This seems to be an assessment of the modern world, a post-Christian era in which modern science and technology are drastically changing life for man and his outlook on the world. I am not entirely sure what to make of Dostoevsky's choice of setting the scene during the Spanish Inquisition and having the cardinal make the case for the secular, sentimental, humanitarian ethos that has come to influence many important commentators and policymakers in our society. [Incidentally, in a book I just skimmed, In Search of the American Spirit: The Political Thought of Orestes Brownson, Gregory Bulter notes that the story of the inquisitor comes after Ivan rails against the injustice of human suffering. Butler argues that the scene shows Jesus, as defender of human freedom, to be the real lover of humanity--not the humanitarian who is just concerned with man's material needs. ] While I may be biased by my own adherence to the Catholic religion, I want to say that the Roman Church is not Dostoevsky's real enemy. Alyosha, following Ivan's story, says that while Jesuits and others may share the cardinal's views, these are not representative of all Catholics.
Nevertheless, I can still appreciate ways in which the Catholic Church, when it is misunderstood and at its worst, does not inspire in its flock the kind of freedom proclaimed in the gospel. At its worst, the faith for many people becomes a set of rules, which while seemingly absurd and not spiritually uplifting, guarantees one's eternal salvation--or at least following them will keep you out of Hell. So long as you get to mass every Sunday and don't eat meat on Friday, you've checked your boxes, done your duty, and you can go about your self-satisfied life, not having to fear eternal punishment, but at the same time, not having life to the full (John 10:10) and lacking the deep-seated joy that comes from a life spent loving God and neighbor in freedom. The Church underestimates the lay people, and there is a general sense that holiness and love of God are for priests and religious--aside from the collection, we can't ask too much of the rank-and-file in the pews. While this is clearly a caricature of the Catholic Church, I think that this kind of blase religion pertains to the situation that Dostoevsky wants us to recognize as a grave danger for modern man.
In this same vein, this chapter made me think of Nietzsche's "last man," "the most despicable man, who can no longer despise himself." See Prologue #5 of Thus Spake Zarathustra. Of the last man, Nietzsche writes, among other arresting things:
Lo! I show you the last man. “What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?”- so asketh the last man and blinketh. The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man who maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that of the ground-flea; the last man liveth longest. “We have discovered happiness”- say the last men, and blink thereby…One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the pastime should hurt one. One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome. No shepherd, and one herd! Everyone wanteth the same; everyone is equal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse…They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures for the night, but they have a regard for health. “We have discovered happiness,”- say the last men, and blink thereby.
I think that like Nietzsche, Dostoevsky finds that the prospect (or arrival--not sure which) of the last man, or something like it, is a real cause for concern. It is interesting that just as the last men claim to have discovered happiness, the cardinal tells Christ, "for the first time it has become possible to think of the happiness of men" (244). Also, just as the last man does not live freely, but in a herd, the cardinal's "faithful" have renounced their freedom in exchange for a mindless, unreflective sense of security--though living a subhuman life, they "think themselves happy" (254).
But the flock will come together again and will submit once more, and then it will be once and for all. Then we shall give them the quiet humble happiness of weak creatures such as they are by nature...We shall show them that they are weak, that they are only pitiful children, but that childlike happiness is the sweetest of all. They will become timid and will look to us and huddle close to us in fear, as chicks to the hen...Yes, we shall set them to work, but in their leisure hours we shall make their life like a child's game, with children's songs and innocent dance. Oh, we shall allow them even sin, they are weak and helpless, and they will love us like children because we allow them to sin...And they will be glad to believe our answer, for it will save them from the great fear and terrible agony they endure at present in making a free decision for themselves (252).Real freedom, the freedom that only Christ can give, is freedom to do what is good. It is liberation from egotistical self-love and the ability to love God and love others. By having this freedom we are fully human, yet this freedom does have a demanding side to it. As the cardinal explains it, "Instead of taking men's freedom from them, Thou didst make it greater thane ever! Didst though forget that man prefers peace, and even death, to freedom of choice in the knowledge of good and evil?" (247). Before Jesus came, the Jews lived according to a meticulous code of law. Jesus did not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it, and he claimed to give a new commandment: love one another, as I have loved you, so you must love one another (John 13:34). Jesus did not give a set of detailed instructions on how to live life: what percentage of income to give to charity, for example. But in fact, having specific rules is, in a certain sense, easier and less demanding than the command to simply love. Rules set bounds to how much we need to prefer others above ourselves. "Love one another as I have loved you" means to love without limit.
Perhaps this sheds some light on Father Zossima's exhortation for individuals to embrace responsibility for the sins of the entire world. While I still do not understand what this is really supposed to involve, the sentiment could be said to express a desire to fulfill Christ's command. Taking responsibility for the sins of the whole world, like Christ did, is to love without limit.
What makes me want to read further is to see how Dostoevsky develops and portrays the alternative ways to live in response to the situation articulated by the cardinal--the modern world, in which a great many live satisfied, unreflective lives. Along with Nietzsche's depiction of the last man, think of Tocqueville's account of the "mild" administrative despotism that democracies have to fear, despotism that "enervates their souls," in which people lose "little by little the faculty of thinking, feeling, and acting by themselves," and "gradually [fall] below the level of humanity." Such men are content to live out their days in security as members of the herd. I think that Dostoevsky would find these people living less-than-human lives.
Zossima (and maybe Alyosha) represents the Eastern Orthodox (or Christian) response. This is a complete, radical abandonment to live according to the ancient faith. It means, first of all, believing in God--even in the face of what we might learn from the modern sciences. Interestingly enough, in chapter 2, Zossima says that the faith cannot be proved, but one can be convinced of it by the experience of active love. "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 perfect self-forgetfulness in the love of your neighbor, then you will believe without doubt" (64). On the one hand, this is not a satisfying answer to those who want certainty about what they base their lives upon. But at the same time, it is doubtful that we can have certainty about any ideology that claims to present the best way to live (even if it is the relativistic claim that no ways of living are higher than others). Perhaps this is why Dostoevsky is grouped with existentialists, in that he claims to recognize the need to make a "leap of faith," a radical, existential choice of a particular way of life.
The other alternative, which I am eager to see how it plays out, seems the least developed, and is the one represented by Ivan, and if I'm right, the cardinal as well. Ivan claims to recognize that Christianity is untrue. However, even if he takes responsibility for the security of humanity, it is impossible for him to join the ranks of last men--he is too reflective, and has inquired too deeply into the human condition. The cardinal says that knowing the secret, he and those who serve the humanitarian program of keeping humanity satisfied will be "unhappy" (252). Ivan does tell Alyosha that he has a "thirst for life," and that he is willing to drink the cup (which I gather is an illusion to the "challice" of suffering that Christ agreed to drink in Gethsemane) of life until he is 30 (223). I would be very interested in what everyone thinks of Ivan's plan of life, since I don't understand it. He seems to suggest that in his youth (I believe he is 23), he plans to have the energy and enthusiasm to live vigorously doing a number of human pursuits--love, business, learning, etc. But once youth ends, I do not know how Ivan suggests how one ought to live with the knowledge that there is no God and immortality.
I am not sure whether to consider Dmitri or Fydor a real alternative to modern life. While they are not last men, they are not as reflective as Ivan/cardinal or Zossima. The way these two men follow their passions so impulsively does not seem a plausible option for people who lead reflective lives.
No comments:
Post a Comment