The Grand Inquisitor
From: Mike Helsher
Date: Mon Jan 12, 2004 9:39 pm
Subject: The Grand Inquisitor
Dearest brother Joel,
Have you read Dostoevsky's "The Grand Inquisitor?"
For some reason I sought it out and read it again recently.
I'm wondering about your position lately, that has been somewhat
at odds with many here on the list. You seem to have taken up
the task of the Grand Inquisitor's double; his polar opposite.
I think that the story would end the same either way though.
Christ would still kiss you smack on the lips!
"And the old Man?"
"The kiss glows in his heart, but the old man adheres to
his idea."
Lovingly
Mike
...................................................................................................................................
From: golden3000997
Date: Tue Jan 13, 2004 4:36 am
Subject: Re: [anthroposophy_tomorrow] The Grand Inquisitor
oooooo! Mike - LOVE that! It is to be found
in Dostoyevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov". It is a
kind of treatise that the one brother (the priest? Ivan? it's
been quite a while since I read it) anyway, that he writes. He
really struggles with the whole meaning of good and evil. There
is another passage where he describes two cases of abuse against
children and says something like - no one has the RIGHT to forgive
the perpetrators!! I think one is a little girl who freezes to
death in an outhouse after her parents lock her in there for
something she did wrong. The other is a young boy who does something
that the "landlord" (old feudal system) doesn't like
- maybe poaching or something like that. The "landlord"
sics his pack of hunting dogs on the boy and they tear him to
pieces.
oh, now I've got to find that book and look
it up.
But both treatises are very heartwrenching.
Relates very much to what I said to Joel about the Judge/ Priest
in Victor Hugo's "Hunchback of Notre Dame." Has anyone
else actually read that novel??? REALLY amazing - VERY different
from
ANY of the movie versions!!! Very difficult
to read, as is "Les Miserables" which is better than
any of the movie versions.
By the way, before anyone gets the idea that
Jesus' (or rather "The One in the Cell") kiss is just
warm and sentimental, please read the passage. It is far darker
than that. Christ (or some One) is locked up and faces the inquisition.
The Grand Inquisitor comes to see Him in the cell and basically
tells him to "get lost" that they have been doing the
work that needs to be done "in His Name" and that they
have been giving the People exactly what they need - bread and
Mystery. Because of that, they will have to put Him to death
again. Deep, very, very Deep!
So in this way, Joel's perspective is not
that of the Grand Inquisitor. Joel does seek Truth and not Mystery.
But Joel, your techniques could stand some improvement. Telling
the truth is vitally important, but if it is done in such a way
as to shut the "Other" down, rather than open them
up to the Truth, then it has done more harm than good. I have
personally known two people who had that problem within them
and I have had times and places where I did it, too, quite a
bit. The one person I am thinking of worked very, very hard to
promote Rudolf Steiner and Anthroposophy and over the years,
many people came to their study group. Unfortunately, most of
those left shortly thereafter, never to come again. He carried
a psychic disturbance that even people new to spiritual study
could feel. It took the form of a kind of quiet "ranting"
about certain spiritual matters (I don't want to get too specific
here - it is the gesture that matters in this case). He may have
been right, or he may have been wrong. But his obessions did
not allow him to RECEIVE what was coming into the group from
other people. He was behind a "glass wall" in his thinking.
He could see the Other, but he couldn't really hear the Other.
The other person I am thinking of was a woman
in a different time and place. I only met with her once, but
that was enough. She talked and talked. And I think she was right,
perfectly right in everything she said. She was full to the brim
with information about "The Extra Lesson" and its importance
and lots of other good things. But the style of delivery was
really intense. When my husband and I left that evening, I said
to him, "It's like someone giving you a 300 lb lump of gold.
It's real gold and it's wonderful, but it's too big to pick up
and carry home with you."
When I was younger, I thought that "temperance"
was tantamount to "compromise" and I abhorred it. I
still think that one has to be very, very careful about compromise,
but a bit of temperance can be a useful thing. A good sense of
humor helps tremendously as well!
: ) Christine
...................................................................................................................................
From: golden3000997
Date: Thu Jan 22, 2004 6:15 pm
Subject: The Grand Inquisitor Part 1
http://www.tameri.com/csw/exist/dostgi.html
The Grand Inquisitor
From The Brothers Karamazov
by Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
1879
translated by Constance Garnett
Book V
Pro and Contra
Chapter 4
"... Do you know, Alyosha
-- don't laugh I made a poem about a year ago. If you can waste
another ten minutes on me, I'll tell it to you."
"You wrote a poem?"
"Oh, no, I didn't write
it," laughed Ivan, and I've never written two lines of poetry
in my life. But I made up this poem in prose and I remembered
it. I was carried away when I made it up. You will be my first
reader -- that is listener. Why should an author forego even
one listener?" smiled Ivan. "Shall I tell it to you?"
"I am all attention."
said Alyosha.
"My poem is called The
Grand Inquisitor; it's a ridiculous thing, but I want to tell
it to you.
