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The elder's absence from his cell had lasted for about twenty-five
minutes. It was more than half-past twelve, but Dmitri, on whose
account they had all met there, had still not appeared. But he
seemed almost to be forgotten, and when the elder entered the cell
again, he found his guests engaged in eager conversation. Ivan and the
two monks took the leading share in it. Miusov, too, was trying to
take a part, and apparently very eagerly, in the conversation. But
he was unsuccessful in this also. He was evidently in the
background, and his remarks were treated with neglect, which increased
his irritability. He had had intellectual encounters with Ivan
before and he could not endure a certain carelessness Ivan showed him.
"Hitherto at least I have stood in the front ranks of all that
is progressive in Europe, and here the new generation positively
ignores us," he thought.
Fyodor Pavlovitch, who had given his word to sit still and be
quiet, had actually been quiet for some time, but he watched his
neighbour Miusov with an ironical little smile, obviously enjoying his
discomfiture. He had been waiting for some time to pay off old scores,
and now he could not let the opportunity slip. Bending over his
shoulder he began teasing him again in a whisper.
"Why didn't you go away just now, after the 'courteously kissing'?
Why did you consent to remain in such unseemly company? It was because
you felt insulted and aggrieved, and you remained to vindicate
yourself by showing off your intelligence. Now you won't go till
you've displayed your intellect to them."
"You again?... On the contrary, I'm just going."
"You'll be the last, the last of all to go!" Fyodor Pavlovitch
delivered him another thrust, almost at the moment of Father Zossima's
return.
The discussion died down for a moment, but the elder, seating
himself in his former place, looked at them all as though cordially
inviting them to go on. Alyosha, who knew every expression of his
face, saw that he was fearfully exhausted and making a great effort.
Of late he had been liable to fainting fits from exhaustion. His
face had the pallor that was common before such attacks, and his
lips were white. But he evidently did not want to break up the
party. He seemed to have some special object of his own in keeping
them. What object? Alyosha watched him intently.
"We are discussing this gentleman's most interesting article,"
said Father Iosif, the librarian, addressing the elder, and indicating
Ivan. "He brings forward much that is new, but I think the argument
cuts both ways. It is an article written in answer to a book by an
ecclesiastical authority on the question of the ecclesiastical
court, and the scope of its jurisdiction."
"I'm sorry I have not read your article, but I've heard of it,"
said the elder, looking keenly and intently at Ivan.
"He takes up a most interesting position," continued the Father
Librarian. "As far as Church jurisdiction is concerned he is
apparently quite opposed to the separation of Church from State."
"That's interesting. But in what sense?" Father Zossima asked
Ivan.
The latter, at last, answered him, not condescendingly, as Alyosha
had feared, but with modesty and reserve, with evident goodwill and
apparently without the slightest arrierepensee
"I start from the position that this confusion of elements, that
is, of the essential principles of Church and State, will, of
course, go on for ever, in spite of the fact that it is impossible for
them to mingle, and that the confusion of these elements cannot lead
to any consistent or even normal results, for there is falsity at
the very foundation of it. Compromise between the Church and State
in such questions as, for instance, jurisdiction, is, to my
thinking, impossible in any real sense. My clerical opponent maintains
that the Church holds a precise and defined position in the State. I
maintain, on the contrary, that the Church ought to include the
whole State, and not simply to occupy a corner in it, and, if this is,
for some reason, impossible at present, then it ought, in reality,
to be set up as the direct and chief aim of the future development
of Christian society!"
"Perfectly true," Father Paissy, the silent and learned monk,
assented with fervour and decision.
"The purest Ultramontanism!" cried Miusov impatiently, crossing
and recrossing his legs.
"Oh, well, we have no mountains," cried Father Iosif, and
turning to the elder he continued: "Observe the answer he makes to the
following 'fundamental and essential' propositions of his opponent,
who is, you must note, an ecclesiastic. First, that 'no social
organisation can or ought to arrogate to itself power to dispose of
the civic and political rights of its members.' Secondly, that
'criminal and civil jurisdiction ought not to belong to the Church,
and is inconsistent with its nature, both as a divine institution
and as an organisation of men for religious objects,' and, finally, in
the third place, 'the Church is a kingdom not of this world.'
