The Brothers Karamazov (46 page)

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Through our mother earth entire

Wandering, His cross He bore,

The Heavenly King in slave’s attire,

Blessing all He came before.

*

And that is just what happened, believe me. He decided to show Himself, if only for a moment, to His people, long-suffering, tormented, sinful people who loved Him with a child-like love. My story takes place in Spain, in Seville, during the grimmest days of the Inquisition, when throughout the country fires were burning endlessly to the greater glory of God and

*

In autos-da-fé resplendent

Wicked heretics were burned.

*

“Of course, this was not the coming in which He had promised to appear in all His heavenly glory at the end of time and which would be as sudden as a bolt of lightning cutting the sky from east to west. No, He wanted to come only for a moment to visit His children and He chose to appear where the fires were crackling under the heretics.

“In His infinite mercy He came among men in human form, just as He had walked among them fifteen centuries before. He came down to that sun-baked Southern city the day after nearly a hundred heretics had been burned all at once 
ad majorem gloriam Dei
, in a resplendent auto-da-fé by the order of the Cardinal, the Grand Inquisitor, and in the presence of the King, the royal court, knights, beautiful ladies-in-waiting, and the entire population of Seville.

“He came unobserved and moved about silently but, strangely enough, those who saw Him recognized Him at once. This might, perhaps, be the best part of my poem—I mean if I could explain what made them recognize Him . . . People are drawn to Him by an irresistible force, they gather around Him, follow Him, and soon there is a crowd. He walks among them in silence, a gentle smile of infinite compassion on His lips. The sun of love burns in His heart; light, understanding, and spiritual power flow from His eyes and set people’s hearts vibrating with love for Him. He holds His hands out to them, blesses them, and just from touching Him, or even His clothes, comes a healing power. An old man who has been blind from childhood suddenly cries out to Him: ‘Cure me, O Lord, so that I may see You too!’ And it is as if scales had fallen from his eyes, and the blind man sees Him. People weep and kiss the ground on which He walks. Children scatter flowers in His path and cry out to Him, ‘Hosannah!’ ‘It is He, He Himself!’ people keep saying. ‘Who else could it be!’ He stops on the steps of the cathedral of Seville at a moment when a small white coffin is carried into the church by weeping bearers. In it lies a girl of seven, the only daughter of a prominent man. She lies there amidst flowers. ‘He will raise your child from the dead!’ people shout to the weeping mother. The priest, who has come out of the cathedral to meet the procession, looks perplexed and frowns. But now the mother of the dead child throws herself at His feet, wailing, ‘If it is truly You, give me back my child!’ and she stretches out her hands to Him. The procession stops. They put the coffin down at His feet. He looks down with compassion, His lips form the words ‘
Talitha cumi’
—arise, maiden—and the maiden arises. The little girl sits up in her coffin, opens her little eyes, looks around in surprise, and smiles. She holds the white roses that had been placed in her hand when they had laid her in the coffin. There is confusion among the people, shouting and weeping . . .

“Just at that moment, the Cardinal, the Grand Inquisitor himself, crosses the cathedral square. He is a man of almost ninety, tall and erect. His face is drawn, his eyes are sunken, but they still glow as though a spark smoldered in them. Oh, now he is not wearing his magnificent cardinal’s robes in which he paraded before the crowds the day before, when they were burning the enemies of the Roman Church; no, today he is wearing just the coarse cassock of an ordinary monk. He is followed by his grisly assistants, his slaves, his ‘holy guard.’ He sees the crowd gathered, stops, and watches from a distance. He sees everything: the placing of the coffin at His feet and the girl rising from it. His face darkens. He knits his thick white brows; his eyes flash with an ominous fire. He points his finger and orders his guards to seize Him.

“The Grand Inquisitor’s power is so great and the people are so submissive and tremblingly obedient to him that they immediately open up a passage for the guards. A death-like silence descends upon the square and in that silence the guards lay hands on Him and lead Him away.

