finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Brothers Karamazov/section_2_part_2.txt
The Brothers Karamazov.book 2.chapter 6
book 2, chapter 6
{"name": "book 2, Chapter 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210305110438/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/brothersk/section3/", "summary": "Why Is Such a Man Alive. Dmitri asks for Zosima's blessing and says that he is late because his father's messenger gave him the wrong time. Not wishing to interrupt the debate, Dmitri finds a chair and sits quietly. Ivan goes on to say that, in his view, the entire notion of morality depends on the idea of the immortality of the soul. If people did not believe in an afterlife, he says, there would be no reason for them to worry about behaving morally. They could simply act to satisfy their desires. This idea scandalizes Miusov and troubles Dmitri. Zosima gently notes that Ivan himself is beset with doubt and advocates positions he does not entirely believe, merely to toy with his own despair. As the debate enters a lull, Fyodor Pavlovich begins to criticize and insult Dmitri. He accuses his son of dealing falsely with his fiancee, Katerina, and deserting her after falling in love with another woman, Grushenka. As the others look on in embarrassment, Dmitri gives an angry reply that helps explain the conflict between -Dmitri and his father: Dmitri says that Fyodor Pavlovich is jealous because Fyodor Pavlovich also lusts after Grushenka and has made a fool of himself trying to win her heart. Dmitri says that Fyodor Pavlovich has even tried to convince Grushenka to collaborate with him to send Dmitri to prison. The men go on shouting at one another, until suddenly Zosima stands up. He walks over to Dmitri and kneels before him. Then, wordlessly, he leaves the room. The others are baffled by this gesture. As they prepare to have lunch with the Father Superior, Fyodor Pavlovich leaves in a huff", "analysis": ""}
Chapter VI. Why Is Such A Man Alive?


Dmitri Fyodorovitch, a young man of eight and twenty, of medium height and
agreeable countenance, looked older than his years. He was muscular, and
showed signs of considerable physical strength. Yet there was something
not healthy in his face. It was rather thin, his cheeks were hollow, and
there was an unhealthy sallowness in their color. His rather large,
prominent, dark eyes had an expression of firm determination, and yet
there was a vague look in them, too. Even when he was excited and talking
irritably, his eyes somehow did not follow his mood, but betrayed
something else, sometimes quite incongruous with what was passing. "It's
hard to tell what he's thinking," those who talked to him sometimes
declared. People who saw something pensive and sullen in his eyes were
startled by his sudden laugh, which bore witness to mirthful and light-
hearted thoughts at the very time when his eyes were so gloomy. A certain
strained look in his face was easy to understand at this moment. Every one
knew, or had heard of, the extremely restless and dissipated life which he
had been leading of late, as well as of the violent anger to which he had
been roused in his quarrels with his father. There were several stories
current in the town about it. It is true that he was irascible by nature,
"of an unstable and unbalanced mind," as our justice of the peace,
Katchalnikov, happily described him.

He was stylishly and irreproachably dressed in a carefully buttoned frock-
coat. He wore black gloves and carried a top-hat. Having only lately left
the army, he still had mustaches and no beard. His dark brown hair was
cropped short, and combed forward on his temples. He had the long,
determined stride of a military man. He stood still for a moment on the
threshold, and glancing at the whole party went straight up to the elder,
guessing him to be their host. He made him a low bow, and asked his
blessing. Father Zossima, rising in his chair, blessed him. Dmitri kissed
his hand respectfully, and with intense feeling, almost anger, he said:

"Be so generous as to forgive me for having kept you waiting so long, but
Smerdyakov, the valet sent me by my father, in reply to my inquiries, told
me twice over that the appointment was for one. Now I suddenly learn--"

"Don't disturb yourself," interposed the elder. "No matter. You are a
little late. It's of no consequence...."

"I'm extremely obliged to you, and expected no less from your goodness."

Saying this, Dmitri bowed once more. Then, turning suddenly towards his
father, made him, too, a similarly low and respectful bow. He had
evidently considered it beforehand, and made this bow in all seriousness,
thinking it his duty to show his respect and good intentions.

Although Fyodor Pavlovitch was taken unawares, he was equal to the
occasion. In response to Dmitri's bow he jumped up from his chair and made
his son a bow as low in return. His face was suddenly solemn and
impressive, which gave him a positively malignant look. Dmitri bowed
generally to all present, and without a word walked to the window with his
long, resolute stride, sat down on the only empty chair, near Father
Paissy, and, bending forward, prepared to listen to the conversation he
had interrupted.