"A most unworthy play upon words for an ecclesiastic!" Father
Paissy could not refrain from breaking in again. "I have read the book
which you have answered," he added, addressing Ivan, "and was
astounded at the words 'The Church is a kingdom not of this world. 'If
it is not of this world, then it cannot exist on earth at all. In
the Gospel, the words 'not of this world' are not used in that
sense. To play with such words is indefensible. Our Lord Jesus
Christ came to set up the Church upon earth. The Kingdom of Heaven, of
course, is not of this world, but in Heaven; but it is only entered
through the Church which has been founded and established upon
earth. And so a frivolous play upon words in such a connection is
unpardonable and improper. The Church is, in truth, a kingdom and
ordained to rule, and in the end must undoubtedly become the kingdom
ruling over all the earth. For that we have the divine promise."
He ceased speaking suddenly, as though checking himself. After
listening attentively and respectfully Ivan went on, addressing the
elder with perfect composure and as before with ready cordiality:
"The whole point of my article lies in the fact that during the
first three centuries Christianity only existed on earth in the Church
and was nothing but the Church. When the pagan Roman Empire desired to
become Christian, it inevitably happened that, by becoming
Christian, it included the Church but remained a pagan State in very
many of its departments. In reality this was bound to happen. But Rome
as a State retained too much of the pagan civilisation and culture,
as, for example, in the very objects and fundamental principles of the
State. The Christian Church entering into the State could, of
course, surrender no part of its fundamental principles- the rock on
which it stands- and could pursue no other aims than those which
have been ordained and revealed by God Himself, and among them that of
drawing the whole world, and therefore the ancient pagan State itself,
into the Church. In that way (that is, with a view to the future) it
is not the Church that should seek a definite position in the State,
like 'every social organisation,' or as 'an organisation of men for
religious purposes' (as my opponent calls the Church), but, on the
contrary, every earthly State should be, in the end, completely
transformed into the Church and should become nothing else but a
Church, rejecting every purpose incongruous with the aims of the
Church. All this will not degrade it in any way or take from its
honour and glory as a great State, nor from the glory of its rulers,
but only turns it from a false, still pagan, and mistaken path to
the true and rightful path, which alone leads to the eternal goal.
This is why the author of the book On the Foundations of Church
Jurisdiction would have judged correctly if, in seeking and laying
down those foundations, he bad looked upon them as a temporary
compromise inevitable in our sinful and imperfect days. But as soon as
the author ventures to declare that the foundations which he
predicates now, part of which Father Iosif just enumerated, are the
permanent, essential, and eternal foundations, he is going directly
against the Church and its sacred and eternal vocation. That is the
gist of my article."
"That is, in brief," Father Paissy began again, laying stress on
each word, "according to certain theories only too clearly
formulated in the nineteenth century, the Church ought to be
transformed into the State, as though this would be an advance from
a lower to a higher form, so as to disappear into it, making way for
science, for the spirit of the age, and civilisation. And if the
Church resists and is unwilling, some corner will be set apart for her
in the State, and even that under control and this will be so
everywhere in all modern European countries. But Russian hopes and
conceptions demand not that the Church should pass as from a lower
into a higher type into the State, but, on the contrary, that the
State should end by being worthy to become only the Church and nothing
else. So be it! So be it!"
"Well, I confess you've reassured me somewhat," Miusov said
smiling, again crossing his legs. "So far as I understand, then, the
realisation of such an ideal is infinitely remote, at the second
coming of Christ. That's as you please. It's a beautiful Utopian dream
of the abolition of war, diplomacy, banks, and so on- something
after the fashion of socialism, indeed. But I imagined that it was all
meant seriously, and that the Church might be now going to try
criminals, and sentence them to beating, prison, and even death."
"But if there were none but the ecclesiastical court, the Church
would not even now sentence a criminal to prison or to death. Crime
and the way of regarding it would inevitably change, not all at once
of course, but fairly soon," Ivan replied calmly, without flinching.
"Are you serious?" Miusov glanced keenly at him.
"If everything became the Church, the Church would exclude all the
criminal and disobedient, and would not cut off their heads," Ivan
went on. "I ask you, what would become of the excluded? He would be
cut off then not only from men, as now, but from Christ. By his
crime he would have transgressed not only against men but against
the Church of Christ. This is so even now, of course, strictly
speaking, but it is not clearly enunciated, and very, very often the
criminal of to-day compromises with his conscience: 'I steal,' he
says, 'but I don't go against the Church. I'm not an enemy of Christ.'