Chapter 5: The Grand Inquisitor
"EVEN this must have
a preface -- that is, a literary preface," laughed Ivan,
"and I am a poor hand at making one. You see, my action
takes place in the sixteenth century, and at that time, as you
probably learnt at school, it was customary in poetry to bring
down heavenly powers on earth. Not to speak of Dante, in France,
clerks, as well as the monks in the monasteries, used to give
regular performances in which the Madonna, the saints, the angels,
Christ, and God Himself were brought on the stage. In those days
it was done in all simplicity. In Victor Hugo's Notre Dame de
Paris an edifying and gratuitous spectacle was provided for the
people in the Hotel de Ville of Paris in the reign of Louis XI
in honour of the birth of the dauphin. It was called Le bon jugement
de la tres sainte et gracieuse Vierge Marie, and she appears
herself on the stage and pronounces her bon jugement. Similar
plays, chiefly from the Old Testament, were occasionally performed
in Moscow too, up to the times of Peter the Great. But besides
plays there were all sorts of legends and ballads scattered about
the world, in which the saints and angels and all the powers
of Heaven took part when required. In our monasteries the monks
busied themselves in translating, copying, and even composing
such poems- and even under the Tatars. There is, for instance,
one such poem (of course, from the Greek), The Wanderings of
Our Lady through Hell, with descriptions as bold as Dante's.
Our Lady visits hell, and the Archangel Michael leads her through
the torments. She sees the sinners and their punishment. There
she sees among others one noteworthy set of sinners in a burning
lake; some of them sink to the bottom of the lake so that they
can't swim out, and 'these God forgets'- an expression of extraordinary
depth and force. And so Our Lady, shocked and weeping, falls
before the throne of God and begs for mercy for all in hell-
for all she has seen there, indiscriminately. Her conversation
with God is immensely interesting. She beseeches Him, she will
not desist, and when God points to the hands and feet of her
Son, nailed to the Cross, and asks, 'How can I forgive His tormentors?'
she bids all the saints, all the martyrs, all the angels and
archangels to fall down with her and pray for mercy on all without
distinction. It ends by her winning from God a respite of suffering
every year from Good Friday till Trinity Day, and the sinners
at once raise a cry of thankfulness from hell, chanting, 'Thou
art just, O Lord, in this judgment.' Well, my poem would have
been of that kind if it had appeared at that time. He comes on
the scene in my poem, but He says nothing, only appears and passes
on. Fifteen centuries have passed since He promised to come in
His glory, fifteen centuries since His prophet wrote, 'Behold,
I come quickly'; 'Of that day and that hour knoweth no man, neither
the Son, but the Father,' as He Himself predicted on earth. But
humanity awaits him with the same faith and with the same love.
Oh, with greater faith, for it is fifteen centuries since man
has ceased to see signs from heaven.
No signs from heaven come
to-day
To add to what the heart doth say.
There was nothing left but
faith in what the heart doth say. It is true there were many
miracles in those days. There were saints who performed miraculous
cures; some holy people, according to their biographies, were
visited by the Queen of Heaven herself. But the devil did not
slumber, and doubts were already arising among men of the truth
of these miracles. And just then there appeared in the north
of Germany a terrible new heresy. 'A huge star like to a torch'
(that is, to a church) 'fell on the sources of the waters and
they became bitter.' These heretics began blasphemously denying
miracles. But those who remained faithful were all the more ardent
in their faith. The tears of humanity rose up to Him as before,
awaited His coming, loved Him, hoped for Him, yearned to suffer
and die for Him as before. And so many ages mankind had prayed
with faith and fervour, 'O Lord our God, hasten Thy coming';
so many ages called upon Him, that in His infinite mercy He deigned
to come down to His servants. Before that day He had come down,
He had visited some holy men, martyrs, and hermits, as is written
in their lives. Among us, Tyutchev, with absolute faith in the
truth of his words, bore witness that
Bearing the Cross, in slavish
dress,
Weary and worn, the Heavenly King
Our mother, Russia, came to bless,
And through our land went wandering.
And that certainly was so,
I assure you.
"And behold, He deigned
to appear for a moment to the people, to the tortured, suffering
people, sunk in iniquity, but loving Him like children. My story
is laid in Spain, in Seville, in the most terrible time of the
Inquisition, when fires were lighted every day to the glory of
God, and 'in the splendid auto da fe the wicked heretics were
burnt.' Oh, of course, this was not the coming in which He will
appear, according to His promise, at the end of time in all His
heavenly glory, and which will be sudden 'as lightning flashing
from east to west.' No, He visited His children only for a moment,
and there where the flames were crackling round the heretics.
In His infinite mercy He came once more among men in that human
shape in which He walked among men for thirty-three years fifteen
centuries ago. He came down to the 'hot pavements' of the southern
town in which on the day before almost a hundred heretics had,
ad majorem gloriam Dei, been burnt by the cardinal, the Grand
Inquisitor, in a magnificent auto da fe, in the presence of the
king, the court, the knights, the cardinals, the most charming
ladies of the court, and the whole population of Seville.
"He came softly, unobserved,
and yet, strange to say, everyone recognised Him. That might
be one of the best passages in the poem. I mean, why they recognised
Him. The people are irresistibly drawn to Him, they surround
Him, they flock about Him, follow Him. He moves silently in their
midst with a gentle smile of infinite compassion. The sun of
love burns in His heart, and power shine from His eyes, and their
radiance, shed on the people, stirs their hearts with responsive
love. He holds out His hands to them, blesses them, and a healing
virtue comes from contact with Him, even with His garments. An
old man in the crowd, blind from childhood, cries out, 'O Lord,
heal me and I shall see Thee!' and, as it were, scales fall from
his eyes and the blind man sees Him. The crowd weeps and kisses
the earth under His feet. Children throw flowers before Him,
sing, and cry hosannah. 'It is He- it is He!' repeat. 'It must
be He, it can be no one but Him!' He stops at the steps of the
Seville cathedral at the moment when the weeping mourners are
bringing in a little open white coffin. In it lies a child of
seven, the only daughter of a prominent citizen. The dead child
lies hidden in flowers. 'He will raise your child,' the crowd
shouts to the weeping mother. The priest, coming to meet the
coffin, looks perplexed, and frowns, but the mother of the dead
child throws herself at His feet with a wail. 'If it is Thou,
raise my child!' she cries, holding out her hands to Him. The
procession halts, the coffin is laid on the steps at His feet.
