Last night, I read Fyodor Dostoevsky’s insightful chapter on religion, free will, and Christ’s ultimate sacrifice to mankind within his book, The Brothers Karamazov. This chapter, “The Grand Inquisitor,” is probably regarded as one of the most important pieces of fiction in literary history, and for a very good reason.
“The Grand Inquisitor” presents Ivan Fyodorovich’s problems with organized religion in the form of a prose poem—the fact that it’s presented as a ‘poem’ is funny because it’s actually 20ish pages long. A story within a story, if you will.
The chapter explores the scene of Christ in sixteenth century Spain during the Inquisition, coming to the city of Seville to heal and perform miracles. He is then arrested and chastised by a cardinal of the Church, who tells Christ that his work is no longer needed on Earth and that his works stand at odds with what the Church represents.
The cardinal also goes on to explain that Christ committed grave errors in giving humankind the power of free will. The cardinal argues that not all of mankind has the power and fortitude to seek salvation with their free will; when presented with the dichotomy of committing either right or wrong, human beings tend to lean towards the latter. Therefore, many people will suffer damnation as a result. And the cardinal places that blame on Christ. After all, He is the Lord, and He has created this situation for humans to endure.
When juxtaposed with Dostoevsky’s previous chapter, “Rebellion,” Ivan gave some more context on his issues with organized religion and Christianity in particular. Ivan acknowledges that God exists, but he rejects the state of the world God has allowed to come forth due to the level of cruelty and suffering that occurs on a near constant basis. More specifically, Ivan hones in on the topic of child abuse and violence committed on children. Ivan argues that children are innocent, undeserving of the violence they receive, so how could he reconcile these feelings with the idea of a just God who loves mankind?
Going back to “The Grand Inquisitor” chapter, the cardinal accuses Christ of rejecting three things that would have ‘cemented’ his earthly throne as the son of God: bread, miracles, and power. Satan tried to tempt Christ with each of these things, but Christ rejected all three, highlighting his emphasis on wanting humans to decide for themselves what path they want to take in life.
Essentially, the cardinal’s main argument is that by giving humans the ultimate power of free will, Christ has erred, because the cardinal does not believe a majority of humankind is capable of leading righteous lives. As a result, the Church must step in and correct this wrong, leading people down the ‘correct’ path and punishing people who stray from it. Indeed, as history shows, the Inquisition was a time of heavy persecution against the Church’s enemies.
At the end of the story, after Christ listened to the cardinal’s tirade, he gets up and kisses the cardinal on the lips. Forgiveness. Despite the cardinal’s cruel words, his heavy lambasting of the son of God did not make Christ react in anger, but rather, He reacted with compassion.
After Ivan finishes telling his prose poem to Alyosha, who is a young monk in the monastery at that current time, he believes Alyosha will be scandalized by the assumptions Ivan has made about God and religion. However, Alyosha kisses him gently instead.
The Ultimate Power of Forgiveness
I’m incredibly pleased that I decided to read these chapters right before the start of Great Lent. I am also glad that I decided to read The Brothers Karamazov at this point in my life. I would not have been able to truly appreciate this book had I been a few years younger, for example. I also think my appreciation of the book has been deepened by my own background in Orthodox Christianity.
Since the beginning of the novel, I have felt more endearment towards Alyosha, Alexei Fyodorovich, over Ivan. Alyosha, as mentioned before, is the young monk. He’s kind, meek, and obedient to his spiritual father, Elder Zosima. Meanwhile, his older brothers, Dmitri and Ivan, are more cynical, more passionate, more jaded with the world around them. Ivan, especially. Up until this point in the novel, Ivan has criticized religion multiple times.
And perhaps, if I weren’t as rooted in my faith as I am now, I would have agreed more with Ivan than I do with Alyosha.
Because from a more rational, logical standpoint, Ivan does make a lot of good points. Ivan has witnessed a lot of cruelty that humans have committed upon other humans, barbaric things that shouldn’t even be repeated. And with this context, it’s understandable why Ivan does not like religion and has issues with it altogether. After all, the Church, specifically the Catholic Church, has done extremely cruel things to others in the name of God. Humans, Ivan argues, are inherently cruel and they choose cruelty more often than not.
The Church, in Ivan’s eyes, is not led by Christ anymore, but rather Satan himself. This is why the cardinal within his poem allies himself more with Satan than Christ, because in accepting the temptations, like food and power and superstition, humans can forgo suffering, even if it means suffering eternal damnation in the end. In this sense, Ivan is arguing that worldly pleasures should override everything else.
But as an Orthodox Christian, this argument falls flat. Because for us, worldly pleasures are only temporary and they are not as fulfilling. We want to emulate Christ himself and the saints, who gave up everything to achieve eternal salvation with God.
Christ gave us free will as an ultimate gift. And this gift is extremely powerful, of course. We can choose good or we can choose bad. We can choose the pleasures of this life, or we can choose a more humble, meek existence. Alyosha knows that Ivan has seen many awful things in this life, so this is why he reacts with compassion rather than anger towards his brother for saying such things about the Church and of Christ.
The Difficulties of Being a Christian
It’s extremely difficult following the path of Christ. Any Orthodox Christian can admit this.
