Dostoyevsky, Nietzsche, and What Will Save the World
I recently finished a book that is considered by some as one of the greatest novels ever written: The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
Not that my opinion on such matters has much weight, but I have to agree with this judgment.
Dostoyevsky masterfully constructs an ensemble of characters who represent several facets of mankind, and through their actions, the reader gains prophetic insight into the inevitable destruction on society and the family unit that absent and careless fathers have; the inexorable madness to which strict rationale leads; the harm of living in denial of the supernatural; and the necessity of the Church to show grace and love, as a child, to those around her, which, in turn, will save society.
Many of the arguments Dostoyevsky posits counter beautifully the ideologies of Friedrich Nietzsche, his German contemporary, who presented several in-depth, though flawed, defenses for man’s need to remedy the problems of the world through rational thinking and self-determination (Don’t misunderstand me: paradoxically, Nietzsche, despite the assured chaos that will ensue if his philosophies are carried out to their logical conclusions, was an intellect who is worthy to be studied – if for no other reason than to understand the roots of postmodernism.).
While reading The Brothers Karamazov, I also read Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra and The Anti-Christ, and reading these two minds concurrently was a treat and highlighted the strength and value of Dostoyevsky’s arguments.
Unlike in other (but certainly not all) pieces of literature, the narrator of The Brothers Karamazov, who is distinct from Dostoyevsky himself, identifies the hero of the book from the early pages: Alyosha Karamazov, a man who is a disciple of the local spiritual leader, Father Zosima (or the Elder, as the narrator calls him); one who is unburdened by the intellectual prowess of his elder brother Ivan, a proud (not arrogant) atheist (it must be said that Alyosha is no buffoon, though); and, whose own depravity pales in comparison to that of his eldest brother Dmitri.
Since Dostoyevsky highlights Alyosha as the solution to the issues presented in the novel, readers are encouraged to focus on the youngest Karamazov’s actions and words, for in them, they will get a glimpse of Dostoyevsky’s own thoughts on how to rectify the aforementioned dilemmas that plague mankind.
As one focuses on Alyosha’s responses to the novel’s events, the reader deduces Dostoyevsky’s longing for people to leave their proverbial monasteries, as Father Zosima commissions Alyosha to do at one point, and to enter the laborious service of showing childlike love to one’s neighbors and family.
The paradox is clear: man must be childlike in his love and grace to his fellow man, which cannot happen apart from the supernatural (and more specifically, that which is found within the Christian worldview), but he must also be willing to undertake difficult work and sacrifice in this pursuit – work and sacrifice that seem only possible by men of strength, whether physical, emotional, or mental.
Therein lies the importance (and beauty, in my opinion) of Dostoyevsky’s philosophy in contrast to Nietzsche’s.
Nietzsche was an ardent opponent to Christianity, but if you read his writing, you’ll see he, too, called for the need for man to return to a childlike state before he is able to help himself, those around him, and his society. Specifically, he taught we all must go through a metamorphosis, through which we are to shed off presuppositions in order to see clearly how to become the Ubermensch, which, in his mind, is the ideal human being, one able to cause lasting change that will ripple throughout society (and perhaps eternity, for Zarathustra himself proclaims, “All joy wants eternity, wants deep — wants deep — eternity.”).
It’s naïve to call Nietzsche an outright nihilist, which I myself would’ve done a few months ago. While his philosophies inevitably lead to a nihilist worldview, they are not inherently nihilistic. At least from my understanding, Nietzsche wanted to see humanity not only grow but also thrive, and he thought this progression was stymied by, if not downright impossible through, Christianity (and religion in general). However, for reasons I won’t expound deeply here, one of the main issues with this philosophy is, within a strictly corporeal (or worldly, for the lack of a better word) worldview, one in which self is the arbitrator of truth, the only logical conclusion is chaos and the nihilism to which Nietzsche was opposed.
Dostoyevsky, on the other hand, who was also opposed to nihilism, directs his readers to action by means of the transcendent, which is most readily embraced by a child, one who, like Alyosha, is unburdened by the logical restraints or the carefree nature of his brothers Ivan and Dmitri, respectively.
One of the clearest examples of the difference between Dostoyevsky and Nietzsche’s understanding of how to save mankind is found in the iconic The Grand Inquisitor chapter in The Brothers Karamazov. In it, Ivan Karamazov, the brother who represents intellectualism and the rejection of the transcendent, shares a poem he penned with Alyosha, the contents of which showcase Ivan’s perceived gripes about human will and the problem of pain (among other things) in light of the widespread belief that a loving God exists.
In the poem, the Grand Inquisitor speaks with (or really, to) Christ, offering his indictment against the latter and explaining how Christ cannot be real, and certainly not loving, primarily because children, who are wholly innocent (in the Grand Inquisitor’s opinion) suffer and because Christ allowed mankind to have free will, knowing that they would not know how to handle it properly.
At the end of the Grand Inquisitor’s diatribe, Jesus walks up to his accuser and kisses him (More on this in a moment.).
Another example of Dostoyevsky’s philosophy about assisting mankind is seen when Father Zosima bows at Dmitri’s feet after a lengthy interaction between the two. This highly-respected Elder prostrates himself before a man who, for the majority of the book, is led by his passions and is known by everyone as a scoundrel — a self-imposed title given by Dmitri himself.
What could Dostoyevsky be saying through these two significant events?
Strict rationale devoid of a transcendent or mystical component will not — and cannot — save the world. Salvation will never occur through a mere logical argument. Yes, there’s a level of absurdity to this (and, quite frankly, to many of the characters in the book, especially expressed through much of their dialogue) — but there’s beauty (a loaded and subjective term, some may say) and there’s life in the absurd (i.e., that which cannot simply be rationalized by natural means).
(Before the objection may arise, let me address it: Dostoyevsky does not let the religious off the hook, so to speak. He, like Nietzsche (though, obviously, not to the latter’s extreme level), critiques those who claim to believe something, yet who sit idly by, while their neighbors are suffering, thus showing that they don’t truly believe what they claim. As I mentioned previously, it’s Father Zosima himself who instructs Alyosha to leave the monastery and actually live out in the world.)
While logical thought alone cannot save the world, grace and love that is grounded in the transcendent and that is active can. If he wants to be a part of helping humanity thrive, man must be like Father Zosima, Alyosha, and many of the children in the novel (who are not mentioned here for the sake of not wanting to spoil key events), each of whom, while not spurning logical thought, understand reason’s proper place and the power of actively and sacrificially loving those around you — even through small gestures of kindness.
This novel will stay with me – likely for the rest of my life – and I do hope to revisit it someday.
I know I’ll certainly be encouraging those around me to read it (as I, hopefully, have enticed you to do so through this article). It’s a challenging read, and its length is intimidating, but, I promise, it’s worth the discipline needed to finish it.