He looks with compassion, and His lips once more softly pronounce,
'Maiden, arise!' and the maiden arises. The little girl sits
up in the coffin and looks round, smiling with wide-open wondering
eyes, holding a bunch of white roses they had put in her hand.
"There are cries, sobs,
confusion among the people, and at that moment the cardinal himself,
the Grand Inquisitor, passes by the cathedral. He is an old man,
almost ninety, tall and erect, with a withered face and sunken
eyes, in which there is still a gleam of light. He is not dressed
in his gorgeous cardinal's robes, as he was the day before, when
he was burning the enemies of the Roman Church -- at this moment
he is wearing his coarse, old, monk's cassock. At a distance
behind him come his gloomy assistants and slaves and the 'holy
guard.' He stops at the sight of the crowd and watches it from
a distance. He sees everything; he sees them set the coffin down
at His feet, sees the child rise up, and his face darkens. He
knits his thick grey brows and his eyes gleam with a sinister
fire. He holds out his finger and bids the guards take Him. And
such is his power, so completely are the people cowed into submission
and trembling obedience to him, that the crowd immediately makes
way for the guards, and in the midst of deathlike silence they
lay hands on Him and lead him away. The crowd instantly bows
down to the earth, like one man, before the old Inquisitor. He
blesses the people in silence and passes on' The guards lead
their prisoner to the close, gloomy vaulted prison- in the ancient
palace of the Holy, inquisition and shut him in it. The day passes
and is followed by the dark, burning, 'breathless' night of Seville.
The air is 'fragrant with laurel and lemon.' In the pitch darkness
the iron door of the prison is suddenly opened and the Grand
Inquisitor himself comes in with a light in his hand. He is alone;
the door is closed at once behind him. He stands in the doorway
and for a minute or two gazes into His face. At last he goes
up slowly, sets the light on the table and speaks.
"'Is it Thou? Thou?'
but receiving no answer, he adds at once. 'Don't answer, be silent.
What canst Thou say, indeed? I know too well what Thou wouldst
say. And Thou hast no right to add anything to what Thou hadst
said of old. Why, then, art Thou come to hinder us? For Thou
hast come to hinder us, and Thou knowest that. But dost thou
know what will be to-morrow? I know not who Thou art and care
not to know whether it is Thou or only a semblance of Him, but
to-morrow I shall condemn Thee and burn Thee at the stake as
the worst of heretics. And the very people who have to-day kissed
Thy feet, to-morrow at the faintest sign from me will rush to
heap up the embers of Thy fire. Knowest Thou that? Yes, maybe
Thou knowest it,' he added with thoughtful penetration, never
for a moment taking his eyes off the Prisoner."
"I don't quite understand,
Ivan. What does it mean?" Alyosha, who had been listening
in silence, said with a smile. "Is it simply a wild fantasy,
or a mistake on the part of the old man -- some impossible quid
pro quo?"
"Take it as the last,"
said Ivan, laughing, "if you are so corrupted by modern
realism and can't stand anything fantastic. If you like it to
be a case of mistaken identity, let it be so. It is true,"
he went on, laughing, "the old man was ninety, and he might
well be crazy over his set idea. He might have been struck by
the appearance of the Prisoner. It might, in fact, be simply
his ravings, the delusion of an old man of ninety, over -- excited
by the auto da fe of a hundred heretics the day before. But does
it matter to us after all whether it was a mistake of identity
or a wild fantasy? All that matters is that the old man should
speak out, that he should speak openly of what he has thought
in silence for ninety years."
"And the Prisoner too
is silent? Does He look at him and not say a word?"
"That's inevitable in
any case," Ivan laughed again. "The old man has told
Him He hasn't the right to add anything to what He has said of
old. One may say it is the most fundamental feature of Roman
Catholicism, in my opinion at least. 'All has been given by Thee
to the Pope,' they say, 'and all, therefore, is still in the
Pope's hands, and there is no need for Thee to come now at all.
Thou must not meddle for the time, at least.' That's how they
speak and write too -- the Jesuits, at any rate. I have read
it myself in the works of their theologians. 'Hast Thou the right
to reveal to us one of the mysteries of that world from which
Thou hast come?' my old man asks Him, and answers the question
for Him. 'No, Thou hast not; that Thou mayest not add to what
has been said of old, and mayest not take from men the freedom
which Thou didst exalt when Thou wast on earth. Whatsoever Thou
revealest anew will encroach on men's freedom of faith; for it
will be manifest as a miracle, and the freedom of their faith
was dearer to Thee than anything in those days fifteen hundred
years ago. Didst Thou not often say then, "I will make you
free"? But now Thou hast seen these "free" men,'
the old man adds suddenly, with a pensive smile. 'Yes, we've
paid dearly for it,' he goes on, looking sternly at Him, 'but
at last we have completed that work in Thy name. For fifteen
centuries we have been wrestling with Thy freedom, but now it
is ended and over for good. Dost Thou not believe that it's over
for good? Thou lookest meekly at me and deignest not even to
be wroth with me. But let me tell Thee that now, to-day, people
are more persuaded than ever that they have perfect freedom,
yet they have brought their freedom to us and laid it humbly
at our feet. But that has been our doing. Was this what Thou
didst? Was this Thy freedom?'"