That's what the criminal of to-day is continually saying to himself,
but when the Church takes the place of the State it will be
difficult for him, in opposition to the Church all over the world,
to say: 'All men are mistaken, all in error, all mankind are the false
Church. I, a thief and murderer, am the only true Christian Church.'
It will be very difficult to say this to himself; it requires a rare
combination of unusual circumstances. Now, on the other side, take the
Church's own view of crime: is it not bound to renounce the present
almost pagan attitude, and to change from a mechanical cutting off
of its tainted member for the preservation of society, as at
present, into completely and honestly adopting the idea of the
regeneration of the man, of his reformation and salvation?"
"What do you mean? I fail to understand again," Miusov
interrupted. "Some sort of dream again. Something shapeless and even
incomprehensible. What is excommunication? What sort of exclusion? I
suspect you are simply amusing yourself, Ivan Fyodorovitch."
"Yes, but you know, in reality it is so now," said the elder
suddenly, and all turned to him at once. "If it were not for the
Church of Christ there would be nothing to restrain the criminal
from evil-doing, no real chastisement for it afterwards; none, that
is, but the mechanical punishment spoken of just now, which in the
majority of cases only embitters the heart; and not the real
punishment, the only effectual one, the only deterrent and softening
one, which lies in the recognition of sin by conscience."
"How is that, may one inquire?" asked Miusov, with lively
curiosity.
"Why," began the elder, "all these sentences to exile with hard
labour, and formerly with flogging also, reform no one, and what's
more, deter hardly a single criminal, and the number of crimes does
not diminish but is continually on the increase. You must admit
that. Consequently the security of society is not preserved, for,
although the obnoxious member is mechanically cut off and sent far
away out of sight, another criminal always comes to take his place
at once, and often two of them. If anything does preserve society,
even in our time, and does regenerate and transform the criminal, it
is only the law of Christ speaking in his conscience. It is only by
recognising his wrongdoing as a son of a Christian society- that is,
of the Church- that he recognises his sin against society- that is,
against the Church. So that it is only against the Church, and not
against the State, that the criminal of to-day can recognise that he
has sinned. If society, as a Church, had jurisdiction, then it would
know when to bring back from exclusion and to reunite to itself. Now
the Church having no real jurisdiction, but only the power of moral
condemnation, withdraws of her own accord from punishing the
criminal actively. She does not excommunicate him but simply
persists in motherly exhortation of him. What is more, the Church even
tries to preserve all Christian communion with the criminal. She
admits him to church services, to the holy sacrament, gives him
alms, and treats him more a captive than as a convict. And what
would become of the criminal, O Lord, if even the Christian society-
that is, the Church- were to reject him even as the civil law
rejects him and cuts him off? What would become of him if the Church
punished him with her excommunication as the direct consequence of the
secular law? There could be no more terrible despair, at least for a
Russian criminal, for Russian criminals still have faith. Though,
who knows, perhaps then a fearful thing would happen, perhaps the
despairing heart of the criminal would lose its faith and then what
would become of him? But the Church, like a tender, loving mother,
holds aloof from active punishment herself, as the sinner is too
severely punished already by the civil law, and there must be at least
someone to have pity on him. The Church holds aloof, above all,
because its judgment is the only one that contains the truth, and
therefore cannot practically and morally be united to any other
judgment even as a temporary compromise. She can enter into no compact
about that. The foreign criminal, they say, rarely repents, for the
very doctrines of to-day confirm him in the idea that his crime is not
a crime, but only a reaction against an unjustly oppressive force.
Society cuts him off completely by a force that triumphs over him
mechanically and (so at least they say of themselves in Europe)
accompanies this exclusion with hatred, forgetfulness, and the most
profound indifference as to the ultimate fate of the erring brother.
