The Brothers Karamazov is a story that is one part crime novel, one part family drama featuring one of the greatest dysfunctional families in all of literature, interspersed with philosophical-religious debates and allegories. The edition I read is a daunting 1045 pages. I started reading this novel at the end of June and only recently finished it.

Fyodor Karamazov is an irresponsible father who cares only for money and the material pleasures of life. He abandons his three children from two different wives after their mothers die to be raised by the servants, while he parties and holds wild orgies in his home. As they grow older, the kids are taken away to be raised with the help of other rich benefactors only to return years later as adults to the village and their selfish father. The eldest, Dmitry, is a passionate young man in the military who is fighting with his father over the inheritance his mother left him in her will. Ivan is an arrogant intellectual and atheist who deep down is passionate, despite his emotionally-cold exterior. While the third son, Alyosha is spiritual, shy, and infatuated with the ideas of a Christian mystic named Father Zosima in the local monastery. Then there is Smerdyakov, a cruel calculating servant prone to epileptic fits, and is an illegitimate son of Fyodor Karamazov. Dmitry is not only squabbling with his father over an inheritance, but his father and him both lust after the same woman named Grushenka. Eventually the father is killed, Dmitry is blamed for the murder, and an investigation proceeds that has all the children thinking about their involvement leading up to the murder.

Over at the Literature Network, a forum I frequent, a new member raised an interesting question about the purpose of literature, which was spawned by their attempt at reading The Brothers Karamazov:

If you as an author want to convey a message, why shroud it in a long-winded story? Just come right out with it. Write a philosophical work and spare your readers the trouble of slogging through rambling dialogue and unnecessary detail.

As a reader, if you want philosophy, read philosophy. If you want entertainment, read books meant to entertain. When you read books that try to do both, you’ll probably end up bored and annoyed like me.

I picked up The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky a couple weeks ago and I’m about half way through the novel. The story is not entertaining, there’s tons of fluff, and the philosophical message is belabored. Yes, Dostoevsky, we understand that you believe that simple faith trumps analytical skepticism. We see over and over how the novel’s characters of faith (Father Zossima, Alyosha) have a positive effect on the world around them while the characters of doubt (Fyodor Pavlovitch, Dmitri, Ivan) end up destroying themselves and those around them. That’s all well and good, but what have you got to back up your philosophy? Who says non-believers can’t have a positive effect on the world? This is, after all, a work of fiction, where the author can manipulate the story in whichever way he pleases to support his particular philosophy.

As you can see, I’m a little frustrated with literature as a whole right now. Is there something I’m missing, some perspective on literature I haven’t considered that could possibly redeem it?

The commentator is not wrong. Literature does work this way; the author gets to invent the characters and rules, and for this reason an author could essentially defend any point he or she wants to in literature, the only boundaries and limitations being the believability of the characters and world. Of course, literature is just as much about the journey as it is any philosophical or thematic point a novel is trying to make; it is entertainment and insight rolled into one, not one or the other. The “truth” of a literary work, particularly in a work of psychological realism like this one, lies in evaluating its characters and plot situations in the context of whether we could picture a real person acting the same way as this character, thinking this way, and performing similar actions.

The heart of the novel is the conflict between atheism and religion. Anyone who has ever gotten delved into this debate knows this is a rancorous topic with passionate (sometimes fanatical) proponents on both sides. Does God exist? Should we engage the world through a rational skeptical perspective (as represented by Ivan Karamazov), a sensual existence driven by our passions (Dmitry), or a life of calm and reflective faith (Alyosha)? What brings about the best results? It is true as the poster on the forum notes, Dostoevsky displays atheist characters who bring negative consequences into the world and religious characters who bring about positive effects in the world. It is very easy to dismiss this novel as a tendentious attack on atheism; after all, anyone can simply write a novel displaying atheists engaging in all sorts of reprehensible behavior. So the question is are these characters believable and is the story believable? Does it make a good case for the views it espouses and does it do so in a way that is honest and convincing given the nature of fiction?