"I don't understand again."
Alyosha broke in. "Is he ironical, is he jesting?"
"Not a bit of it! He
claims it as a merit for himself and his Church that at last
they have vanquished freedom and have done so to make men happy.
'For now' (he is speaking of the Inquisition, of course) 'for
the first time it has become possible to think of the happiness
of men. Man was created a rebel; and how can rebels be happy?
Thou wast warned,' he says to Him. 'Thou hast had no lack of
admonitions and warnings, but Thou didst not listen to those
warnings; Thou didst reject the only way by which men might be
made happy. But, fortunately, departing Thou didst hand on the
work to us. Thou hast promised, Thou hast established by Thy
word, Thou hast given to us the right to bind and to unbind,
and now, of course, Thou canst not think of taking it away. Why,
then, hast Thou come to hinder us?'"
"And what's the meaning
of 'no lack of admonitions and warnings'?" asked Alyosha.
"Why, that's the chief
part of what the old man must say.
(see Part Two) (my divisions due to e-mail
restrictions)
...................................................................................................................................
From: golden3000997
Date: Thu Jan 22, 2004 6:16 pm
Subject: The Grand Inquisitor Part 2
The Grand Inquisitor
(continued)
"'The wise and dread
spirit, the spirit of self-destruction and non-existence,' the
old man goes on, great spirit talked with Thee in the wilderness,
and we are told in the books that he "tempted" Thee.
Is that so? And could anything truer be said than what he revealed
to Thee in three questions and what Thou didst reject, and what
in the books is called "the temptation"? And yet if
there has ever been on earth a real stupendous miracle, it took
place on that day, on the day of the three temptations. The statement
of those three questions was itself the miracle. If it were possible
to imagine simply for the sake of argument that those three questions
of the dread spirit had perished utterly from the books, and
that we had to restore them and to invent them anew, and to do
so had gathered together all the wise men of the earth -- rulers,
chief priests, learned men, philosophers, poets- and had set
them the task to invent three questions, such as would not only
fit the occasion, but express in three words, three human phrases,
the whole future history of the world and of humanity- dost Thou
believe that all the wisdom of the earth united could have invented
anything in depth and force equal to the three questions which
were actually put to Thee then by the wise and mighty spirit
in the wilderness? From those questions alone, from the miracle
of their statement, we can see that we have here to do not with
the fleeting human intelligence, but with the absolute and eternal.
For in those three questions the whole subsequent history of
mankind is, as it were, brought together into one whole, and
foretold, and in them are united all the unsolved historical
contradictions of human nature. At the time it could not be so
clear, since the future was unknown; but now that fifteen hundred
years have passed, we see that everything in those three questions
was so justly divined and foretold, and has been so truly fulfilled,
that nothing can be added to them or taken from them.
"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, and art going 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." They will understand themselves, at last,
that freedom and bread enough for all are inconceivable together,
for never, 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? And if for the sake of the bread of Heaven thousands
shall follow Thee, what is to become of the millions and tens
of thousands of millions of creatures who will not have the strength
to forego the earthly bread for the sake of the heavenly? Or
dost Thou care only for the tens of thousands of the great and
strong, while the millions, numerous as the sands of the sea,
who are weak but love Thee, must exist only for the sake of the
great and strong? No, we care for the weak too. They are sinful
and rebellious, but in the end they too will become obedient.
They will marvel at us and look on us as gods, because we are
ready to endure the freedom which they have found so dreadful
and to rule over them -- so awful it will seem to them to be
free. But we shall tell them that we are Thy servants and rule
them in Thy name. We shall deceive them again, for we will not
let Thee come to us again. That deception will be our suffering,
for we shall be forced to lie.
"'This is the significance
of the first question in the wilderness, and this is what Thou
hast rejected for the sake of that freedom which Thou hast exalted
above everything. Yet in this question lies hid the great secret
of this world. Choosing "bread," Thou wouldst have
satisfied the universal and everlasting craving of humanity --
to find someone to worship. So long as man remains free he strives
for nothing so incessantly and so painfully as to find someone
to worship. But man seeks to worship what is established beyond
dispute, so that all men would agree at once to worship it. For
these pitiful creatures are concerned not only to find what one
or the other can worship, but to find community of worship is
the chief misery of every man individually and of all humanity
from the beginning of time. For the sake of common worship they've
slain each other with the sword. They have set up gods and challenged
one another, "Put away your gods and come and worship ours,
or we will kill you and your gods!" And so it will be to
the end of the world, even when gods disappear from the earth;
they will fall down before idols just the same. Thou didst know,
Thou couldst not but have known, this fundamental secret of human
nature, but Thou didst reject the one infallible banner which
was offered Thee to make all men bow down to Thee alone- the
banner of earthly bread; and Thou hast rejected it for the sake
of freedom and the bread of Heaven. Behold what Thou didst further.
