"In most cases, people, even the most vicious, are much more naive and simple-minded than we assume them to be. And this is true of ourselves too."

- The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevksy, Book I, Chapter I

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevksy responses. Parts I & II.

i.

But it is possible, it is possible: the old grief, by a great mystery of human life, gradually passes into quiet, tender joy; instead of young, ebullient blood comes a mild, serene old age: I bless the sun's rising each day and my heart sings to it as before, but now I love its setting even more, it's long slanting rays, and with them quiet, mild, tender memories, dear images from the whole of a long and blessed life––and over all is God's truth, moving, reconciling, all-forgiving! My life is coming to an end, I know and sense it, but I feel with every day that is left me how my earthly life is already touching a new, infinite, unknown, but swift-approaching life, anticipating which my soul trembles with rapture, my mind is radiant, and my heart weeps joyfully. . .

Reading it now again I find myself in an interesting and even somewhat challenging place of having "lost the suspense" and sailing through to feel what is it, new and old, that appeals to me.

There is such power in the telling of the life of Zosima. There was such power that stayed with me in the previous read, and now again it was even strengthened. It is quite an extreme digression from the plot of the novel, one which I can't imagine being recommended by an editor, but one that somehow goes straight to the heart. I am not a Christian nor religious in any sense, but if in the world there are two things which bear the power to convert me –– Bach and From the Life of the Elder Zosima:

ii.

Personally, I loved Dostoevsky’s approach to the narrator in Demon, for it introduced a feeling of uncertainty about the validity of many aspects of the story which made it feel like the reader was being engulfed by the same confusion that broke out within the town. With that being said, I understand why David Stromberg felt that Dostoevsky perfected the narrator in The Brothers Karamazov since, at least in so far as I have read, this narration eliminates much of the confusion which opens the book up to a more ‘objective’ analysis.

There is a much greater emphasis on family in this novel than in the other works of his that I have read. There was so much time given to articulating the interpersonal dynamics and history between characters in Demons, but so much of this was between characters who were not directly related to each other. For example, it felt as though the first 140 or so pages of Demons were primarily a history of Stepan Trofimovitch and Varvara Petrovna’s experiences and history together, yet nowhere near the same amount of attention was devoted to Stavrogin’s past with his mother. Having the same amount of knowledge of the dynamics within the family of the Karamazovs, as well as some of the adjacent characters like Grigory, is really interesting since it is a fundamentally different type of relationship than previously explored.

I also feel that many of the characters have a lot more to them than is demonstrated by their actions. Alyosha’s actions suggest that he is far above the baselessness and depravity of his relatives, yet in the garden with Dimitri he admits that he occupies a ‘lower step’ than Dimitri. I assume that this may have been demonstrated in the later part of what I was supposed to have already read but I can only assume that. It is hard to tell if he is talking in the same vein as Father Zosima when he said that everyone is guilty of everything before everyone, himself more so than anyone else, or if he means this more literally in that he shares the same compulsions of his family.  Dimitri is also surprising because he is presented as someone without self-control who enjoys squandering his money on debauchery, and shares many characteristics with his father. Despite this, in the same interaction with Alyosha in the garden he sounds far more educated than I initially expected, which is exaggerated by the infusion of poetry in his speech. I believe that Fyodor Pavlovich may have done a similar thing during their interactions with Zosima by referencing Napravnik among other allusions, but the effect is not convincing.

iii.

A man who lies to himself, and believes his own lies, becomes unable to recognize truth, either in himself or in anyone else, and he ends up losing respect for himself and for others. When he has no respect for anyone, he can no longer love, and in him, he yields to his impulses, indulges in the lowest form of pleasure, and behaves in the end like an animal in satisfying his vices. And it all comes from lying--to others and to yourself.

What I am struck by most while reading this text is the presence of the non-duality teachings that Buddhism explains. The innermost world of the ordained… how he has accessed this fundamental truth of being that every novice faces (Alyosha)… the duality of wanting to leave this earth and the primal instinct to create on it, if not to leave a physical mark but to prove that we are beings capable of love and peace.

What comes through the speech of Father Zosima and his disciple Alyosha is the practice of a mind disciplined in its conquest of delusion. And yet he also does not neglect words, the banality of human existence, the human condition… having a body to maintain, pillars of thought and minds of conventional society. He is teaching what it means to be born onto the Earth suspended in pain and for somebody who knows the misery so deeply, the only thing left to do is to provide due commentary.

