I've been itching to read everyone's posts—but first, my own for Book I. Sorry for the delays. I thought of writing about the mysterious narrator till I saw Joe had titled his post "The Narrator." Let me just say here that this use of first person is a very strange choice, considering we (so far) know almost nothing about him. Hopefully the reason will become clear soon. Anyway this didn't trouble me too much; the characters are far too interesting!
Dostoevsky must have been teasing when he wrote, "one is not bound by anything—the book can be abandoned at the second page of the first tale, never to be opened again"—he knows well enough how good he is! Drop an atheist, a monk-in-training, a soldier, and their wicked father into the same room and see if anyone can resist turning to Book II. Who knows how these minds will clash?
Say, isn't this a bit like our blog here? Of course, I'm the godless Ivan; Rick, the saintly Alyosha; JRock, the extraordinary and wondrous Zossima; and Greg, I suppose, is the unnamed lady who threw herself into the river "like Shakespeare's Ophelia," which is the most reasonable explanation for his silence. That leaves Dan as the evil, evil Fyodor Karamazov. We'll have to stretch our imaginations a little...
Anyway, I'm glad to see such a response so far and I hope everyone's enjoying the novel. Lastly, is anyone reading an annotated version? I'm wondering who the Frenchman was who described hell thusly: "J'ai vu l'ombre d'un cocher qui avec l'ombre d'une brosse frottait l'ombre d'une carosse" (I've seen the shadow of a coachman who with the shadow of a brush rubbed the shadow of a carriage) (Chapter IV).
Friday, June 26, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Narrator
Note: I haven't read anyone else's posts yet, so I apologize if I am repeating things that someone already said.
Leaving the profound theological and philosophical themes aside for the moment, I would like briefly to call our attention to the character of the Narrator. Rather than simply narrating the story with an author's "objective" voice (Matt can probably remind me of the technical term I am looking for), Dostoyevsky chooses to place the character of the Narrator into the story. Indeed, in the very first sentence the Narrator refers to himself in the first person, and then frequently interjects his own theological and psychological reflections into the narrative. Are we to take these reflections to be representative of Dostoyevsky's own opinions? I suspect not, for D. would not have gone to the trouble of creating this character if he simply wanted to narrate the story in his own voice. While further reading will confirm or refute my suspicion, let me now reflect on what the implications may be if I am correct that the Narrator is not simply the voice of the author.
First, the Narrator has a perspective all his own and opinions that shape the way he interprets events and portrays characters. In other words, we cannot consider the characters apart from the Narrator, since the Narrator's perspective is not necessarily objective, but rather shaped by his own beliefs and opinions. Second, as a corollary to my first point, we have to ask whether the Narrator can always be trusted. I can't be bothered to give parenthetical citations at the moment, but you will all recall that the Narrator occasionally says that he may not have his facts right or what he knows he learned through hearsay. Can we be sure that he always accurately presents the facts that he does know with certainty? Finally, does the Narrator himself have any personality flaws? It is too early to know just yet, but I think it is a question worth asking. None of the characters -- not even Alyosha -- appear to be perfect at the moment. Could this observation extend to the Narrator as well?
Book II
Again, I have little to say this early in the book. Once again, I think I'll just note some themes I find interesting and look forward to seeing elaborated as the novel progresses.
The theme of "love for humanity" comes up--I had noticed in Book I that Alyosha had a love for humanity. In Book II, Zossima talks to Madame Hohlakov and the folly of having a love for humanity, but not real people. Zossima tells about a doctor who told him, "But it has always happened that the more I hate men individually teh more I love humanity" (65). It is also striking how when they gather for dinner, Peter Miusov calms down and regains his love for humanity (92), but then loses all composure once Fydor comes into the room: "Miusov changed from the most benevolent frame of mind to the most savage. All the feelings that had subsided and died down in his heart revived instantly" (93).
It was also interesting to read the response that Rakitin made to Ivan's assertion that without a belief in immortality, there would be no reason for man to love his neighbor or act virtuously. Rakitin says, "Humanity will find in iteself the power to live for virtue even without believeing in immortality. It will find it in love for freedom, for equality, for fraternity" (88). Does anyone else think Rakitin is naive as to this point?