And all again in the name of freedom! I tell Thee that man is
tormented by no greater anxiety than to find someone quickly
to whom he can hand over that gift of freedom with which the
ill-fated creature is born. But only one who can appease their
conscience can take over their freedom. In bread there was offered
Thee an invincible banner; give bread, and man will worship thee,
for nothing is more certain than bread. But if someone else gains
possession of his conscience -- Oh! then he will cast away Thy
bread and follow after him who has ensnared his conscience. In
that Thou wast right. For the secret of man's being is not only
to live but to have something to live for. Without a stable conception
of the object of life, man would not consent to go on living,
and would rather destroy himself than remain on earth, though
he had bread in abundance. That is true. But what happened? Instead
of taking men's freedom from them, Thou didst make it greater
than ever! Didst Thou forget that man prefers peace, and even
death, to freedom of choice in the knowledge of good and evil?
Nothing is more seductive for man than his freedom of conscience,
but nothing is a greater cause of suffering. And behold, instead
of giving a firm foundation for setting the conscience of man
at rest for ever, Thou didst choose all that is exceptional,
vague and enigmatic; Thou didst choose what was utterly beyond
the strength of men, acting as though Thou didst not love them
at all -- Thou who didst come to give Thy life for them! Instead
of taking possession of men's freedom, Thou didst increase it,
and burdened the spiritual kingdom of mankind with its sufferings
for ever. Thou didst desire man's free love, that he should follow
Thee freely, enticed and taken captive by Thee. In place of the
rigid ancient law, man must hereafter with free heart decide
for himself what is good and what is evil, having only Thy image
before him as his guide. But didst Thou not know that he would
at last reject even Thy image and Thy truth, if he is weighed
down with the fearful burden of free choice? They will cry aloud
at last that the truth is not in Thee, for they could not have
been left in greater confusion and suffering than Thou hast caused,
laying upon them so many cares and unanswerable problems.
"'So that, in truth,
Thou didst Thyself lay the foundation for the destruction of
Thy kingdom, and no one is more to blame for it. Yet what was
offered Thee? There are three powers, three powers alone, able
to conquer and to hold captive for ever the conscience of these
impotent rebels for their happiness those forces are miracle,
mystery and authority. Thou hast rejected all three and hast
set the example for doing so. When the wise and dread spirit
set Thee on the pinnacle of the temple and said to Thee, "If
Thou wouldst know whether Thou art the Son of God then cast Thyself
down, for it is written: the angels shall hold him up lest he
fall and bruise himself, and Thou shalt know then whether Thou
art the Son of God and shalt prove then how great is Thy faith
in Thy Father." But Thou didst refuse and wouldst not cast
Thyself down. Oh, of course, Thou didst proudly and well, like
God; but the weak, unruly race of men, are they gods? Oh, Thou
didst know then that in taking one step, in making one movement
to cast Thyself down, Thou wouldst be tempting God and have lost
all Thy faith in Him, and wouldst have been dashed to pieces
against that earth which Thou didst come to save. And the wise
spirit that tempted Thee would have rejoiced. But I ask again,
are there many like Thee? And couldst Thou believe for one moment
that men, too, could face such a temptation? Is the nature of
men such, that they can reject miracle, and at the great moments
of their life, the moments of their deepest, most agonising spiritual
difficulties, cling only to the free verdict of the heart? Oh,
Thou didst know that Thy deed would be recorded in books, would
be handed down to remote times and the utmost ends of the earth,
and Thou didst hope that man, following Thee, would cling to
God and not ask for a miracle. But Thou didst not know that when
man rejects miracle he rejects God too; for man seeks not so
much God as the miraculous. And as man cannot bear to be without
the miraculous, he will create new miracles of his own for himself,
and will worship deeds of sorcery and witchcraft, though he might
be a hundred times over a rebel, heretic and infidel. Thou didst
not come down from the Cross when they shouted to Thee, mocking
and reviling Thee, "Come down from the cross and we will
believe that Thou art He." Thou didst not come down, for
again Thou wouldst not enslave man by a miracle, and didst crave
faith given freely, not based on miracle. Thou didst crave for
free love and not the base raptures of the slave before the might
that has overawed him for ever. But Thou didst think too highly
of men therein, for they are slaves, of course, though rebellious
by nature. Look round and judge; fifteen centuries have passed,
look upon them. Whom hast Thou raised up to Thyself? I swear,
man is weaker and baser by nature than Thou hast believed him!
Can he, can he do what Thou didst? By showing him so much respect,
Thou didst, as it were, cease to feel for him, for Thou didst
ask far too much from him -- Thou who hast loved him more than
Thyself! Respecting him less, Thou wouldst have asked less of
him. That would have been more like love, for his burden would
have been lighter. He is weak and vile. What though he is everywhere
now rebelling against our power, and proud of his rebellion?
It is the pride of a child and a schoolboy. They are little children
rioting and barring out the teacher at school. But their childish
delight will end; it will cost them dear. Mankind as a whole
has always striven to organise a universal state. There have
been many great nations with great histories, but the more highly
they were developed the more unhappy they were, for they felt
more acutely than other people the craving for world-wide union.
The great conquerors, Timours and Ghenghis-Khans, whirled like
hurricanes over the face of the earth striving to subdue its
people, and they too were but the unconscious expression of the
same craving for universal unity. Hadst Thou taken the world
and Caesar's purple, Thou wouldst have founded the universal
state and have given universal peace. For who can rule men if
not he who holds their conscience and their bread in his hands?