One of the main pillars of Buddhist doctrine is the idea that every being lives under the veil of ignorance and is in a constant process of awakening… coming into alignment with the ultimate truth of this world.  That he can bow down before the word of God and dance with the different levels of earth and creation is the speech of realizations. A testimony to how every modality of being can be accessed within a poem.

I am reading this side-by-side next to scripture and watching myself react to the elements of my faith being accessed that in all my life have remained unspoken.

One teacher I studied dance with used to say that dance happened more in the space between movements, that beauty was created in the contrasts of the world. And in the same way, Dostoevsky writes about faith in between breaths and limitations of thought. It is a faith of conviction, of mercy. Of realizing that there will be no truth in dialogue until every sin is confessed.

iv.

The Brothers Karamazov focuses to a large degree on children, and on childhood as a concept. Indeed, some of Ivan’s and Father Zosima’s most influential ideas are based upon the child and its innocence, its lack of sin, and, thus, the perspective that it offers for the sinful adult and, in specific instances, the flaws of the justice system. This is interesting to think about in comparison with Dostoevsky’s previous works, which deal so little with domesticity in any regard. I think that this speaks to the importance of Alyosha as the novel’s “hero.” He is described as innocent and is compared time and again to Christ, “the only sinless One” (321). Alyosha, though twenty, is childlike, more so than any of Dostoevsky’s other heroes. He is able to converse with everyone in the book, but with the children especially. It is as if the child in Dostoevsky — as both character and concept, in how it relates to and influences the adult world — was born in the birth scene in Demons, with the almost religious wonder that Shatov experiences in that moment. This focus on childhood innocence is particularly effective in contrast with the pervasive essence of the Karamazov family (sensuality, the “scoundrel,” baseness), and such a juxtaposition is captured perfectly in the very makeup of Alyosha. He seems to me to be an anti-Stavrogin, Christ to Stavrogin’s demon, and yet the most interesting parts of Alyosha are the parts that are aware of his inherent Karamazov nature, his potential to follow in the footsteps of his family. In this, the narrative of Alyosha is, in a way, a sort of coming-of-age plot (if I’m allowed to say such a thing about a Dostoevsky work…), for he is on the brink of growing up in certain ways (having sex, becoming disenfranchised), is surrounded by “scoundrels” and sinners, and must solidify his sense of self in the midst of it all.

v.

The more I detest men individually the more ardent becomes my love for humanity.

Wow... it definitely reads as the culmination of Dostoevsky's life's work, a thematic and stylistic fulfillment. It's interesting to see where so many of the characters seem to have been inspired by those in his previous work, but greatly expounded upon and reinvigorated. Alyosha recalls Prince Myshkin of The Idiot, although the more I read, and the more Alylosha descends from the monastery into the worldly affairs of his family, the less I believe him to be as purely innocent as when he is first introduced. Is there not some hidden part of him that is in fact deeply sensualist, like his brothers and father? Lise seems to believe that to be the case, and it's almost as if she intends to draw that out of him in her toying conversations with him.

I'm sure it's an often-repeated cliché that Dostoevsky's characters seem to take on a life of their own; independently of the novel and the author, it's as if they speak for themselves, in their own right. However, there is some truth to that statement, no doubt, and Brothers is the greatest demonstration to that effect. Even the minor characters, such as Snegiryov and poor little Smurov are so vividly rendered and wholly unique—I found it hilarious that both the father and son, in separate instances, literally flee in shame from Alyosha when he tries to help them. What's most fascinating to me, is how these characters become alive not mainly through the author's description, but moreover in their social interactions with the other characters and the world of the novel, and most of all through their extensive dialogues. The dynamic established between Fyodor's gross self-indulgence, Ivan's cool nihilism, Dimitri's reckless ill-temperament, and Alyosha's novice virtue presents such a rich network of personalities and motivations, which then extends to and entangles the more peripheral characters outside the family, and ultimately gives the novel that overpowering sense of it becoming alive as one reads.

vi.

If you were to destroy in mankind the belief in immortality, not only love but every living force maintaining the life of the world would at once be dried up. Moreover, nothing then would be immoral; everything would be lawful, even cannibalism.