I would like to hear what people think about Zossima's response to Ivan on this contention: "You are blessed in believing that, or else most unhappy" (77). I am not sure what to make of this response or the exchange that follows. I once heard a priest (Fr. Thomas King, S.J.) say that blessed also means happy (he was talking about the beatitutdes). So does Zossima say, "You are happy in believing that, or else most unhappy"? Why would believing in this--that without immortality there can be no reason for virtue--make one happy or unhappy? [Interesting to note that in this same book, Zossima tells Hohlakov: "For men are made for happiness, and anyone who is completely happy has a right to say to himself, 'I am doing God's will on earth'" (63).]
I also cannot make sense of why Ivan makes the argument he does about the state becoming the Church. He does tell Zossima that he wasn't "altogether joking" (77). I'm thinking there is a relation to Ivan's account of Church-State relations and his assertion that without the belief in immortality, there is no reason for virtue. After all, much of the Church-state discussion had to do with criminals and their consciences--since crime becomes a sin against the Church and not society.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Book 1 Reflection: The Scandal of Fyodor
I have been eager to read The Brothers Karamazov not only because it is one of the greatest novels of all time, but also because it is considered one of the most beautiful and powerful works in the Christian theological tradition. The fact that the book is so highly esteemed among Western theologians is notable insofar as it came from the pen of an Eastern Orthodox Christian. I am not aware of any nineteenth century Russian Orthodox theologians who are widely read in the West today. But Dostoyevsky is known by all.
I cannot claim any specific expertise in Russian theology, or nineteenth century Orthodoxy. Nevertheless, I have had the opportunity to read many of the Eastern Church Fathers, upon whom all subsequent Orthodox theology is built. I am especially interested in theological anthropology, and the ways in which the Eastern and Western understanding of man is said to diverge in the early Church. (As an aside, I believe the difference is more a matter of terminology than substance.)
I know that The Brothers Karamazov deals with the question of human nature. I will be eager to trace this discussion in light of what I know about Eastern theological anthropology, and compare it to our Western assumptions.
Having said that, I am already fascinated by Fyodor Pavlovitch. Perhaps it is because I feel a certain kinship with him, not so much as it pertains to excessive drinking and orgies, but because he is a buffoon—a vicious clown (vicious as in the antonym of virtuous). With this character, Dostoyevsky paints a portrait of the sensual man, the man who is a slave to the passions.
It is notable that Fyodor lives his life in the shadow of a great monastery. In the East, the monastic tradition has survived and thrived in a way that it has not in the West (not to say, of course, that it has here died completely). The monastery is the place of ascetic practice, the place where man is able to go to battle with the “flesh”. When we read about the great ascetics of the Christian tradition—those who excelled in prayer and fasting and every kind of self-discipline—it is essential to remember that these men and women did not hate the physical world and its many pleasures. They knew as well as anyone that the corporeal world was called “good” by God himself. What the great ascetics have attempted to do is to fight our perverted tendency to become enslaved to the pleasures of this world (this sinful tendency is called “the flesh” in the Bible). We do not truly enjoy food or drink or sex or any other good while it is a master over us. Changing metaphors, the horse cannot serve human beings while it is still wild and unruly; it must first be tamed. The Christian monastic tradition is not about hating the world, but purifying oneself (by God’s grace) so as to approach and enjoy the world rightly.
Fyodor is the foil to the great monastic tradition. He has given himself over to every pleasure. He cannot say “no” to any sensual enticement, and thus he is entirely enslaved to his passions. Ironically, there seems to be no pleasure in his life; no joy, no peace. Only the virtuous man can enjoy the world truly, and only he has freedom. I see the extent of Fyodor’s captivity, for example, when Dostoyevsky says that he “was all his life fond of acting, of suddenly playing an unexpected part, sometimes without any motive for doing so, and even to his own direct disadvantage…” (9). He had no control over himself, and he was reduced to playing a role, not one of his choosing, in a dark and pathetic drama.
Fyodor is absurd, he is a buffoon, because he has chosen the path of self-destruction. In Eastern theology, there is a great awareness of the telos of man: we were made for participation in the divine nature (2 Peter 2:4). The Fathers of the East (and West!) called this “deification”, where human beings come to partake of the divine life, which is communion with the Trinity. Adam was created in the “image and likeness” of God (Gen. 1:26) precisely so that he could be adopted into the divine family. Ontologically, therefore, man was made capable of union with God. In fact, this is the true end toward which all human beings are fundamentally oriented; in those famous words of St. Augustine: “O God, Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee.”