“Then everyone in the crowd, to a man, prostrates himself before the Grand Inquisitor. The old man blesses them in silence and passes on.

“The guards take their prisoner to an old building of the Holy Inquisition and lock Him up there in a dark, narrow, vaulted prison cell. The day declines and is replaced by the stifling, black Southern night of Seville. The air is fragrant with laurel and lemon.

“Suddenly, in the complete darkness, the iron gate of the cell opens and there stands the Grand Inquisitor himself, holding a light in his hand. The old man enters the cell alone and, when he is inside, the door closes behind him. He stops and for a long time—one or even two minutes—he looks at Him. At last he sets the light down on the table and says: ‘You? Is it really You?’ Receiving no answer, he continues in great haste:

“‘You need not answer me. Say nothing. I know only too well what You could tell me now. Besides, You have no right to add anything to what You said before. Why did You come here, to interfere and make things difficult for us? For You came to interfere—You know it. But shall I tell You what will happen tomorrow? Well, I do not know who You really are, nor do I want to know whether You are really He or just a likeness of Him, but no later than tomorrow I shall pronounce You the wickedest of all heretics and sentence You to be burned at the stake, and the very people who today were kissing Your feet will tomorrow, at a sign of my hand, hasten to Your stake to rake the coals. Don’t You know it? Oh yes, I suppose You do,’ he added, deeply immersed in thought, his eyes fixed for a moment on his prisoner.”

“I don’t quite understand what you’re trying to say, Ivan,” Alyosha said with a smile. Until then he had listened in silence. “Is it just some wild fantasy or is there a mistake in identity, a 
quid pro quo
, by your grand inquisitor?”

“Why, you may assume the latter if you wish,” Ivan said laughingly, “since, as I see, you have been so spoiled by our contemporary brand of realism that you cannot accept anything that is a bit fantastic. If you wish to call it an error of identity, all right, so be it! It is a fact though,” he said, starting to laugh again, “that the Inquisitor is ninety years old, so he has had plenty of time to have been driven completely out of his mind by his 
idée fixe
. As to his prisoner, he may have been struck by the man’s looks. Or perhaps he was just having hallucinations, which can easily happen to a ninety-year-old man close to death, and what’s more, excited by the previous day’s burning at the stake of a hundred heretics. But, really, why should we care whether it is a wild fantasy or a 
quid pro quo?
What matters is that the old man must speak his mind. At ninety this is the first time that he is saying aloud something about which he has kept silent all those ninety years.”

“And the prisoner—He just looks at him and says nothing?”

“Why, yes,” Ivan laughed once more, “and that’s as it should be in any case. Besides, the old man himself reminds Him that He may not add a single word to what He has said before. I might add that this may be the most crucial feature of Roman Catholicism, at least the way I see it. It’s as if the Grand Inquisitor said to Him: ‘You have transmitted all Your authority to the Pope and now he wields it. As to You, You had better stay away or, at any rate, not interefere with us for the time being.’ They don’t just say that, they even have it in writing, at least the Jesuits have. I’ve read it myself in the works of their theologians.

“‘Do You think You have the right to reveal even a single mystery of the world from which You come?’ the Grand Inquisitor asks Him and then answers himself: ‘No, You do not, for You may not add anything to what has been said before and You may not deprive men of the freedom You defended so strongly when You were on earth. Anything new that You might reveal to them now would encroach upon the freedom of their faith, for it would come to them as a miracle, and fifteen centuries ago it was freely given faith that was most important to You. Didn’t You often tell them then that You wanted to make them free. Well, then,’ the old man adds with a grin, ‘so now You have seen 
free
 men. Yes, that business cost us a great deal,’ he continues, looking sternly at Him, ‘but at last, in Your name, we saw it through. For fifteen hundred years we were pestered by that notion of freedom, but in the end we succeeded in getting rid of it, and now we are rid of it for good. You don’t believe that we got rid of it, do You? You look at me so gently, and You do not even consider me worthy of Your anger? I want You to know, though, that on this very day men are convinced that they are freer than they have ever been, although they themselves brought us their freedom and put it meekly at our feet. This is what we have achieved, but was it really what You wanted, was this the freedom that You wanted to bring them?’ ”

“I’m afraid I’m lost again,” Alyosha interrupted Ivan, “is he being sarcastic? Is he laughing at Him?”