We have taken the sword of Caesar, and in taking it, of course,
have rejected Thee and followed him. Oh, ages are yet to come
of the confusion of free thought, of their science and cannibalism.
For having begun to build their tower of Babel without us, they
will end, of course, with cannibalism. But then the beast will
crawl to us and lick our feet and spatter them with tears of
blood. And we shall sit upon the beast and raise the cup, and
on it will be written, "Mystery." But then, and only
then, the reign of peace and happiness will come for men. Thou
art proud of Thine elect, but Thou hast only the elect, while
we give rest to all. And besides, how many of those elect, those
mighty ones who could become elect, have grown weary waiting
for Thee, and have transferred and will transfer the powers of
their spirit and the warmth of their heart to the other camp,
and end by raising their free banner against Thee. Thou didst
Thyself lift up that banner. But with us all will be happy and
will no more rebel nor destroy one another as under Thy freedom.
Oh, we shall persuade them that they will only become free when
they renounce their freedom to us and submit to us. And shall
we be right or shall we be lying? They will be convinced that
we are right, for they will remember the horrors of slavery and
confusion to which Thy freedom brought them. Freedom, free thought,
and science will lead them into such straits and will bring them
face to face with such marvels and insoluble mysteries, that
some of them, the fierce and rebellious, will destroy themselves,
others, rebellious but weak, will destroy one another, while
the rest, weak and unhappy, will crawl fawning to our feet and
whine to us: "Yes, you were right, you alone possess His
mystery, and we come back to you, save us from ourselves!"
"'Receiving bread from
us, they will see clearly that we take the bread made by their
hands from them, to give it to them, without any miracle. They
will see that we do not change the stones to bread, but in truth
they will be more thankful for taking it from our hands than
for the bread itself! For they will remember only too well that
in old days, without our help, even the bread they made turned
to stones in their hands, while since they have come back to
us, the very stones have turned to bread in their hands. Too,
too well will they know the value of complete submission! And
until men know that, they will be unhappy. Who is most to blame
for their not knowing it?-speak! Who scattered the flock and
sent it astray on unknown paths? But the flock will come together
again and will submit once more, and then it will be once for
all. Then we shall give them the quiet humble happiness of weak
creatures such as they are by nature. Oh, we shall persuade them
at last not to be proud, for Thou didst lift them up and thereby
taught them to be proud. 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. They
will marvel at us and will be awe-stricken before us, and will
be proud at our being so powerful and clever that we have been
able to subdue such a turbulent flock of thousands of millions.
They will tremble impotently before our wrath, their minds will
grow fearful, they will be quick to shed tears like women and
children, but they will be just as ready at a sign from us to
pass to laughter and rejoicing, to happy mirth and childish song.
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. We shall tell them that every sin will
be expiated, if it is done with our permission, that we allow
them to sin because we love them, and the punishment for these
sins we take upon ourselves. And we shall take it upon ourselves,
and they will adore us as their saviours who have taken on themselves
their sins before God. And they will have no secrets from us.
We shall allow or forbid them to live with their wives and mistresses,
to have or not to have children according to whether they have
been obedient or disobedient- and they will submit to us gladly
and cheerfully. The most painful secrets of their conscience,
all, all they will bring to us, and we shall have an answer for
all. And they will be glad to believe our answer, for it will
save them from the great anxiety and terrible agony they endure
at present in making a free decision for themselves. And all
will be happy, all the millions of creatures except the hundred
thousand who rule over them. For only we, we who guard the mystery,
shall be unhappy. There will be thousands of millions of happy
babes, and a hundred thousand sufferers who have taken upon themselves
the curse of the knowledge of good and evil. Peacefully they
will die, peacefully they will expire in Thy name, and beyond
the grave they will find nothing but death. But we shall keep
the secret, and for their happiness we shall allure them with
the reward of heaven and eternity. Though if there were anything
in the other world, it certainly would not be for such as they.
It is prophesied that Thou wilt come again in victory, Thou wilt
come with Thy chosen, the proud and strong, but we will say that
they have only saved themselves, but we have saved all. We are
told that the harlot who sits upon the beast, and holds in her
hands the mystery, shall be put to shame, that the weak will
rise up again, and will rend her royal purple and will strip
naked her loathsome body. But then I will stand up and point
out to Thee the thousand millions of happy children who have
known no sin. And we who have taken their sins upon us for their
happiness will stand up before Thee and say: "Judge us if
Thou canst and darest." Know that I fear Thee not. Know
that I too have been in the wilderness, I too have lived on roots
and locusts, I too prized the freedom with which Thou hast blessed
men, and I too was striving to stand among Thy elect, among the
strong and powerful, thirsting "to make up the number."
But I awakened and would not serve madness. I turned back and
joined the ranks of those who have corrected Thy work. I left
the proud and went back to the humble, for the happiness of the
humble. What I say to Thee will come to pass, and our dominion
will be built up. I repeat, to-morrow Thou shalt see that obedient
flock who at a sign from me will hasten to heap up the hot cinders
about the pile on which I shall burn Thee for coming to hinder
us. For if anyone has ever deserved our fires, it is Thou. To-morrow
I shall burn Thee. Dixi.'"
Ivan stopped. He was carried
away as he talked, and spoke with excitement; when he had finished,
he suddenly smiled.
(see Part 3) (my divisions due to e-mail restrictions)
...................................................................................................................................