Dmitri's entrance had taken no more than two minutes, and the conversation
was resumed. But this time Miuesov thought it unnecessary to reply to
Father Paissy's persistent and almost irritable question.

"Allow me to withdraw from this discussion," he observed with a certain
well-bred nonchalance. "It's a subtle question, too. Here Ivan
Fyodorovitch is smiling at us. He must have something interesting to say
about that also. Ask him."

"Nothing special, except one little remark," Ivan replied at once.
"European Liberals in general, and even our liberal dilettanti, often mix
up the final results of socialism with those of Christianity. This wild
notion is, of course, a characteristic feature. But it's not only Liberals
and dilettanti who mix up socialism and Christianity, but, in many cases,
it appears, the police--the foreign police, of course--do the same. Your
Paris anecdote is rather to the point, Pyotr Alexandrovitch."

"I ask your permission to drop this subject altogether," Miuesov repeated.
"I will tell you instead, gentlemen, another interesting and rather
characteristic anecdote of Ivan Fyodorovitch himself. Only five days ago,
in a gathering here, principally of ladies, he solemnly declared in
argument that there was nothing in the whole world to make men love their
neighbors. That there was no law of nature that man should love mankind,
and that, if there had been any love on earth hitherto, it was not owing
to a natural law, but simply because men have believed in immortality.
Ivan Fyodorovitch added in parenthesis that the whole natural law lies in
that faith, and that 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. That's not all. He
ended by asserting that for every individual, like ourselves, who does not
believe in God or immortality, the moral law of nature must immediately be
changed into the exact contrary of the former religious law, and that
egoism, even to crime, must become not only lawful but even recognized as
the inevitable, the most rational, even honorable outcome of his position.
From this paradox, gentlemen, you can judge of the rest of our eccentric
and paradoxical friend Ivan Fyodorovitch's theories."

"Excuse me," Dmitri cried suddenly; "if I've heard aright, crime must not
only be permitted but even recognized as the inevitable and the most
rational outcome of his position for every infidel! Is that so or not?"

"Quite so," said Father Paissy.

"I'll remember it."

Having uttered these words Dmitri ceased speaking as suddenly as he had
begun. Every one looked at him with curiosity.

"Is that really your conviction as to the consequences of the
disappearance of the faith in immortality?" the elder asked Ivan suddenly.

"Yes. That was my contention. There is no virtue if there is no
immortality."

"You are blessed in believing that, or else most unhappy."

"Why unhappy?" Ivan asked smiling.

"Because, in all probability you don't believe yourself in the immortality
of your soul, nor in what you have written yourself in your article on
Church jurisdiction."

"Perhaps you are right! ... But I wasn't altogether joking," Ivan suddenly
and strangely confessed, flushing quickly.

"You were not altogether joking. That's true. The question is still
fretting your heart, and not answered. But the martyr likes sometimes to
divert himself with his despair, as it were driven to it by despair
itself. Meanwhile, in your despair, you, too, divert yourself with
magazine articles, and discussions in society, though you don't believe
your own arguments, and with an aching heart mock at them inwardly....
That question you have not answered, and it is your great grief, for it
clamors for an answer."

"But can it be answered by me? Answered in the affirmative?" Ivan went on
asking strangely, still looking at the elder with the same inexplicable
smile.

"If it can't be decided in the affirmative, it will never be decided in
the negative. You know that that is the peculiarity of your heart, and all
its suffering is due to it. But thank the Creator who has given you a
lofty heart capable of such suffering; of thinking and seeking higher
things, for our dwelling is in the heavens. God grant that your heart will
attain the answer on earth, and may God bless your path."

The elder raised his hand and would have made the sign of the cross over
Ivan from where he stood. But the latter rose from his seat, went up to
him, received his blessing, and kissing his hand went back to his place in
silence. His face looked firm and earnest. This action and all the
preceding conversation, which was so surprising from Ivan, impressed every
one by its strangeness and a certain solemnity, so that all were silent
for a moment, and there was a look almost of apprehension in Alyosha's
face. But Miuesov suddenly shrugged his shoulders. And at the same moment
Fyodor Pavlovitch jumped up from his seat.

"Most pious and holy elder," he cried, pointing to Ivan, "that is my son,
flesh of my flesh, the dearest of my flesh! He is my most dutiful Karl
Moor, so to speak, while this son who has just come in, Dmitri, against
whom I am seeking justice from you, is the undutiful Franz Moor--they are
both out of Schiller's _Robbers_, and so I am the reigning Count von Moor!
Judge and save us! We need not only your prayers but your prophecies!"