“He certainly is not. Indeed, he is claiming for himself and his church the credit for having done away with freedom and having thus given happiness to mankind.

“‘It is only now,’ he says, obviously thinking of the Inquisition, ‘that it has become possible, for the first time, to think of men’s happiness. Man is a rebel by nature and how can a rebel be happy? You were warned,’ he says to Him. ‘There was no lack of warnings and signs, but You chose to ignore them. You spurned the only way that could have brought happiness to men. Fortunately, though, You allowed us to take over from You when You left. You made commitments to us, You sealed them with Your word, You gave us the right to loosen and to bind their shackles, and, of course, You cannot think of depriving us of that right now. Why, then, have You come to interfere with us now?’ ”

“What does that mean—there was no lack of warnings and signs?” Alyosha said.

“Well, that’s precisely the most important point the old man must make.

“‘The wise and dreaded spirit of self-destruction and nonexistence,’ the old man went on, ‘spoke to You in the desert and we learn from the books that he tried to tempt You. Was he really trying to 
tempt
 You, though? Could anything be truer than what he revealed to You in his three questions that You rejected, questions that were called “temptations” in the books? And yet, if a truly blinding miracle has ever happened on this earth, it happened on that day in the form of those three temptations. And it was precisely in those three questions that the miracle lay. If, for instance, those three questions asked by the dread spirit had been lost and we had had to rediscover and reinvent them, we would have had to assemble for that purpose all the world’s wise men—rulers, high priests, scholars, philosophers, and poets—and to ask them to formulate three questions that would not only fit the magnitude of the occasion but also express in a few words, in three brief human sentences, the whole future history of the world and of mankind. Do You really believe that the combined wisdom of the earth could produce anything comparable in strength and depth to those three questions that the wise and powerful spirit asked You that day in the desert? From those questions alone, from the miracle of their formulation, it must be clear that it is not a matter of a transient human mind, but of something absolute and outside time. For those three questions contain the entire future history of man and they offer three symbols that reconcile all the irreconcilable strivings on earth which derive from the contradictions of human nature. It was not as clear at that time, because the future was still unknown. But now, fifteen centuries later, we can see that in those questions everything was perfectly foreseen and predicted and has proved so true that there is nothing we can add or subtract anymore.