At the fall, Adam turned his back on communion with the Holy Trinity, thus turning away from his own happiness.
Eastern theologians—remembering that we were created both in the image and likeness of God—make a helpful distinction between the two. They argue that the likeness of God was lost at the fall, but not the image. The image of God is woven deep into human nature: all human beings, no matter how wicked, maintain a basic dignity insofar as they were created in the image of God, which is to say, created for deification. But the likeness has been lost and must be regained. Through the practice of the virtues, we perfect the image through growth in the likeness of God.
In the patristic tradition, we regain the likeness of God only through communion with Jesus Christ (by whose grace we are made virtuous). According to the well-known maxim, “God became man so that man might become God.” In other words, Christ—by being fully God and fully man—bridged the gap between the eternal and temporal, the infinite and the finite, making possible perfect communion between human beings and the Blessed Trinity. Another notable patristic phrase says that by grace we become what Christ is by nature (divine): when—by grace—we are made to be “in” Christ, we enjoy through adoption what he enjoys as the natural Son. But it is important to stress that God created us in His image and likeness from the beginning precisely so that this adoption in Christ, this deification, could occur. We were created to receive this most remarkable gift, the gift of participation in the divine nature.
Dostoyevsky, as an Orthodox Christian, is very aware of this understanding of human nature. Fyodor is an absurd character from the start because he is made in the image of God, and yet he has destroyed the likeness of God in himself completely. In every respect he has ordered himself away from his true end, a spectacular self-destructiveness, self-mutilation. And yet, because of the disorder caused by the fall, each of us is tormented by a similar temptation to annihilation. God created a world of goodness and beauty and order, and yet we slump in the direction of chaos and ugliness and nothingness. It is a tragic disposition that can only be called buffoonery, and Fyodor personifies it.
Made to partake of the divine nature, he rolls in the mud. And we with him.
Alyosha is an example of one who is truly alive, a man in whom the likeness of God is being perfected. But with Fyodor, the great buffoon, I can more easily identity. O God, that your likeness might be restored in me, too, I pray!
I cannot claim any specific expertise in Russian theology, or nineteenth century Orthodoxy. Nevertheless, I have had the opportunity to read many of the Eastern Church Fathers, upon whom all subsequent Orthodox theology is built. I am especially interested in theological anthropology, and the ways in which the Eastern and Western understanding of man is said to diverge in the early Church. (As an aside, I believe the difference is more a matter of terminology than substance.)
I know that The Brothers Karamazov deals with the question of human nature. I will be eager to trace this discussion in light of what I know about Eastern theological anthropology, and compare it to our Western assumptions.
Having said that, I am already fascinated by Fyodor Pavlovitch. Perhaps it is because I feel a certain kinship with him, not so much as it pertains to excessive drinking and orgies, but because he is a buffoon—a vicious clown (vicious as in the antonym of virtuous). With this character, Dostoyevsky paints a portrait of the sensual man, the man who is a slave to the passions.
It is notable that Fyodor lives his life in the shadow of a great monastery. In the East, the monastic tradition has survived and thrived in a way that it has not in the West (not to say, of course, that it has here died completely). The monastery is the place of ascetic practice, the place where man is able to go to battle with the “flesh”. When we read about the great ascetics of the Christian tradition—those who excelled in prayer and fasting and every kind of self-discipline—it is essential to remember that these men and women did not hate the physical world and its many pleasures. They knew as well as anyone that the corporeal world was called “good” by God himself. What the great ascetics have attempted to do is to fight our perverted tendency to become enslaved to the pleasures of this world (this sinful tendency is called “the flesh” in the Bible). We do not truly enjoy food or drink or sex or any other good while it is a master over us. Changing metaphors, the horse cannot serve human beings while it is still wild and unruly; it must first be tamed. The Christian monastic tradition is not about hating the world, but purifying oneself (by God’s grace) so as to approach and enjoy the world rightly.
Fyodor is the foil to the great monastic tradition. He has given himself over to every pleasure. He cannot say “no” to any sensual enticement, and thus he is entirely enslaved to his passions. Ironically, there seems to be no pleasure in his life; no joy, no peace. Only the virtuous man can enjoy the world truly, and only he has freedom. I see the extent of Fyodor’s captivity, for example, when Dostoyevsky says that he “was all his life fond of acting, of suddenly playing an unexpected part, sometimes without any motive for doing so, and even to his own direct disadvantage…” (9). He had no control over himself, and he was reduced to playing a role, not one of his choosing, in a dark and pathetic drama.
