An Unwanted Visitor

‘Tell me yourself directly, I challenge you – reply: imagine that you yourself are erecting the edifice of human fortune with the goal of, at the finale, making people happy, of at least giving them peace and quiet, but that in order to do it, it would be necessary and unavoidable to torture to death only one tiny little creature, that same little child that beat its breast with its little fist, and on its unavenged tears to found that edifice, would you agree to be the architect on those conditions, tell me and tell me truly?’

‘No, I would not agree,’ Alyosha said quietly.

The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

This exchange, introduced by Alyosha’s brother Ivan, leads into one of the more well-known (at least by title) chapters in the book: The Grand Inquisitor. Ivan tells a story – a poem, he calls it – one not written but memorized, one of his invention.

This poem is set in Spain in the sixteenth century, which Ivan describes as the most dreadful period of the Inquisition (separately, on the scale of atrocities committed in history, this “Inquisition” would not even register).

Here, He (yes, that “He”) condescends to come for a short visit – not the long-awaited promise at the end of days and in the clouds, but just for an instance, and at the heart of the bonfires of the heretics. He appears quietly, yet everyone recognizes Him. He heals the sick, raises the dead; children throw flowers at Him.

Then onto the scene comes the Cardinal Grand Inquisitor – it is the Inquisition, after all. He orders his guards to arrest this man, and the people – despite knowing the truth of who He is – acquiesce, bowing their heads toward the Inquisitor.

“Is it you? You?” He receives no answer. This reminds me of Herod’s questioning of Jesus, when Jesus would answer nothing, although He would answer Pilate. Herod, nominally a Jew, knew the answers to the questions he was asking, just as the Inquisitor knew the answer to the question he was asking. In both cases, Jesus would not answer.

Returning to the novel: the Inquisitor didn’t want an answer in any case:

“I know only too well what you would say. And you have no right to add anything to what was said by you in former times. Why have you come to get in our way?”

The decision by the Inquisitor: Tomorrow He would be found guilty and burned at the stake, as the most wicked of heretics.

In the former time, He bought people their freedom, and it took fifteen centuries of struggle, but the Inquisitor proclaims proudly that those people bring their freedom and humbly lay it at the feet of the Inquisitor and his church.

“You gave your promise, you sealed it with your word, you gave us the right to bind and loose, and so of course you cannot dream of taking that right from us now. So, why have you come to get in our way?”

Don’t think of ruining our game.

The Inquisitor would point to what he considers the most thunderous miracle, when He resisted the three temptations: had the wisest sages in the world been tasked to divine three questions that would express the entire future history of the world, they could not have come up with anything better than these three questions.

“Look, you see those stones in that naked, burning hot wilderness? Turn them into loaves and mankind will go trotting after you like a flock, grateful and obedient, though ever fearful that you may take away your hand and that your loaves may cease to come their way.”

They do not understand that the bread which is given to them is the same bread which was taken from them: “enslave us but feed us.” How can the bread of heaven compete with that? Had He accepted this temptation, it would be to Him that man would bow down.

“…you rejected the only absolute banner that was offered to you and that would have compelled everyone to bow down before you without dispute…”

He rejected an undisputed banner: give them bread, and they will bow down.

Next, to cast Himself down from the cliff, for the angels to catch Him. Then they will know He is the Son of God. Again, He was not tempted.

“Oh, that day you understood that by taking only one step, the step of casting yourself down, you would instantly have tempted the Lord and would have lost all faith in him…”

Had He taken the step, man would have seen a great miracle. The thing is, man does not seek God as much as he seeks miracles. He knew of this reality.

John 6: 26 Jesus answered them and said, “Most assuredly, I say to you, you seek Me, not because you saw the signs, but because you ate of the loaves and were filled.”

But He did not jump down off of the cliff, because He did not want people to chase a miracle. Chasing a miracle is easy; but this was not the freedom for which He came. Yet, according to the Inquisitor and historical reality, with this freedom in the hands of the people, He was expecting too much. The people do not want the freedom He offered.

“Were we right, to teach and act thus, would you say? Did we not love mankind, when we so humbly admitted his helplessness, lightening his burden with love and allowing his feeble nature even sin, but with our permission? Why have you come to get in our way now?”

Then, the third temptation: the kingdoms of the world. Had He taken up these three, He would have supplied man with everything: someone to bow down to, someone to entrust one’s conscience to, and a way of uniting everyone into a consensual ant-heap.

Throughout this discourse, the Inquisitor is making clear that he is on the side that accepted these temptations, and, therefore, his side has the power that comes with the acceptance. But now He has returned and is endangering this position of authority and power. He is getting in the way.

“In our hands, though, everyone will be happy and will neither mutiny nor destroy one another anymore, as they do in your freedom wherever one turns. Oh, we shall persuade them that they will only become free when they renounce their freedom for us and submit to us.”

As an aside, this idea of “mutiny” comes up often in this poem. I have concluded, or assume, that what the Inquisitor is getting at is either that believers are bound not to an earthly ruler, but to God and His kingdom, or it is in regards to those subject to the Inquisition or in regards to the various “heretics” – in other words, the Inquisitor and the Roman Church deems it mutinous to be outside of or against the Roman Church. (Which sentiment, by the way, can be found in every tradition and denomination. Every. Single. One.)

Returning to the story: At this point, Ivan and Alyosha enter a long discussion about the Roman Catholic Church, the Jesuits, and the Freemasons. Hadn’t even Alyosha’s Orthodox monks said such things about Rome?

But now comes the end of the poem. How does it end? Well, the entire time the prisoner is silent, and the Inquisitor finds this too much to bear. Yet, nothing is said by the prisoner. Instead, He draws near to the Inquisitor and kisses him on the lips. Nothing more.

This is not expected. It is too much (but only for those who do not understand why He came in the first place). He tells the prisoner to leave: Go, and do not come back. Ever!

“The kiss burns within his heart, but the old man remains with his former idea.”

Conclusion

Ivan paused. He had grown flushed from talking, and talking with passion; now that he had stopped, however, he had suddenly smiled.

“But…that is preposterous!” [Alyosha] exclaimed, turning red. “Your poem is a eulogy of Jesus, not a vilification of him, as you intended it.”

Ivan used the Inquisition as the backdrop for pointing out the corrupt and violent ways of the Roman Catholic Church. Again, as noted above, even though the Inquisition has a reputation far worse than its actual deeds (relative to countless atrocities in history), it is one of numerous episodes – even to this day – where the Church has used or cheered on violence to flush out heretics, to cure the infidels, or to restore land to the so-called chosen people.

Christians have yet to learn the sin in this. God’s kingdom will not be won by earthly power and earthly methods.

Ephesians 6: 10 Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. 11 Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. 12 For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.

13 Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.

Epilogue

If you didn’t dwell on it the first time, go back and read the opening statement at the beginning of this post. This is what God did…but not exactly. Yes, it was “one tiny little creature,” a “little child” who was tortured to death – His Son. But it was also God. God, the Creator of everything from nothing; God, who breathed into man. It was that same God who took those lashes, who wore the crown of thorns, who hung on that cross.

God was the architect of God on the cross.

If the wisest sages in the world were tasked with coming up with a path to salvation and everlasting life – even just the best path of living life on this earth – they could not have come up with a better story. This is the story that only God – the true God – could tell…and to live.