For example, Great Lent is upon us and we are going to fast from meat, poultry, and dairy for the next 40 days. As someone who loves my dairy products, I know these next 40 days are going to be exceptionally difficult, but I feel ready to undertake this challenge this year. Out of my own slothfulness and rebelliousness, I haven’t been fasting as diligently as I should have been throughout the year, so this is the main reason why I want to take this Great Lent as seriously as possible.
Surprisingly enough, the last time I successfully fasted during Great Lent is when I was still a catechumen about to be received into the church. I didn’t have to fast, but I wanted to. And now that I’ve been baptized for years, I have yet to endure the same level of fasting I achieved back then before I was officially Orthodox. Isn’t that funny?
When observing Ivan’s character up until this point in the novel, I really feel for him. Not because I agree with his arguments necessarily, but because I can understand where he’s coming from and can see why he feels the way that he does.
I often find myself feeling the same way when I speak to people who have turned away from the Church entirely. Often times, they feel rejected by the Church in some way or another. They do not like the attitudes of people within the Church, who can be judgmental or cruel to others when they see perceived wrongs. They do not like the history of the Church in the West, where horrible things were done to others in the name of God.
I don’t ever feel anger towards these people because their feelings are valid. At the same time, it’s clear that they have not experienced the full truth of the Orthodox Church, and I pray that someday they will come to explore and know it in its entirety.
That isn’t to say that the Church is what makes someone a Christian. Not at all. This is an important point because, as “The Grand Inquisitor” highlights, even the Church can be corrupted because it is led by men. Humans are not perfect, humans are not sinless, and humans should probably not let one dominant force have too much power over their lives. This has always been my own personal gripe with the Catholic Church; as much as I respect the Pope from afar, I could never get behind the consolidation of religious power in one human. Like I said, humans are easily corrupted.
I also disagree with the idea that humans are incapable of using their free will to seek salvation. Because at the end of the day, I believe all human cultures in some way or form have tried to achieve this salvation through peace and loving each other. Of course, it materialized in different forms throughout the ages, but it’s a concept and an ideal that has always existed throughout the ages. I am specifically thinking of the book, Christ the Eternal Tao by Hieromonk Damascene when making this claim.
My point being: humans, even with no explicit knowledge of Christ or the Church, still strive for Christ-like ideals naturally. It exists within us. It’s a part of us, because we were created in the image of God. We were created to love one another. Hurting each other, abusing each other, is unnatural.
And that isn’t to say that humans, in being created in the image of God, can somehow equal or rival God in power. That was a misconception that even Lucifer was deceived by. And that is the error that the cardinal in “The Grand Inquisitor” is deceived by, as well. Humans will never have the power that God has, for He has created the world, the universe, and all of creation. There are certain things about God that we will never truly understand—which is difficult to wrap your head around because humans are naturally inquisitive creatures, but that’s just how it is. Even now, there are certain things about God that I just can’t put into words or understand in its entirety, and that’s okay because that’s just how things were meant to be. The endless pursuit of knowledge is a prideful thing, at the end of the day.
Choosing Good. Choosing Love.
One of the most beautiful things about Orthodox Christianity is the emphasis on choosing.
When I was first inquiring into the Church with my then-boyfriend (now-husband), this is what struck me the most because, throughout my life, I had dealt with Christians and religious people who wanted to strong-arm you into the faith. Whether they came in the form of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Mormons, Evangelists, they all shared that one commonality: wanting to force someone into their faith no matter what.
And you can see this happening again in “The Grand Inquisitor.” The cardinal is trying to force people into doing the perceived ‘right’ thing. The cardinal, and the Church as a whole, wants to force, guide, and lead people because they assume this is the right thing, so that the flock can be happy. In relinquishing free will, the cardinal argues, humans can be happy. They won’t have to suffer anymore.
When I was a catechumen, I deeply appreciated how priests, elders, monks all wanted me to decide for myself if Orthodoxy was right for me. I was never rushed, never belittled or criticized for any perceived hesitance, I was never forced to choose my own path. I came to these decisions on my own accord. I was given books, lessons, and knowledge of the faith that I could learn at my own pace (and believe me, even to this day I’m still learning). And then, with God’s ultimate gift of free will, I chose Orthodoxy in the end.
Christ never wanted to force us into following Him, because that would be a dictatorial act, and Christ is and will always be above that. Christ is beyond that human quality of wanting to control. Christ gave us the gift of free will because He wanted us to make that decision for ourselves. Christ wants us to follow Him, to find it within ourselves to emulate Him.
If we do it by force, then there’s a layer of fear and resentment that underlies each action. Think of someone being forced to Church on Sunday, even when they don’t want to. Over time, they experience resentment, rebellion, and hatred for the Church as a whole. That was never the point.
It’s within ourselves to love, it’s within ourselves to choose good. And yes, even though the world can feel as if it is falling apart sometimes, humans still choose good a lot of the times.
And yes, we make mistakes. Yes, we sometimes deviate from God in our decision-making and choices, but He is always there to forgive, to accept us with open arms again when we repent and see the error in our own ways.
That is why Christ’s kissing of the cardinal at the end is so powerful. Because even the cardinal feels this way about Christ and the Church, even though the cardinal shows extreme arrogance and greed for power in the way he behaves, he, too, is still capable of being forgiven in the end by Christ.
This was an especially poignant reminder as we head into Forgiveness Sunday. Even when people make us angry, finding it within ourselves to forgive can be a difficult sacrifice. But it is also an act that sets us free.