Fyodor is absurd, he is a buffoon, because he has chosen the path of self-destruction. In Eastern theology, there is a great awareness of the telos of man: we were made for participation in the divine nature (2 Peter 2:4). The Fathers of the East (and West!) called this “deification”, where human beings come to partake of the divine life, which is communion with the Trinity. Adam was created in the “image and likeness” of God (Gen. 1:26) precisely so that he could be adopted into the divine family. Ontologically, therefore, man was made capable of union with God. In fact, this is the true end toward which all human beings are fundamentally oriented; in those famous words of St. Augustine: “O God, Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee.”
At the fall, Adam turned his back on communion with the Holy Trinity, thus turning away from his own happiness.
Eastern theologians—remembering that we were created both in the image and likeness of God—make a helpful distinction between the two. They argue that the likeness of God was lost at the fall, but not the image. The image of God is woven deep into human nature: all human beings, no matter how wicked, maintain a basic dignity insofar as they were created in the image of God, which is to say, created for deification. But the likeness has been lost and must be regained. Through the practice of the virtues, we perfect the image through growth in the likeness of God.
In the patristic tradition, we regain the likeness of God only through communion with Jesus Christ (by whose grace we are made virtuous). According to the well-known maxim, “God became man so that man might become God.” In other words, Christ—by being fully God and fully man—bridged the gap between the eternal and temporal, the infinite and the finite, making possible perfect communion between human beings and the Blessed Trinity. Another notable patristic phrase says that by grace we become what Christ is by nature (divine): when—by grace—we are made to be “in” Christ, we enjoy through adoption what he enjoys as the natural Son. But it is important to stress that God created us in His image and likeness from the beginning precisely so that this adoption in Christ, this deification, could occur. We were created to receive this most remarkable gift, the gift of participation in the divine nature.
Dostoyevsky, as an Orthodox Christian, is very aware of this understanding of human nature. Fyodor is an absurd character from the start because he is made in the image of God, and yet he has destroyed the likeness of God in himself completely. In every respect he has ordered himself away from his true end, a spectacular self-destructiveness, self-mutilation. And yet, because of the disorder caused by the fall, each of us is tormented by a similar temptation to annihilation. God created a world of goodness and beauty and order, and yet we slump in the direction of chaos and ugliness and nothingness. It is a tragic disposition that can only be called buffoonery, and Fyodor personifies it.
Made to partake of the divine nature, he rolls in the mud. And we with him.
Alyosha is an example of one who is truly alive, a man in whom the likeness of God is being perfected. But with Fyodor, the great buffoon, I can more easily identity. O God, that your likeness might be restored in me, too, I pray!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Book I
A few observations (I am using the Constance Garnett translation, Signet Classic). I'm not sure how much I'll contribute, especially this early on, but here are just a few notes that I'll keep in mind as I read:
Atheism vs. belief. We have the two brothers: Alyosha believes in God and immortality (37), Alyosha is certain Ivan is an atheist. I look forward to seeing how FD explains Alyosha's faith. FD writes, "He was simply a lover of humanity" and gives reasons for why A joins the monastery (30). Later, he writes that if A had decided that God did not exist, he would become an atheist and a socialist. I found it interesting that FD presents socialism as "the form taken by atheism today" (37). We also have the "liberal" "freethinker" "atheist" Peter Miusov, who sued the monastery out of his duty as a citizen and man of culture, though he still owned 1000 serfs. Somewhat ironic. Themes I'll keep in mind: atheism vs. belief, what belief consists in, why believe, the relation of faith to politics.
Atheism vs. belief. We have the two brothers: Alyosha believes in God and immortality (37), Alyosha is certain Ivan is an atheist. I look forward to seeing how FD explains Alyosha's faith. FD writes, "He was simply a lover of humanity" and gives reasons for why A joins the monastery (30). Later, he writes that if A had decided that God did not exist, he would become an atheist and a socialist. I found it interesting that FD presents socialism as "the form taken by atheism today" (37). We also have the "liberal" "freethinker" "atheist" Peter Miusov, who sued the monastery out of his duty as a citizen and man of culture, though he still owned 1000 serfs. Somewhat ironic. Themes I'll keep in mind: atheism vs. belief, what belief consists in, why believe, the relation of faith to politics.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Resources
I looked up some online resources today that might come in handy:
Reading the Brothers Karamazov
-This site includes a list of characters with their various names
-Also questions for each of the books, which may be helpful when writing reflections.