I think its very interesting the way this book is similarly written to ‘Demons’ in various different ways. Dovestesky unique and philosophical way of explaining things is very interesting and also unique and immediately upon reading the first Paragraph of the Brothers Karama I immediately felt the stylistic similarities to Demons both in its dialogue and structure. The character descriptions are similarly opinionated as they were in Demons. It raises many questions as the how much is actual fiction and how much is fact and opinion because there seems to be this pattern of opinionated observations and sense of moral judgment in both this book and Demons. Telling the story of Fydor Pavlovich through Dovestesky typical stylistic observations and judgment was very interesting and there seemed initially to be many parallels in character archetypes. As I progressed through Part one I began to see how this book begins to diverge farther from Demons and solidify its own identity. Adelaida Ivanovna leaving her marriage contrasts some of the themes of Demons yet there is a consistent theme of how in this turning age in russian history nobility and noble birth is becoming further meaningless as it isn't able to protect their sons from abandonment and trauma. From the beginning Fydor is portrayed as the one being abused by his wife but then this is complicated when he seemingly forgets about his infant son turning the moral questions of Part one completely upside down. It would seem this attempt at moral supremacy yet complication of moral decision making is something consistent throughout Dovestesky's works.

Religion and Dostoevsky strike again. This time it’s all over the place!

Early on I realized that this section, pages 26 and 27, made me think of Demons, as well as some of our discussion in class about the idea of belief and spirituality. I can’t help but think that Dostoevsky is creating this story as well as explaining a bit of his own journey with religion, and how he may deal with those unanswered questions regarding belief and the realist.  (Seeing as he feels like both)

"In the realist, faith is not born from miracles, but miracles from faith. Once the realist comes to believe, then, precisely because of his realism, he must allow for miracles"…..“I will not believe until I see.”

The “shrieker”, his mother, and the memory of icons and sunlight, seem to show religion being reflected in the human being, not just God. Similar to the painting of the very real body of Jesus Christ we looked at, which I tried to google "Jesus on deathbed bony painting" and failed. (what's the name of this piece, please I'm desperate.) I’m also thinking about how Dostoevsky writes as if he lives in the now, not the after (death.) That spiritual experience lives in Aloyshka in the same way it seems. His belief in his mother’s light, and Zosima’s powerful and unchanging “truth.” This is also present when we witness the “possessed” peasant women, whom seem to actually be struggling with postpartum and grief.

I agree with Katya about a Buddhist approach, "the duality of wanting to leave this earth and the primal instinct to create on it, if not to leave a physical mark but to prove that we are beings capable of love and peace."

Ivan’s struggle with belief is fascinating. I thoroughly enjoyed the debate/conversation he has with Zosima.

And similar to what Samuel felt, I’m finding that even though we’re introduced to these brothers and have an idea of who they are, we’re slowly being surprised by contradictions. Ivan’s unstable beliefs, Dmitri’s brutish and physically strong nature vs the tearful poetry he whispers in the garden to Aloyshka.

These are just a few thoughts on Part One, and I'm slowly working my way through Part Two. Obviously Smerdyakov isn't as dumb as he may seem. He has that "watch out" factor, and Fydor's care for him seems to blind him of that. I was reading a little too fast and I'll be going back to re-read; loving what others have to say too!

vii.

Beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and devil are fighting there and the battlefield is the heart of man.

Again struck by Dostoevsky's thorough thematic embrace of the paradoxes within his characters, the person they feel drawn to be versus the one they feel doomed to become, and their acute and agonized awareness of these discrepancies. And that they are often declaiming these transformations as they are happening! (As opposed to British Victorian novels, where the psychological component is either drawn by the omniscient narrator or reveals itself in some perverse, repressed way). Dostoevsky's characters move swiftly down the river towards the waterfall, narrating the whole time. This strikes me as an accurate, if dramatic, depiction of how incomprehensible our human behaviour can be to ourselves--not only the "why did I do that", but the "why am I doing this right this moment when I really don't want to be doing it, when I know the outcome will be terrible".  I feel great affinity for all of them, Fyodor and Dmitri included, for this reason.

The characters do this to themselves--"fate", or the inevitable, do not seem to play a narrative role in Dostoevsky cosmology. The curse of being a sensualist, an incorrigible Karamazov, is accepted by the characters as genetic and irreversible rather than fated--before a time when we knew just how many factors of personality were heritable. And thus the spiritual path is one that has to be chosen again and again, in spite of or in struggle against the baser hungers of existence, not just for safety and peace of mind, but in active opposition to temptation and genetics. The Grand Inquisitor is right--this is not a path for the faint of heart, and few can honestly pursue it in the full freedom that Jesus offered. He (Jesus) assumed that humans were capable of being a "servant to their servant", of the vulnerability required to fully give into the mystery of existence. Instead, how fearful and petty we are, always needing to know ourselves in relation to others existing things and people; removing that framework and just being really is the challenge of faith.

I look forward to really delving into "freedom" as it is presented here, as not an outward thing that is bestowed upon us but an inner claim we accept and endeavour to maintain.