“‘Judge for Yourself, then: who was right, You or the one who questioned You? Do You remember the first question? It was worded differently, but this is its purport: “You wanted to come into the world and You came empty-handed, with nothing but some vague promise of freedom, which, in their simple-mindedness and innate irresponsibility, men cannot even conceive and which they fear and dread, for there has never been anything more difficult for man and for human society to bear than freedom! And now, do You see those stones in this parched and barren desert? Turn them into loaves of bread and men will follow You like cattle, grateful and docile, although constantly fearful lest You withdraw Your hand and they lose Your loaves.” But You did not want to deprive man of freedom and You rejected this suggestion, for, You thought, what sort of freedom would they have if their obedience was bought with bread? You replied that man does not live by bread alone, but do You know that for the sake of that earthly bread, the spirit of the earth will rise up against You, will confront and conquer You, and they will all follow him, shouting, “Who is there to match the beast who has brought us fire from heaven?” Do You know that more centuries will pass and men of wisdom and learning will proclaim that there is no such thing as crime, that there is therefore no sin either, that there are only hungry people. “Feed us first, then ask for virtue”—that will be the motto on the banners of those who will oppose You, of those who will raze Your temple and build in its place a new, terrifying tower of Babel. And although they will never complete it, any more than they did the last one, nevertheless You could have prevented men from making this second attempt to build the tower and thus have shortened their sufferings by a thousand years, for in the end it is to us that they will come, after this unnecessary thousand years of torment! They will find us hiding somewhere underground, hiding again in the catacombs—for we shall again be persecuted and tortured—and they will beg us: “Give us food, for those who promised us fire from heaven have not given it to us!” And that will be the day when we shall finish building their tower for them, for the one who feeds them will be the one who finishes building it, and we will be the only ones capable of feeding them. And we shall give them bread in Your name and lie, telling them that it is in Your name. Oh, never, never would they be able to feed themselves without us! There is no knowledge that could supply them with bread as long as they remain free. So, in the end, they will lay their freedom at our feet and say to us: “Enslave us, but feed us!” And they will finally understand that freedom and the assurance of daily bread for everyone are two incompatible notions that could never coexist! They will also discover that men can never be free because they are weak, corrupt, worthless, and restless. You promised them heavenly bread but, I repeat, how can that bread compete against earthly bread in dealing with the weak, ungrateful, permanently corrupt human species? And even if hundreds or thousands of men follow You for the sake of heavenly bread, what will happen to the millions who are too weak to forego their earthly bread? Or is it only the thousands of the strong and mighty who are dear to Your heart, while the millions of others, the weak ones, who love You too, weak as they are, and who are as numerous as the grains of sand on the beach, are to serve as material for the strong and mighty? But we are concerned with the weak too! They are corrupt and undisciplined, but in the end they will be the obedient ones! They will marvel at us and worship us like gods, because, by becoming their masters, we have accepted the burden of freedom that they were too frightened to face, just because we have agreed to rule over them—that is how terrifying freedom will have become to them finally! We shall tell them, though, that we are loyal to You and that we rule over them in Your name. We shall be lying, because we do not intend to allow You to come back. And it is in this deception that our suffering will consist, because we will have to lie! So this is the meaning of the first question You were asked in the desert, and this is what You rejected in the name of the freedom that You put above all else. And yet that question contains one of the great mysteries on which our world is founded. Had You been willing to give them bread, You would have satisfied the eternal craving of both individual man and human society as a whole—to have someone to worship. There is nothing a free man is so anxious to do as to find something to worship. But it must be something unquestionable, that all men can agree to worship communally. For the great concern of these miserable creatures is not that every individual should find something to worship that he personally considers worthy of worship, but that they should find something in which they can 
all
 believe and which they can all worship 
in common;
 it is essential that it should be in common. And it is precisely that requirement of 
shared
 worship that has been the principal source of suffering for individual man and the human race since the beginning of history. In their efforts to impose universal worship, men have unsheathed their swords and killed one another. They have invented gods and challenged each other: “Discard your gods and worship mine or I will destroy both your gods and you!” And this is how it will be until the end of time, even after gods have vanished from the earth—for they are bound, in the end, to yield to idols. You knew, You couldn’t help knowing, this fundamental mystery of human nature and, knowing it, You nevertheless spurned the only banner that was offered You, that would have made them follow You and worship You without a murmur—the banner of earthly bread. But You chose to reject it in the name of freedom, in the name of spiritual bread! And look what You did after that, again in the name of freedom. I tell You once more that man has no more pressing, agonizing need than the need to find someone to whom he can hand over as quickly as possible the gift of freedom with which the poor wretch comes into the world. But only one who can appease a man’s conscience can take his freedom from him. In bread, You were offered something that could have brought You indisputable loyalty: You would give man bread and man would bow down to You, because there is nothing more indisputable than bread. But if, at the same time, someone else succeeded in capturing his conscience, then man might even spurn Your bread and follow the one who ensnared his conscience. This is something about which You were right. For the mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for. Without a concrete idea of what he is living for, man would refuse to live, would rather exterminate himself than remain on this earth, even if bread were scattered all around him.