist.
The passage below takes place at the beginning of the Iraq War.
p279 I tried to pray my way out of the fear and hate, but my mind was once again a pinball machine of blame and ridiculousness... And I wondered if I actually even believed in God anymore. It seemed ridiculous, this conviction that I had an invisible partner in life, and that we were all part of a bigger, less punishing and isolated truth. I lay there gnashing my teeth, sure that what you see is what you get. This was it. This earth, this country, here, now, was all there was. This was where all life happened, the up and the down and the plus and the minus and the world of choices and consequences. Not an easy place, but a place full of significance.
I clutched my cat as I used to when my parents fought, a life preserver in cold, deep water.
But then -- a small miracle -- I started to believe in George W. Bush. I really did. In my terror, I wondered whether maybe he was smarter than we thought he was, and had grasped classified intelligence and nuance in a way that was well above my own understanding or of that of our era’s most brilliant thinkers.
p280 Then I thought: Wait -- George Bush? And relief washed over me like gentle surf, because believing in George Bush was so ludicrous that believing in God seems almost rational.
I decided to start from scratch, with a simple prayer: “Hi!” I said.
Someone or something hears. I don’t know much about its nature, only that when I cry out, it hears me and moves closer to me, and I don’t feel so alone. I feel better... [I assume she’s talking about God and not her cat here, but I would have a tiny bit more faith in the cat] ...Saint Augustine said that you have to start your relationship with God all over from the beginning, every day. Yesterday’s faith does not wait for you like a dog with your slippers and the morning paper in its mouth. You seek it, and in seeking it, you find it. During the Renaissance, Fra Giovanni Giocondo wrote:
No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today. Take heaven!
No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant. Take peace!
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Jump to Next: TBK. Bk VIII. 3, 6. & "Falling Better"
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