"Speak without buffoonery, and don't begin by insulting the members of
your family," answered the elder, in a faint, exhausted voice. He was
obviously getting more and more fatigued, and his strength was failing.

"An unseemly farce which I foresaw when I came here!" cried Dmitri
indignantly. He too leapt up. "Forgive it, reverend Father," he added,
addressing the elder. "I am not a cultivated man, and I don't even know
how to address you properly, but you have been deceived and you have been
too good-natured in letting us meet here. All my father wants is a
scandal. Why he wants it only he can tell. He always has some motive. But
I believe I know why--"

"They all blame me, all of them!" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch in his turn.
"Pyotr Alexandrovitch here blames me too. You have been blaming me, Pyotr
Alexandrovitch, you have!" he turned suddenly to Miuesov, although the
latter was not dreaming of interrupting him. "They all accuse me of having
hidden the children's money in my boots, and cheated them, but isn't there
a court of law? There they will reckon out for you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch,
from your notes, your letters, and your agreements, how much money you
had, how much you have spent, and how much you have left. Why does Pyotr
Alexandrovitch refuse to pass judgment? Dmitri is not a stranger to him.
Because they are all against me, while Dmitri Fyodorovitch is in debt to
me, and not a little, but some thousands of which I have documentary
proof. The whole town is echoing with his debaucheries. And where he was
stationed before, he several times spent a thousand or two for the
seduction of some respectable girl; we know all about that, Dmitri
Fyodorovitch, in its most secret details. I'll prove it.... Would you
believe it, holy Father, he has captivated the heart of the most honorable
of young ladies of good family and fortune, daughter of a gallant colonel,
formerly his superior officer, who had received many honors and had the
Anna Order on his breast. He compromised the girl by his promise of
marriage, now she is an orphan and here; she is betrothed to him, yet
before her very eyes he is dancing attendance on a certain enchantress.
And although this enchantress has lived in, so to speak, civil marriage
with a respectable man, yet she is of an independent character, an
unapproachable fortress for everybody, just like a legal wife--for she is
virtuous, yes, holy Fathers, she is virtuous. Dmitri Fyodorovitch wants to
open this fortress with a golden key, and that's why he is insolent to me
now, trying to get money from me, though he has wasted thousands on this
enchantress already. He's continually borrowing money for the purpose.
From whom do you think? Shall I say, Mitya?"

"Be silent!" cried Dmitri, "wait till I'm gone. Don't dare in my presence
to asperse the good name of an honorable girl! That you should utter a
word about her is an outrage, and I won't permit it!"

He was breathless.

"Mitya! Mitya!" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch hysterically, squeezing out a
tear. "And is your father's blessing nothing to you? If I curse you, what
then?"

"Shameless hypocrite!" exclaimed Dmitri furiously.

"He says that to his father! his father! What would he be with others?
Gentlemen, only fancy; there's a poor but honorable man living here,
burdened with a numerous family, a captain who got into trouble and was
discharged from the army, but not publicly, not by court-martial, with no
slur on his honor. And three weeks ago, Dmitri seized him by the beard in
a tavern, dragged him out into the street and beat him publicly, and all
because he is an agent in a little business of mine."

"It's all a lie! Outwardly it's the truth, but inwardly a lie!" Dmitri was
trembling with rage. "Father, I don't justify my action. Yes, I confess it
publicly, I behaved like a brute to that captain, and I regret it now, and
I'm disgusted with myself for my brutal rage. But this captain, this agent
of yours, went to that lady whom you call an enchantress, and suggested to
her from you, that she should take I.O.U.'s of mine which were in your
possession, and should sue me for the money so as to get me into prison by
means of them, if I persisted in claiming an account from you of my
property. Now you reproach me for having a weakness for that lady when you
yourself incited her to captivate me! She told me so to my face.... She
told me the story and laughed at you.... You wanted to put me in prison
because you are jealous of me with her, because you'd begun to force your
attentions upon her; and I know all about that, too; she laughed at you
for that as well--you hear--she laughed at you as she described it. So here
you have this man, this father who reproaches his profligate son!
Gentlemen, forgive my anger, but I foresaw that this crafty old man would
only bring you together to create a scandal. I had come to forgive him if
he held out his hand; to forgive him, and ask forgiveness! But as he has
just this minute insulted not only me, but an honorable young lady, for
whom I feel such reverence that I dare not take her name in vain, I have
made up my mind to show up his game, though he is my father...."