In this way, it all takes place without the compassionate intervention
of the Church, for in many cases there are no churches there at all,
for though ecclesiastics and splendid church buildings remain, the
churches themselves have long ago striven to pass from Church into
State and to disappear in it completely. So it seems at least in
Lutheran countries. As for Rome, it was proclaimed a State instead
of a Church a thousand years ago. And so the criminal is no longer
conscious of being a member of the Church and sinks into despair. If
he returns to society, often it is with such hatred that society
itself instinctively cuts him off. You can judge for yourself how it
must end. In many cases it would seem to be the same with us, but
the difference is that besides the established law courts we have
the Church too, which always keeps up relations with the criminal as a
dear and still precious son. And besides that, there is still
preserved, though only in thought, the judgment of the Church, which
though no longer existing in practice is still living as a dream for
the future, and is, no doubt, instinctively recognised by the criminal
in his soul. What was said here just now is true too, that is, that if
the jurisdiction of the Church were introduced in practice in its full
force, that is, if the whole of the society were changed into the
Church, not only the judgment of the Church would have influence on
the reformation of the criminal such as it never has now, but possibly
also the crimes themselves would be incredibly diminished. And there
can be no doubt that the Church would look upon the criminal and the
crime of the future in many cases quite differently and would
succeed in restoring the excluded, in restraining those who plan evil,
and in regenerating the fallen. It is true," said Father Zossima, with
a smile, "the Christian society now is not ready and is only resting
on some seven righteous men, but as they are never lacking, it will
continue still unshaken in expectation of its complete
transformation from a society almost heathen in character into a
single universal and all-powerful Church. So be it, so be it! Even
though at the end of the ages, for it is ordained to come to pass! And
there is no need to be troubled about times and seasons, for the
secret of the times and seasons is in the wisdom of God, in His
foresight, and His love. And what in human reckoning seems still
afar off, may by the Divine ordinance be close at hand, on the eve
of its appearance. And so be it, so be it!
"So be it, so be it!" Father Paissy repeated austerely and
reverently.
"Strange, extremely strange" Miusov pronounced, not so much with
heat as with latent indignation.
"What strikes you as so strange?" Father Iosif inquired
cautiously.
"Why, it's beyond anything!" cried Miusov, suddenly breaking
out; "the State is eliminated and the Church is raised to the position
of the State. It's not simply Ultramontanism, it's
arch-Ultramontanism! It's beyond the dreams of Pope Gregory the
Seventh!"
"You are completely misunderstanding it," said Father Paissy
sternly. "Understand, the Church is not to be transformed into the
State. That is Rome and its dream. That is the third temptation of the
devil. On the contrary, the State is transformed into the Church, will
ascend and become a Church over the whole world- which is the complete
opposite of Ultramontanism and Rome, and your interpretation, and is
only the glorious destiny ordained for the Orthodox Church. This
star will arise in the east!"
Miusov was significantly silent. His whole figure expressed
extraordinary personal dignity. A supercilious and condescending smile
played on his lips. Alyosha watched it all with a throbbing heart. The
whole conversation stirred him profoundly. He glanced casually at
Rakitin, who was standing immovable in his place by the door listening
and watching intently though with downcast eyes. But from the colour
in his cheeks Alyosha guessed that Rakitin was probably no less
excited, and he knew what caused his excitement.
"Allow me to tell you one little anecdote, gentlemen," Miusov said
impressively, with a peculiarly majestic air. "Some years ago, soon
after the coup d'etat of December, I happened to be calling in Paris
on an extremely influential personage in the Government, and I met a
very interesting man in his house. This individual was not precisely a
detective but was a sort of superintendent of a whole regiment of
political detectives- a rather powerful position in its own way. I was
prompted by curiosity to seize the opportunity of conversation with
him. And as he had not come as a visitor but as a subordinate official
bringing a special report, and as he saw the reception given me by his
chief, he deigned to speak with some openness, to a certain extent
only, of course. He was rather courteous than open, as Frenchmen
know how to be courteous, especially to a foreigner. But I
thoroughly understood him. The subject was the socialist
revolutionaries who were at that time persecuted. I will quote only
one most curious remark dropped by this person. 'We are not
particularly afraid,' said he, 'of all these socialists, anarchists,
infidels, and revolutionists; we keep watch on them and know all their
goings on. But there are a few peculiar men among them who believe
in God and are Christians, but at the same time are socialists.
These are the people we are most afraid of. They are dreadful people
The socialist who is a Christian is more to be dreaded than a
socialist who is an atheist.' The words struck me at the time, and now
they have suddenly come back to me here, gentlemen."
"You apply them to us, and look upon us as socialists?" Father
Paissy asked directly, without beating about the bush.
But before Pyotr Alexandrovitch could think what to answer, the
door opened, and the guest so long expected, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, came
in. They had, in fact, given up expecting him, and his sudden
appearance caused some surprise for a moment.