-There is a searchable version of the Garnett translation.
-Under "Research" there is also a decent bibliography of online articles.
Cliffs Notes
-Free online.
The Definitive Study Guide
-Features a summary and analysis of each book and sketches of each character.
Brothers Karamazov Concordance
-Off the top of my head, I don't know why this would be useful...but anyway: a concordance for the book.
Spark Notes
-The character list here seems especially useful.
***Based on the Spark Notes list, here are the names and their variants, which may be helpful to print out:
Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov - (Alyosha, Alyoshka, Alyoshenka, Alyoshechka, Alxeichick, Lyosha, Lyoshenka)
Dmitri Fyodorovich Karamazov - (Mitka, Mitya, Mitenka, Mitri Fyodorovich)
Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov - (Vanya, Vanka, Vanechka)
Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov
Agrafena Alexandrovna Svetlov - (Grushenka, Grusha, Grushka)
Katerina Ivanovna Verkhovtsev - (Katya, Katka, Katenka)
Katerina Ospovna Khokhlakov - (Madame Khokhlakov)
Liza Khokhlakov - (Lise)
Nikolai Ivanov Krasotkin - (Kolya)
Ilyusha Snegiryov - (Ilyushechka, Ilyushka)
Reading the Brothers Karamazov
-This site includes a list of characters with their various names
-Also questions for each of the books, which may be helpful when writing reflections.
-There is a searchable version of the Garnett translation.
-Under "Research" there is also a decent bibliography of online articles.
Cliffs Notes
-Free online.
The Definitive Study Guide
-Features a summary and analysis of each book and sketches of each character.
Brothers Karamazov Concordance
-Off the top of my head, I don't know why this would be useful...but anyway: a concordance for the book.
Spark Notes
-The character list here seems especially useful.
***Based on the Spark Notes list, here are the names and their variants, which may be helpful to print out:
Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov - (Alyosha, Alyoshka, Alyoshenka, Alyoshechka, Alxeichick, Lyosha, Lyoshenka)
Dmitri Fyodorovich Karamazov - (Mitka, Mitya, Mitenka, Mitri Fyodorovich)
Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov - (Vanya, Vanka, Vanechka)
Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov
Agrafena Alexandrovna Svetlov - (Grushenka, Grusha, Grushka)
Katerina Ivanovna Verkhovtsev - (Katya, Katka, Katenka)
Katerina Ospovna Khokhlakov - (Madame Khokhlakov)
Liza Khokhlakov - (Lise)
Nikolai Ivanov Krasotkin - (Kolya)
Ilyusha Snegiryov - (Ilyushechka, Ilyushka)
The Plan
Hey guys,
Okay, we need to set up some kind of schedule. In my mind, this will be most fulfilling if we--to the greatest extent possible--keep up with each other.
BTW, I also spoke with Joe last night. He was interested and I sent him the invitation.
What if we tried to read a book each week? There are about 12 books, so it would take about three months. After Dan finishes his paper, and Matt finishes the book suggested (assigned?) to him by Christina, we could read more per week.
It seems like the books generally consist of about six or seven chapters each, which are usually around 7-10 pages long. So, it would be a short chapter a day; not too taxing.
Then, what should be the blog requirements? (At least) one reflection, of whatever length, per week? Does that sound reasonable?
Any other thoughts on housekeeping?
Russian color:
Okay, we need to set up some kind of schedule. In my mind, this will be most fulfilling if we--to the greatest extent possible--keep up with each other.
BTW, I also spoke with Joe last night. He was interested and I sent him the invitation.
What if we tried to read a book each week? There are about 12 books, so it would take about three months. After Dan finishes his paper, and Matt finishes the book suggested (assigned?) to him by Christina, we could read more per week.
It seems like the books generally consist of about six or seven chapters each, which are usually around 7-10 pages long. So, it would be a short chapter a day; not too taxing.
Then, what should be the blog requirements? (At least) one reflection, of whatever length, per week? Does that sound reasonable?
Any other thoughts on housekeeping?
Russian color:
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