He could not go on. His eyes were glittering and he breathed with
difficulty. But every one in the cell was stirred. All except Father
Zossima got up from their seats uneasily. The monks looked austere but
waited for guidance from the elder. He sat still, pale, not from
excitement but from the weakness of disease. An imploring smile lighted up
his face; from time to time he raised his hand, as though to check the
storm, and, of course, a gesture from him would have been enough to end
the scene; but he seemed to be waiting for something and watched them
intently as though trying to make out something which was not perfectly
clear to him. At last Miuesov felt completely humiliated and disgraced.

"We are all to blame for this scandalous scene," he said hotly. "But I did
not foresee it when I came, though I knew with whom I had to deal. This
must be stopped at once! Believe me, your reverence, I had no precise
knowledge of the details that have just come to light, I was unwilling to
believe them, and I learn for the first time.... A father is jealous of
his son's relations with a woman of loose behavior and intrigues with the
creature to get his son into prison! This is the company in which I have
been forced to be present! I was deceived. I declare to you all that I was
as much deceived as any one."

"Dmitri Fyodorovitch," yelled Fyodor Pavlovitch suddenly, in an unnatural
voice, "if you were not my son I would challenge you this instant to a
duel ... with pistols, at three paces ... across a handkerchief," he
ended, stamping with both feet.

With old liars who have been acting all their lives there are moments when
they enter so completely into their part that they tremble or shed tears
of emotion in earnest, although at that very moment, or a second later,
they are able to whisper to themselves, "You know you are lying, you
shameless old sinner! You're acting now, in spite of your 'holy' wrath."

Dmitri frowned painfully, and looked with unutterable contempt at his
father.

"I thought ... I thought," he said, in a soft and, as it were, controlled
voice, "that I was coming to my native place with the angel of my heart,
my betrothed, to cherish his old age, and I find nothing but a depraved
profligate, a despicable clown!"

"A duel!" yelled the old wretch again, breathless and spluttering at each
syllable. "And you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miuesov, let me tell you that
there has never been in all your family a loftier, and more honest--you
hear--more honest woman than this 'creature,' as you have dared to call
her! And you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, have abandoned your betrothed for that
'creature,' so you must yourself have thought that your betrothed couldn't
hold a candle to her. That's the woman called a 'creature'!"

"Shameful!" broke from Father Iosif.

"Shameful and disgraceful!" Kalganov, flushing crimson, cried in a boyish
voice, trembling with emotion. He had been silent till that moment.

"Why is such a man alive?" Dmitri, beside himself with rage, growled in a
hollow voice, hunching up his shoulders till he looked almost deformed.
"Tell me, can he be allowed to go on defiling the earth?" He looked round
at every one and pointed at the old man. He spoke evenly and deliberately.

"Listen, listen, monks, to the parricide!" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch,
rushing up to Father Iosif. "That's the answer to your 'shameful!' What is
shameful? That 'creature,' that 'woman of loose behavior' is perhaps
holier than you are yourselves, you monks who are seeking salvation! She
fell perhaps in her youth, ruined by her environment. But she loved much,
and Christ himself forgave the woman 'who loved much.' "

"It was not for such love Christ forgave her," broke impatiently from the
gentle Father Iosif.

"Yes, it was for such, monks, it was! You save your souls here, eating
cabbage, and think you are the righteous. You eat a gudgeon a day, and you
think you bribe God with gudgeon."

"This is unendurable!" was heard on all sides in the cell.

But this unseemly scene was cut short in a most unexpected way. Father
Zossima rose suddenly from his seat. Almost distracted with anxiety for
the elder and every one else, Alyosha succeeded, however, in supporting
him by the arm. Father Zossima moved towards Dmitri and reaching him sank
on his knees before him. Alyosha thought that he had fallen from weakness,
but this was not so. The elder distinctly and deliberately bowed down at
Dmitri's feet till his forehead touched the floor. Alyosha was so
astounded that he failed to assist him when he got up again. There was a
faint smile on his lips.

"Good-by! Forgive me, all of you!" he said, bowing on all sides to his
guests.

Dmitri stood for a few moments in amazement. Bowing down to him--what did
it mean? Suddenly he cried aloud, "Oh, God!" hid his face in his hands,
and rushed out of the room. All the guests flocked out after him, in their
confusion not saying good-by, or bowing to their host. Only the monks went
up to him again for a blessing.

"What did it mean, falling at his feet like that? Was it symbolic or
what?" said Fyodor Pavlovitch, suddenly quieted and trying to reopen
conversation without venturing to address anybody in particular. They were
all passing out of the precincts of the hermitage at the moment.