The elder's absence from his cell had lasted for about twenty-five
minutes. It was more than half-past twelve, but Dmitri, on whose
account they had all met there, had still not appeared. But he
seemed almost to be forgotten, and when the elder entered the cell
again, he found his guests engaged in eager conversation. Ivan and the
two monks took the leading share in it. Miusov, too, was trying to
take a part, and apparently very eagerly, in the conversation. But
he was unsuccessful in this also. He was evidently in the
background, and his remarks were treated with neglect, which increased
his irritability. He had had intellectual encounters with Ivan
before and he could not endure a certain carelessness Ivan showed him.
"Hitherto at least I have stood in the front ranks of all that
is progressive in Europe, and here the new generation positively
ignores us," he thought.
Fyodor Pavlovitch, who had given his word to sit still and be
quiet, had actually been quiet for some time, but he watched his
neighbour Miusov with an ironical little smile, obviously enjoying his
discomfiture. He had been waiting for some time to pay off old scores,
and now he could not let the opportunity slip. Bending over his
shoulder he began teasing him again in a whisper.
"Why didn't you go away just now, after the 'courteously kissing'?
Why did you consent to remain in such unseemly company? It was because
you felt insulted and aggrieved, and you remained to vindicate
yourself by showing off your intelligence. Now you won't go till
you've displayed your intellect to them."
"You again?... On the contrary, I'm just going."
"You'll be the last, the last of all to go!" Fyodor Pavlovitch delivered him another thrust, almost at the moment of Father Zossima's return.
The discussion died down for a moment, but the elder, seating
himself in his former place, looked at them all as though cordially
inviting them to go on. Alyosha, who knew every expression of his
face, saw that he was fearfully exhausted and making a great effort.
Of late he had been liable to fainting fits from exhaustion. His
face had the pallor that was common before such attacks, and his
lips were white. But he evidently did not want to break up the
party. He seemed to have some special object of his own in keeping
them. What object? Alyosha watched him intently.
"We are discussing this gentleman's most interesting article,"
said Father Iosif, the librarian, addressing the elder, and indicating
Ivan. "He brings forward much that is new, but I think the argument
cuts both ways. It is an article written in answer to a book by an
ecclesiastical authority on the question of the ecclesiastical
court, and the scope of its jurisdiction."
"I'm sorry I have not read your article, but I've heard of it,"
said the elder, looking keenly and intently at Ivan.
"He takes up a most interesting position," continued the Father
Librarian. "As far as Church jurisdiction is concerned he is
apparently quite opposed to the separation of Church from State."
"That's interesting. But in what sense?" Father Zossima asked
Ivan.
The latter, at last, answered him, not condescendingly, as Alyosha
had feared, but with modesty and reserve, with evident goodwill and
apparently without the slightest arrierepensee
"I start from the position that this confusion of elements, that
is, of the essential principles of Church and State, will, of
course, go on for ever, in spite of the fact that it is impossible for
them to mingle, and that the confusion of these elements cannot lead
to any consistent or even normal results, for there is falsity at
the very foundation of it. Compromise between the Church and State
in such questions as, for instance, jurisdiction, is, to my
thinking, impossible in any real sense. My clerical opponent maintains
that the Church holds a precise and defined position in the State. I
maintain, on the contrary, that the Church ought to include the
whole State, and not simply to occupy a corner in it, and, if this is,
for some reason, impossible at present, then it ought, in reality,
to be set up as the direct and chief aim of the future development
of Christian society!"
"Perfectly true," Father Paissy, the silent and learned monk,
assented with fervour and decision.
"The purest Ultramontanism!" cried Miusov impatiently, crossing
and recrossing his legs.
"Oh, well, we have no mountains," cried Father Iosif, and
turning to the elder he continued: "Observe the answer he makes to the
following 'fundamental and essential' propositions of his opponent,
who is, you must note, an ecclesiastic. First, that 'no social
organisation can or ought to arrogate to itself power to dispose of
the civic and political rights of its members.' Secondly, that
'criminal and civil jurisdiction ought not to belong to the Church,
and is inconsistent with its nature, both as a divine institution
and as an organisation of men for religious objects,' and, finally, in
the third place, 'the Church is a kingdom not of this world.'
