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Friday, 24 March 2023

The Brothers Karamazov: guilt

Spoiler alert: If you haven’t read the book, you probably shouldn’t read this blog post, in which I will discuss significant plot points. Whilst The Brothers Karamazov is not only a murder mystery and not only read for the plot, I do think the mystery is part of the enjoyment of the first reading. 



1/ There are different levels to the concept of guilt in The Brothers Karamazov. On the most basic level is the trial of Dmitry.

The chapters about the investigation and the trial are magnificent, especially the trial. There are many twists and turns. After all the witnesses are examined and cross-examined, we hear a speech from the prosecutor, who uses psychology to explain the case and convince the jury that Dmitry must be guilty. 

Then the defence attorney speaks: 

 “‘… Gentlemen of the jury, I am deliberately resorting to psychology myself in order to demonstrate that one can make of it anything one wants. It all depends on who is using it. Psychology lures even the most serious people into realms of fantasy, and quite without their realizing it. I am talking about an excess of psychology, gentlemen of the jury, in effect, a kind of abuse of psychology.’” (P.4, B.12, ch.10) 

(translated by Ignat Avsey) 

That is what Fetyukovich does. 

“‘… You see, gentlemen of the jury, since psychology is a two-edged sword, let me actually apply the other side of the blade and see whether I get the same results…’” (P.4, B.12, ch.11) 

In The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoyevsky demonstrates that even when evidence seems overwhelming and everything seems to point at one man, things may not be as they seem; he demonstrates, through the prosecutor Ippolit Kyrillovich, how someone may completely misinterpret everything and come to the wrong conclusion through “abuse of psychology”; and through Fetyukovich, he shows how someone may also use psychology to look at the same people and the same evidence from a different perspective.

Throughout the whole novel but especially in these chapters, Dostoyevsky shows that he has the same quality I admire so much in Tolstoy and Shakespeare: presenting opposite points of view and arguing for different sides. 


2/ Dostoyevsky raises another interesting question about guilt: is Ivan guilty?

The confrontations between Ivan and Smerdyakov are some of the best chapters in the book—partly because Smerdyakov is so well-depicted, so vivid as a malicious, spiteful, and extremely cunning man, who knows how to manipulate everyone and hit their weakest spots; and partly because the struggle, the torment within Ivan is so interesting and thought-provoking.

See the conversation between Alyosha and Ivan before the trial:

“‘All I know is,’ Alyosha continued, still almost whispering, ‘it was not you who killed father.’

‘Not me! What do you mean “not me”?’ Ivan was thunderstruck. 

‘It was not you who killed father, not you!’ repeated Alyosha firmly. 

There was a long pause. 

‘I know perfectly well it wasn’t me! Are you raving mad?’” (P.4, B.11, ch.5) 

Why does Alyosha say that? It’s an electrifying moment. As it turns out, Ivan later doesn’t “know perfectly well” it wasn’t him.

Can Ivan say he’s not guilty if he chose to leave, knowing that some disaster would happen? Can he clearly claim he knew nothing? 

Is he guilty if he wants his father to die? 


3/ Fetyukovich, the defence lawyer, also raises interesting questions about the concept of parents and parents’ duties—parricide is seen as morally wrong, shocking, and more outrageous than most other murders, but should one look at it that way when Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov has never acted as a father? Do his children owe him anything if he has never done anything for them? 

I’m not condoning the murder, I’m talking about the case being seen as baser, more shocking because it’s patricide.

Three of old Fyodor’s sons want him dead. 

 

4/ Another level of guilt in The Brothers Karamazov is to do with religion, and this is where I fail. 

Starets Zosima says his brother believes “truly, each one of us is guilty of the sins of all other men” (P.2, B.6, ch.2)

The belief comes back to him before the duel: “each of us is truly guilty of the other’s sin, only people don’t want to acknowledge it, but if they were to acknowledge it—there’d be paradise on earth immediately.” (ibid.) 

And he thinks to himself: 

“‘surely that can’t be untrue? Truly, I am perhaps the guiltiest of the guilty, and the worst of men upon this earth!’” (ibid.) 

This is before his conversion—it is significant. 

In a section called “Can we sit in judgement over one’s fellow men? On keeping the faith to the end”, Zosima says: 

“If you are able to take upon yourself the crimes of the criminal standing before you, whom you are condemning in your heart, then do so immediately and endure the suffering for him, allowing the man himself to go free and unrebuked.” (P.2, B.6, ch.3) 

I guess “you” is the monks and other people in the monastery rather than everyone (is it?), but even then, it sounds nonsensical to me. 

“If men’s evil should arouse your indignation and cause you unbearable distress, even to the point of making you feel vindictive towards malefactors, fear this feeling more than anything; go at once and seek torments for yourself such as you ought to suffer were you yourself guilty of the crime. Take these torments upon yourself and endure them, and your heart will be appeased and you will understand that you too are guilty, for you could have been the one without sin and the guiding light unto the malefactors, and you were not…” (ibid.) 

This is the kind of teaching I cannot get behind. I refuse to accept it.