"I can't answer for a madhouse and for madmen," Miuesov answered at once
ill-humoredly, "but I will spare myself your company, Fyodor Pavlovitch,
and, trust me, for ever. Where's that monk?"

"That monk," that is, the monk who had invited them to dine with the
Superior, did not keep them waiting. He met them as soon as they came down
the steps from the elder's cell, as though he had been waiting for them
all the time.

"Reverend Father, kindly do me a favor. Convey my deepest respect to the
Father Superior, apologize for me, personally, Miuesov, to his reverence,
telling him that I deeply regret that owing to unforeseen circumstances I
am unable to have the honor of being present at his table, greatly as I
should desire to do so," Miuesov said irritably to the monk.

"And that unforeseen circumstance, of course, is myself," Fyodor
Pavlovitch cut in immediately. "Do you hear, Father; this gentleman
doesn't want to remain in my company or else he'd come at once. And you
shall go, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, pray go to the Father Superior and good
appetite to you. I will decline, and not you. Home, home, I'll eat at
home, I don't feel equal to it here, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, my amiable
relative."

"I am not your relative and never have been, you contemptible man!"

"I said it on purpose to madden you, because you always disclaim the
relationship, though you really are a relation in spite of your shuffling.
I'll prove it by the church calendar. As for you, Ivan, stay if you like.
I'll send the horses for you later. Propriety requires you to go to the
Father Superior, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, to apologize for the disturbance
we've been making...."

"Is it true that you are going home? Aren't you lying?"

"Pyotr Alexandrovitch! How could I dare after what's happened! Forgive me,
gentlemen, I was carried away! And upset besides! And, indeed, I am
ashamed. Gentlemen, one man has the heart of Alexander of Macedon and
another the heart of the little dog Fido. Mine is that of the little dog
Fido. I am ashamed! After such an escapade how can I go to dinner, to
gobble up the monastery's sauces? I am ashamed, I can't. You must excuse
me!"

"The devil only knows, what if he deceives us?" thought Miuesov, still
hesitating, and watching the retreating buffoon with distrustful eyes. The
latter turned round, and noticing that Miuesov was watching him, waved him
a kiss.

"Well, are you coming to the Superior?" Miuesov asked Ivan abruptly.

"Why not? I was especially invited yesterday."

"Unfortunately I feel myself compelled to go to this confounded dinner,"
said Miuesov with the same irritability, regardless of the fact that the
monk was listening. "We ought, at least, to apologize for the disturbance,
and explain that it was not our doing. What do you think?"

"Yes, we must explain that it wasn't our doing. Besides, father won't be
there," observed Ivan.

"Well, I should hope not! Confound this dinner!"

They all walked on, however. The monk listened in silence. On the road
through the copse he made one observation however--that the Father Superior
had been waiting a long time, and that they were more than half an hour
late. He received no answer. Miuesov looked with hatred at Ivan.

"Here he is, going to the dinner as though nothing had happened," he
thought. "A brazen face, and the conscience of a Karamazov!"





book 2, Chapter 6
Why Is Such a Man Alive. Dmitri asks for Zosima's blessing and says that he is late because his father's messenger gave him the wrong time. Not wishing to interrupt the debate, Dmitri finds a chair and sits quietly. Ivan goes on to say that, in his view, the entire notion of morality depends on the idea of the immortality of the soul. If people did not believe in an afterlife, he says, there would be no reason for them to worry about behaving morally. They could simply act to satisfy their desires. This idea scandalizes Miusov and troubles Dmitri. Zosima gently notes that Ivan himself is beset with doubt and advocates positions he does not entirely believe, merely to toy with his own despair. As the debate enters a lull, Fyodor Pavlovich begins to criticize and insult Dmitri. He accuses his son of dealing falsely with his fiancee, Katerina, and deserting her after falling in love with another woman, Grushenka. As the others look on in embarrassment, Dmitri gives an angry reply that helps explain the conflict between -Dmitri and his father: Dmitri says that Fyodor Pavlovich is jealous because Fyodor Pavlovich also lusts after Grushenka and has made a fool of himself trying to win her heart. Dmitri says that Fyodor Pavlovich has even tried to convince Grushenka to collaborate with him to send Dmitri to prison. The men go on shouting at one another, until suddenly Zosima stands up. He walks over to Dmitri and kneels before him. Then, wordlessly, he leaves the room. The others are baffled by this gesture. As they prepare to have lunch with the Father Superior, Fyodor Pavlovich leaves in a huff