"A most unworthy play upon words for an ecclesiastic!" Father
Paissy could not refrain from breaking in again. "I have read the book
which you have answered," he added, addressing Ivan, "and was
astounded at the words 'The Church is a kingdom not of this world. 'If
it is not of this world, then it cannot exist on earth at all. In
the Gospel, the words 'not of this world' are not used in that
sense. To play with such words is indefensible. Our Lord Jesus
Christ came to set up the Church upon earth. The Kingdom of Heaven, of
course, is not of this world, but in Heaven; but it is only entered
through the Church which has been founded and established upon
earth. And so a frivolous play upon words in such a connection is
unpardonable and improper. The Church is, in truth, a kingdom and
ordained to rule, and in the end must undoubtedly become the kingdom
ruling over all the earth. For that we have the divine promise."
He ceased speaking suddenly, as though checking himself. After
listening attentively and respectfully Ivan went on, addressing the
elder with perfect composure and as before with ready cordiality:
"The whole point of my article lies in the fact that during the
first three centuries Christianity only existed on earth in the Church
and was nothing but the Church. When the pagan Roman Empire desired to
become Christian, it inevitably happened that, by becoming
Christian, it included the Church but remained a pagan State in very
many of its departments. In reality this was bound to happen. But Rome
as a State retained too much of the pagan civilisation and culture,
as, for example, in the very objects and fundamental principles of the
State. The Christian Church entering into the State could, of
course, surrender no part of its fundamental principles- the rock on
which it stands- and could pursue no other aims than those which
have been ordained and revealed by God Himself, and among them that of
drawing the whole world, and therefore the ancient pagan State itself,
into the Church. In that way (that is, with a view to the future) it
is not the Church that should seek a definite position in the State,
like 'every social organisation,' or as 'an organisation of men for
religious purposes' (as my opponent calls the Church), but, on the
contrary, every earthly State should be, in the end, completely
transformed into the Church and should become nothing else but a
Church, rejecting every purpose incongruous with the aims of the
Church. All this will not degrade it in any way or take from its
honour and glory as a great State, nor from the glory of its rulers,
but only turns it from a false, still pagan, and mistaken path to
the true and rightful path, which alone leads to the eternal goal.
This is why the author of the book On the Foundations of Church
Jurisdiction would have judged correctly if, in seeking and laying
down those foundations, he bad looked upon them as a temporary
compromise inevitable in our sinful and imperfect days. But as soon as
the author ventures to declare that the foundations which he
predicates now, part of which Father Iosif just enumerated, are the
permanent, essential, and eternal foundations, he is going directly
against the Church and its sacred and eternal vocation. That is the
gist of my article."
"That is, in brief," Father Paissy began again, laying stress on
each word, "according to certain theories only too clearly
formulated in the nineteenth century, the Church ought to be
transformed into the State, as though this would be an advance from
a lower to a higher form, so as to disappear into it, making way for
science, for the spirit of the age, and civilisation. And if the
Church resists and is unwilling, some corner will be set apart for her
in the State, and even that under control and this will be so
everywhere in all modern European countries. But Russian hopes and
conceptions demand not that the Church should pass as from a lower
into a higher type into the State, but, on the contrary, that the
State should end by being worthy to become only the Church and nothing
else. So be it! So be it!"
"Well, I confess you've reassured me somewhat," Miusov said
smiling, again crossing his legs. "So far as I understand, then, the
realisation of such an ideal is infinitely remote, at the second
coming of Christ. That's as you please. It's a beautiful Utopian dream
of the abolition of war, diplomacy, banks, and so on- something
after the fashion of socialism, indeed. But I imagined that it was all
meant seriously, and that the Church might be now going to try
criminals, and sentence them to beating, prison, and even death."
"But if there were none but the ecclesiastical court, the Church
would not even now sentence a criminal to prison or to death. Crime
and the way of regarding it would inevitably change, not all at once
of course, but fairly soon," Ivan replied calmly, without flinching.
"Are you serious?" Miusov glanced keenly at him.
"If everything became the Church, the Church would exclude all the
criminal and disobedient, and would not cut off their heads," Ivan
went on. "I ask you, what would become of the excluded? He would be
cut off then not only from men, as now, but from Christ. By his
crime he would have transgressed not only against men but against
the Church of Christ. This is so even now, of course, strictly
speaking, but it is not clearly enunciated, and very, very often the
criminal of to-day compromises with his conscience: 'I steal,' he
says, 'but I don't go against the Church. I'm not an enemy of Christ.'