From: golden3000997
Date: Thu Jan 22, 2004 6:26 pm
Subject: The Grand Inquisitor Part 3
The Grand Inquisitor
(continued)
Alyosha had listened in silence;
towards the end he was greatly moved and seemed several times
on the point of interrupting, but restrained himself. Now his
words came with a rush.
"But... that's absurd!"
he cried, flushing. "Your poem is in praise of Jesus, not
in blame of Him- as you meant it to be. And who will believe
you about freedom? Is that the way to understand it? That's not
the idea of it in the Orthodox Church.... That's Rome, and not
even the whole of Rome, it's false-those are the worst of the
Catholics the Inquisitors, the Jesuits!... And there could not
be such a fantastic creature as your Inquisitor. What are these
sins of mankind they take on themselves? Who are these keepers
of the mystery who have taken some curse upon themselves for
the happiness of mankind? When have they been seen? We know the
Jesuits, they are spoken ill of, but surely they are not what
you describe? They are not that at all, not at all.... They are
simply the Romish army for the earthly sovereignty of the world
in the future, with the Pontiff of Rome for Emperor... that's
their ideal, but there's no sort of mystery or lofty melancholy
about it.... It's simple lust of power, of filthy earthly gain,
of domination-something like a universal serfdom with them as
masters-that's all they stand for. They don't even believe in
God perhaps. Your suffering Inquisitor is a mere fantasy."
"Stay, stay," laughed
Ivan. "how hot you are! A fantasy you say, let it be so!
Of course it's a fantasy. But allow me to say: do you really
think that the Roman Catholic movement of the last centuries
is actually nothing but the lust of power, of filthy earthly
gain? Is that Father Paissy's teaching?"
"No, no, on the contrary,
Father Paissy did once say something rather the same as you...
but of course it's not the same, not a bit the same," Alyosha
hastily corrected himself.
"A precious admission,
in spite of your 'not a bit the same.' I ask you why your Jesuits
and Inquisitors have united simply for vile material gain? Why
can there not be among them one martyr oppressed by great sorrow
and loving humanity? You see, only suppose that there was one
such man among all those who desire nothing but filthy material
gain-if there's only one like my old Inquisitor, who had himself
eaten roots in the desert and made frenzied efforts to subdue
his flesh to make himself free and perfect. But yet all his life
he loved humanity, and suddenly his eyes were opened, and he
saw that it is no great moral blessedness to attain perfection
and freedom, if at the same time one gains the conviction that
millions of God's creatures have been created as a mockery, that
they will never be capable of using their freedom, that these
poor rebels can never turn into giants to complete the tower,
that it was not for such geese that the great idealist dreamt
his dream of harmony. Seeing all that he turned back and joined-
the clever people. Surely that could have happened?"
"Joined whom, what clever
people?" cried Alyosha, completely carried away. "They
have no such great cleverness and no mysteries and secrets....
Perhaps nothing but Atheism, that's all their secret. Your Inquisitor
does not believe in God, that's his secret!"
"What if it is so! At
last you have guessed it. It's perfectly true, it's true that
that's the whole secret, but isn't that suffering, at least for
a man like that, who has wasted his whole life in the desert
and yet could not shake off his incurable love of humanity? In
his old age he reached the clear conviction that nothing but
the advice of the great dread spirit could build up any tolerable
sort of life for the feeble, unruly, 'incomplete, empirical creatures
created in jest.' And so, convinced of this, he sees that he
must follow the counsel of the wise spirit, the dread spirit
of death and destruction, and therefore accept lying and deception,
and lead men consciously to death and destruction, and yet deceive
them all the way so that they may not notice where they are being
led, that the poor blind creatures may at least on the way think
themselves happy. And note, the deception is in the name of Him
in Whose ideal the old man had so fervently believed all his
life long. Is not that tragic? And if only one such stood at
the head of the whole army 'filled with the lust of power only
for the sake of filthy gain'- would not one such be enough to
make a tragedy? More than that, one such standing at the head
is enough to create the actual leading idea of the Roman Church
with all its armies and Jesuits, its highest idea. I tell you
frankly that I firmly believe that there has always been such
a man among those who stood at the head of the movement. Who
knows, there may have been some such even among the Roman Popes.
Who knows, perhaps the spirit of that accursed old man who loves
mankind so obstinately in his own way, is to be found even now
in a whole multitude of such old men, existing not by chance
but by agreement, as a secret league formed long ago for the
guarding of the mystery, to guard it from the weak and the unhappy,
so as to make them happy. No doubt it is so, and so it must be
indeed. I fancy that even among the Masons there's something
of the same mystery at the bottom, and that that's why the Catholics
so detest the Masons as their rivals breaking up the unity of
the idea, while it is so essential that there should be one flock
and one shepherd.... But from the way I defend my idea I might
be an author impatient of your criticism. Enough of it."
"You are perhaps a Mason yourself!" broke suddenly
from Alyosha. "You don't believe in God," he added,
speaking this time very sorrowfully. He fancied besides that
his brother was looking at him ironically. "How does your
poem end?" he asked, suddenly looking down.
"Or was it the end?"
"I meant to end it like
this. When the Inquisitor ceased speaking he waited some time
for his Prisoner to answer him. His silence weighed down upon
him. He saw that the Prisoner had listened intently all the time,
looking gently in his face and evidently not wishing to reply.