Oddly, Dmitry, knowing that he committed no murder and no robbery, says to Grushenka “It’s on account of the bairn that I must go to Siberia” (P.4, B.11, ch.1). Is that about shared guilt, or something else? 

5 comments:

  1. "This is the kind of teaching I cannot get behind. I refuse to accept it."

    In the theological worldview, if you insist on retributive, "earthly" justice for crimes, you are basically denying one of the core estachological tenets of the religion itself which says that justice will be done at the end of time. Basically wait and have patience and in the meantime experience the sublimity of universal forgiveness.

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    1. I understand that's the worldview, but I refuse to accept it. It makes no sense to me.

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  2. Here's an excerpt from Joseph Frank's A Writer in His Time which may shed some light.

    No passage in Dostoevsky’s letter is more poignant than his description of the morally purifying effects of what he believed would be his last moments on earth. “If anyone remembers me as nasty,” Dostoevsky tells Mikhail, “or if I quarreled with anybody, if I produced an unpleasant impression on anyone—ask them to forget, if you happen to meet them. There is no gall and no rancor in my soul; I should so much like at this moment to love and to embrace just someone from among those I knew. This is a consolation, I experienced it today, saying good-bye to those dear to me before death.” If the values of expiation, forgiveness, and love were destined to take precedence over all others in Dostoevsky’s artistic universe, it was surely because he had encountered them as a truth responding to the most anguished predicament of his own life. Indeed, it is Dostoevsky’s piercing sense of the awful fragility and transiency of human existence that will soon enable him to depict, with a powerful urgency unrivaled by any other modern writer, the unconditional and absolute Christian commandment of mutual, all-forgiving, and all-embracing love. For Dostoevsky’s morality is similar to what some theologians, speaking of the early Christians, have called an “interim ethics,” that is, an ethics whose uncompromising extremism springs from the lurking imminence of the Day of Judgment and the Final Reckoning: there is no time for anything but the last kiss of reconciliation because, quite literally, there is no “time.” The strength (as well as some of the weakness) of Dostoevsky’s work may ultimately be traced to the stabbing acuity with which, above all, he wished to communicate the saving power of this eschatological core of the Christian faith

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  3. On a deep level, Ivan *is* guilty, but he also is *not.* He didn't literally commit the murder, but he did more than just let it happen; he caused it. He caused it through his conversation with Smerdyakov, just after he spoke to Alyosha. What's interesting about Ivan's guilt is that he is actually conscious of having done something evil almost instantly after his conversation with Smerdyakov in the chapter "It's always rewarding to speak with an intelligent man." In telling Smerdyakov that he is leaving, he is giving permission for the murder to happen; that is obvious to him on some level even at the time. Remember how he very nearly beats Smerdyakov right then and there as a reaction to their conversation. And then, as he takes the train away, he becomes more and more despondent, finally ending in the statement, "I am a loathsome creature" (or something like that, depending on the translation; by the way, the same words that Lise uses later to describe herself). He knows, on some level, that he is complicit in a murder. He doesn't merely cause the death of Fyodor by his inaction -- he signals to Smerdyakov that he wants Fyodor dead; in that way he both actively and passively causes his murder. He tries to pretend to himself that he doesn't know this, but he is always aware of it. That is why it is so crucial for him that Dmitry be guilty; because if Dmitry isn't guilty then Smerdyakov is, and that means that he is. This is, I think, what Smerdyakov means when he says that Ivan is most like his father: of all the brothers, he is capable of the greatest evil. Alyosha is capable of no evil at all. Dmitry is capable of acts of barbarity when transported by passion, but he has a noble soul with a very strong moral core. But Ivan, unlike Fyodor, is also tortured by the evil within himself; not to mention the evil in the world around him.

    So what does it mean when Alyosha repeatedly tells him "It was not you who killed our father." Because in a very real way, he *did* kill him, no? But Alyosha does not lie. What Alyosha says is also a very interesting statement about guilt. I think Alyosha is acknowledging the fact that guilt is not always black or white. It exists in shades and gradations. And while it is crucial to take on the guilt that you are genuinely responsible for, it is crushing to take on more than that. He is saying that consenting in the murder, turning your back when you know the murder is about to happen, is NOT the same thing is committing the murder. And the two should not be treated the same. Just as he later tells Dmitry that he should not take on guilt for an act for which he was not responsible (and therefore consents in his escape), he is telling Ivan that he cannot and should not take on the whole guilt for the murder. What he did was wrong, but it was not the same thing as murder. Of course, this is a denial of Zossima's notion that one should take on the guilt of the world -- but I have no doubt Zossima would have agreed with Alyosha's notions here.

    The book is most fascinating in these strange shades of psychology and meaning, all of the layers of moral ambiguity, the way it always seems to recede from the grasp. That's why it is great philosophy as well as great literature -- the rarest of things in art.

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    1. Yeah, this is why I think Ivan is the most interesting character in The Brothers Karamazov, and his struggle, both with God and with guilt, is the most interesting part of the book.
      I wonder how film adaptations would address all these ideas.

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