That's what the criminal of to-day is continually saying to himself,
but when the Church takes the place of the State it will be
difficult for him, in opposition to the Church all over the world,
to say: 'All men are mistaken, all in error, all mankind are the false
Church. I, a thief and murderer, am the only true Christian Church.'
It will be very difficult to say this to himself; it requires a rare
combination of unusual circumstances. Now, on the other side, take the
Church's own view of crime: is it not bound to renounce the present
almost pagan attitude, and to change from a mechanical cutting off
of its tainted member for the preservation of society, as at
present, into completely and honestly adopting the idea of the
regeneration of the man, of his reformation and salvation?"
"What do you mean? I fail to understand again," Miusov
interrupted. "Some sort of dream again. Something shapeless and even
incomprehensible. What is excommunication? What sort of exclusion? I
suspect you are simply amusing yourself, Ivan Fyodorovitch."
"Yes, but you know, in reality it is so now," said the elder
suddenly, and all turned to him at once. "If it were not for the
Church of Christ there would be nothing to restrain the criminal
from evil-doing, no real chastisement for it afterwards; none, that
is, but the mechanical punishment spoken of just now, which in the
majority of cases only embitters the heart; and not the real
punishment, the only effectual one, the only deterrent and softening
one, which lies in the recognition of sin by conscience."
"How is that, may one inquire?" asked Miusov, with lively
curiosity.
"Why," began the elder, "all these sentences to exile with hard
labour, and formerly with flogging also, reform no one, and what's
more, deter hardly a single criminal, and the number of crimes does
not diminish but is continually on the increase. You must admit
that. Consequently the security of society is not preserved, for,
although the obnoxious member is mechanically cut off and sent far
away out of sight, another criminal always comes to take his place
at once, and often two of them. If anything does preserve society,
even in our time, and does regenerate and transform the criminal, it
is only the law of Christ speaking in his conscience. It is only by
recognising his wrongdoing as a son of a Christian society- that is,
of the Church- that he recognises his sin against society- that is,
against the Church. So that it is only against the Church, and not
against the State, that the criminal of to-day can recognise that he
has sinned. If society, as a Church, had jurisdiction, then it would
know when to bring back from exclusion and to reunite to itself. Now
the Church having no real jurisdiction, but only the power of moral
condemnation, withdraws of her own accord from punishing the
criminal actively. She does not excommunicate him but simply
persists in motherly exhortation of him. What is more, the Church even
tries to preserve all Christian communion with the criminal. She
admits him to church services, to the holy sacrament, gives him
alms, and treats him more a captive than as a convict. And what
would become of the criminal, O Lord, if even the Christian society-
that is, the Church- were to reject him even as the civil law
rejects him and cuts him off? What would become of him if the Church
punished him with her excommunication as the direct consequence of the
secular law? There could be no more terrible despair, at least for a
Russian criminal, for Russian criminals still have faith. Though,
who knows, perhaps then a fearful thing would happen, perhaps the
despairing heart of the criminal would lose its faith and then what
would become of him? But the Church, like a tender, loving mother,
holds aloof from active punishment herself, as the sinner is too
severely punished already by the civil law, and there must be at least
someone to have pity on him. The Church holds aloof, above all,
because its judgment is the only one that contains the truth, and
therefore cannot practically and morally be united to any other
judgment even as a temporary compromise. She can enter into no compact
about that. The foreign criminal, they say, rarely repents, for the
very doctrines of to-day confirm him in the idea that his crime is not
a crime, but only a reaction against an unjustly oppressive force.
Society cuts him off completely by a force that triumphs over him
mechanically and (so at least they say of themselves in Europe)
accompanies this exclusion with hatred, forgetfulness, and the most
profound indifference as to the ultimate fate of the erring brother.