The old man longed for him to say something, however bitter and
terrible. But He suddenly approached the old man in silence and
softly kissed him on his bloodless aged lips. That was all his
answer. The old man shuddered. His lips moved. He went to the
door, opened it, and said to Him: 'Go, and come no more... come
not at all, never, never!' And he let Him out into the dark alleys
of the town. The Prisoner went away."
"And the old man?"
"The kiss glows in his
heart, but the old man adheres to his idea."
"And you with him, you
too?" cried Alyosha, mournfully.
Ivan laughed.
"Why, it's all nonsense,
Alyosha. It's only a senseless poem of a senseless student, who
could never write two lines of verse. Why do you take it so seriously?
Surely you don't suppose I am going straight off to the Jesuits,
to join the men who are correcting His work? Good Lord, it's
no business of mine. I told you, all I want is to live on to
thirty, and then... dash the cup to the ground!"
"But the little sticky
leaves, and the precious tombs, and the blue sky, and the woman
you love! How will you live, how will you love them?" Alyosha
cried sorrowfully. "With such a hell in your heart and your
head, how can you? No, that's just what you are going away for,
to join them... if not, you will kill yourself, you can't endure
it!"
"There is a strength
to endure everything," Ivan said with a cold smile.
"The strength of the
Karamazovs- the strength of the Karamazov baseness."
"To sink into debauchery,
to stifle your soul with corruption, yes?"
"Possibly even that...
only perhaps till I am thirty I shall escape it, and then-"
"How will you escape
it? By what will you escape it? That's impossible with your ideas."
"In the Karamazov way,
again."
"'Everything is lawful,'
you mean? Everything is lawful, is that it?"
Ivan scowled, and all at once
turned strangely pale.
"Ah, you've caught up
yesterday's phrase, which so offended Muisov- and which Dmitri
pounced upon so naively and paraphrased!" he smiled queerly.
"Yes, if you like, 'everything is lawful' since the word
has been said, I won't deny it. And Mitya's version isn't bad."
Alyosha looked at him in silence.
"I thought that going
away from here I have you at least," Ivan said suddenly,
with unexpected feeling; "but now I see that there is no
place for me even in your heart, my dear hermit. The formula,
'all is lawful,' I won't renounce - will you renounce me for
that, yes?"
Alyosha got up, went to him
and softly kissed him on the lips.
"That's plagiarism,"
cried Ivan, highly delighted. "You stole that from my poem.
Thank you though. Get up, Alyosha, it's time we were going, both
of us."
They went out, but stopped
when they reached the entrance of the restaurant.
"Listen, Alyosha,"
Ivan began in a resolute voice, "if I am really able to
care for the sticky little leaves I shall only love them, remembering
you. It's enough for me that you are somewhere here, and I shan't
lose my desire for life yet. Is that enough for you? Take it
as a declaration of love if you like. And now you go to the right
and I to the left. And it's enough, do you hear, enough. I mean
even if I don't go away to-morrow (I think I certainly shall
go) and we meet again, don't say a word more on these subjects.
I beg that particularly. And about Dmitri too, I ask you specially,
never speak to me again," he added, with sudden irritation;
"it's all exhausted, it has all been said over and over
again, hasn't it? And I'll make you one promise in return for
it. When at thirty, I want to 'dash the cup to the ground,' wherever
I may be I'll come to have one more talk with you, even though
it were from America, you may be sure of that. I'll come on purpose.
It will be very interesting to have a look at you, to see what
you'll be by that time. It's rather a solemn promise, you see.
And we really may be parting for seven years or ten. Come, go
now to your Pater Seraphicus, he is dying. If he dies without
you, you will be angry with me for having kept you. Good-bye,
kiss me once more; that's right, now go."
Ivan turned suddenly and went
his way without looking back. It was just as Dmitri had left
Alyosha the day before, though the parting had been very different.
The strange resemblance flashed like an arrow through Alyosha's
mind in the distress and dejection of that moment. He waited
a little, looking after his brother. He suddenly noticed that
Ivan swayed as he walked and that his right shoulder looked lower
than his left. He had never noticed it before. But all at once
he turned too, and almost ran to the monastery. It was nearly
dark, and he felt almost frightened; something new was growing
up in him for which he could not account. The wind had risen
again as on the previous evening, and the ancient pines murmured
gloomily about him when he entered the hermitage copse. He almost
ran. "Pater Seraphicus -- he got that name from somewhere
- where from?" Alyosha wondered. "Ivan, poor Ivan,
and when shall I see you again?... Here is the hermitage. Yes,
yes, that he is, Pater Seraphicus, he will save me- from him
and for ever!"
Several times afterwards he
wondered how he could, on leaving Ivan, so completely forget
his brother Dmitri, though he had that morning, only a few hours
before, so firmly resolved to find him and not to give up doing
so, even should he be unable to return to the monastery that
night.
From The Brothers Karamazov
by Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
1879
translated by Constance Garnett
...................................................................................................................................
From: Mike Helsher
Date: Fri Jan 23, 2004 9:26 pm
Subject: Re: [anthroposophy_tomorrow] The Grand Inquisitor Part
3
Thanks for that Christine!!
My little book stopped at the first kiss. It was great to read
the rest of the story.
How are You?
Truth and Love
Mike
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Click to subscribe to anthroposophy_tomorrow
January/February
2004
The Uncle
Taz "Anthroposophy Tomorrow" Files
Anthroposophy & Anarchism
Anthroposophy & Scientology
Anthroposophical
Morsels
Anthroposophy,
Critics, and Controversy