In this way, it all takes place without the compassionate intervention
of the Church, for in many cases there are no churches there at all,
for though ecclesiastics and splendid church buildings remain, the
churches themselves have long ago striven to pass from Church into
State and to disappear in it completely. So it seems at least in
Lutheran countries. As for Rome, it was proclaimed a State instead
of a Church a thousand years ago. And so the criminal is no longer
conscious of being a member of the Church and sinks into despair. If
he returns to society, often it is with such hatred that society
itself instinctively cuts him off. You can judge for yourself how it
must end. In many cases it would seem to be the same with us, but
the difference is that besides the established law courts we have
the Church too, which always keeps up relations with the criminal as a
dear and still precious son. And besides that, there is still
preserved, though only in thought, the judgment of the Church, which
though no longer existing in practice is still living as a dream for
the future, and is, no doubt, instinctively recognised by the criminal
in his soul. What was said here just now is true too, that is, that if
the jurisdiction of the Church were introduced in practice in its full
force, that is, if the whole of the society were changed into the
Church, not only the judgment of the Church would have influence on
the reformation of the criminal such as it never has now, but possibly
also the crimes themselves would be incredibly diminished. And there
can be no doubt that the Church would look upon the criminal and the
crime of the future in many cases quite differently and would
succeed in restoring the excluded, in restraining those who plan evil,
and in regenerating the fallen. It is true," said Father Zossima, with
a smile, "the Christian society now is not ready and is only resting
on some seven righteous men, but as they are never lacking, it will
continue still unshaken in expectation of its complete
transformation from a society almost heathen in character into a
single universal and all-powerful Church. So be it, so be it! Even
though at the end of the ages, for it is ordained to come to pass! And
there is no need to be troubled about times and seasons, for the
secret of the times and seasons is in the wisdom of God, in His
foresight, and His love. And what in human reckoning seems still
afar off, may by the Divine ordinance be close at hand, on the eve
of its appearance. And so be it, so be it!
"So be it, so be it!" Father Paissy repeated austerely and
reverently.
"Strange, extremely strange" Miusov pronounced, not so much with
heat as with latent indignation.
"What strikes you as so strange?" Father Iosif inquired
cautiously.
"Why, it's beyond anything!" cried Miusov, suddenly breaking
out; "the State is eliminated and the Church is raised to the position
of the State. It's not simply Ultramontanism, it's
arch-Ultramontanism! It's beyond the dreams of Pope Gregory the
Seventh!"
"You are completely misunderstanding it," said Father Paissy
sternly. "Understand, the Church is not to be transformed into the
State. That is Rome and its dream. That is the third temptation of the
devil. On the contrary, the State is transformed into the Church, will
ascend and become a Church over the whole world- which is the complete
opposite of Ultramontanism and Rome, and your interpretation, and is
only the glorious destiny ordained for the Orthodox Church. This
star will arise in the east!"
Miusov was significantly silent. His whole figure expressed
extraordinary personal dignity. A supercilious and condescending smile
played on his lips. Alyosha watched it all with a throbbing heart. The
whole conversation stirred him profoundly. He glanced casually at
Rakitin, who was standing immovable in his place by the door listening
and watching intently though with downcast eyes. But from the colour
in his cheeks Alyosha guessed that Rakitin was probably no less
excited, and he knew what caused his excitement.
"Allow me to tell you one little anecdote, gentlemen," Miusov said
impressively, with a peculiarly majestic air. "Some years ago, soon
after the coup d'etat of December, I happened to be calling in Paris
on an extremely influential personage in the Government, and I met a
very interesting man in his house. This individual was not precisely a
detective but was a sort of superintendent of a whole regiment of
political detectives- a rather powerful position in its own way. I was
prompted by curiosity to seize the opportunity of conversation with
him. And as he had not come as a visitor but as a subordinate official
bringing a special report, and as he saw the reception given me by his
chief, he deigned to speak with some openness, to a certain extent
only, of course. He was rather courteous than open, as Frenchmen
know how to be courteous, especially to a foreigner. But I
thoroughly understood him. The subject was the socialist
revolutionaries who were at that time persecuted. I will quote only
one most curious remark dropped by this person. 'We are not
particularly afraid,' said he, 'of all these socialists, anarchists,
infidels, and revolutionists; we keep watch on them and know all their
goings on. But there are a few peculiar men among them who believe
in God and are Christians, but at the same time are socialists.
These are the people we are most afraid of. They are dreadful people
The socialist who is a Christian is more to be dreaded than a
socialist who is an atheist.' The words struck me at the time, and now
they have suddenly come back to me here, gentlemen."
"You apply them to us, and look upon us as socialists?" Father
Paissy asked directly, without beating about the bush.
But before Pyotr Alexandrovitch could think what to answer, the
door opened, and the guest so long expected, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, came
in. They had, in fact, given up expecting him, and his sudden
appearance caused some surprise for a moment.
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