When we dig deeper into the novel’s portrayal of this debate, it is a mistake to assume Dostoevsky takes an uncritical stance towards religion. In the infamous chapter titled “The Grand Inquisitor,” Ivan Karamazov relates a tale (a poem in his own words, but it’s written in prose) about the grand inquisitor capturing Jesus who temporarily returns to earth during the height of the Spanish Inquisition. The Grand Inquisitor explains why it is necessarily to torture people and criticize religion, especially versions grounded in faith over strict dogma and authoritarianism, raising troubling issues such as the difficulty of faith without signs from God to support it (without evidence). As Joseph Frank notes as quoted by Dennis Abrams the argument against religion presented by Ivan in this chapter is “so powerful that many critics have doubted whether the book as a whole succeeds in overcoming its subversive impact.” Clearly then this is not a novel that only defends one side of the argument and hides the other. In fact, I would go so far as to suggest Dostoevsky through his atheist character agrees that faith is hard to accept intellectually and rationally there is no reason to believe in God. Jesus responds to all the Grand Inquisitor’s apt criticism, not with words because there are no words to defend against the Inquisitor’s rational arguments, but with a kiss, symbolizing how faith and love are more powerful than logic and rational arguments. However, such a response while symbolically powerful seems to leave a bittersweet taste on an intellectual one, as it still accepts the criticisms as valid and has no real response to them. Everything the Grand Inquisitor says to Jesus, all his criticisms of  faith, are true. In addition, this chapter raises deeper philosophical points about freedom. Human beings fear their own freedom. They turn to institutions like the church and other authoritative social institutions to tell them what to do and believe because the freedom to think and make decisions on their own, without guidance or someone telling them outright what to do, is frightening to most human beings.

Even the characters of religion aren’t all presented positively. To balance out characters like Father Zosima and Alyosha, there is also minor characters like Father Ferapont who is defined by his hatred for Father Zosima, his adherence to asceticism over theological knowledge and erudition, and hallucinates demons crawling around the monastery. Characters such as Father Ferapont remind us that many people practice a version of religion that is more about hatred for sins than love for other people (in stark contrast to Father Zosima’s version of Christian love); it is a reminder that some people in the religions ranks are in fact clinically insane, not just believing demons and deities exist, but actually have imaginary visions of demons and God as part of their everyday experience. If we mention, these smaller criticisms of religion, we should also other subtle attacks on the scientific worldview found in the text as well, particularly in how doctors are betrayed in the novel, as incompetent and unable to cure any of their patients–a view expressed most cogently by Kolya Krasotkin who considers the medical profession a sham.

All of this adds up to the real point of the novel: the inadequacy of a rationalist worldview. Many atheists today claim their atheism stems from a rational skeptical viewpoint; their atheism is merely a by-product of using this viewpoint and finding a lack of evidence for the existence of God. I would argue the Dostoevsky novel is less about attacking atheism and more about questioning the rationalist worldview as an irreproachable viewpoint.  Dostoevsky first deals with the problem from a moral standpoint. If there is no God, then “everything is permitted” his characters, especially Smerdyakov repeat multiple times in reference to an article Ivan wrote. If God doesn’t exist, then there is no reason to act morally. Smerdyakov kills his own father because there will be no consequences in an afterlife (plus with the additional motivation of resenting his treatment and social position in comparison to Dmitry, Ivan, and Alyosha, when he, too, is Fyodor Karamazov’s son). Smerdyakov’s actions are believable, but not really convincing in putting forward the argument that the rationalist viewpoint and atheism automatically leads to immorality.

The trial is the real thrust of Dostoevsky’s argument and case for the inadequacy of adopting a complete rationalist viewpoint without other ways of knowing: intuition, faith, and love to temper it. It also is a wonderful example of why novels can be such a powerful force in tackling problems beyond the traditional scope of philosophy precisely through its ability to invent fictionalized scenarios and its own rules. All the evidence points to Dmitry, but the reader knows that Dmitry is innocent and Smerdyakov killed their father. If we were in the same shoes as the prosectors, judges, and jury, based on the evidence and a rational analysis of it, we would have to vote Dmitry guilty too, except the problem is Dmitry didn’t do it. Smerdyakov did. All the evidence can point one way, but still miss the truth. It is also a plausible scenario. Alyosha is convinced Dmitry is innocent simply on faith, and his position is correct and the truth; he relies on his intimate knowledge of his brother’s character rather than evidence that all points to his guilt. Dostoevsky never makes a completely satisfying case for faith (except for the benefits he believes it provides if practiced in a way more aligned with the actual teachings of Jesus concerning love and our relations with our fellow man), but he does make a decent case for questioning whether rationality and evidence-based decisions are infallible, might not lead us in the wrong direction in certain circumstances, and if it should take precedence over other ways of knowing and experiencing the world: intuition, feelings, faith, and traditions.

Like many Russian novels, the society is a world where intellectuals seem to being changing the world for the worst. He is not the only Russian novelist to criticize the new philosophies (nihilism, socialism) being adopted in Russia. The next generation demonstrates potential for change. Ilyusha parallels Dmitry Karamzov. His ill-fought battle against the other boys, despite the odds against him, in defense of his father’s honor is a passionate response against an unfair world in defense of those he loves most. It is no coincidence that when Dmitry is condemned by society in the court case, Ilyusha dies. The two are linked. Ilyusha’s intellectual friend, Kolya Krasotkin, is a younger version of Ivan–intellectual, prickly about how others perceive him, and sympathetic to socialism. Kartashov is the closest of the boys to being Alyosha. Alyosha himself describes them with adjective that have earlier been used to describe the three Karamazov brothers:

“Let us, my dear boys, be as brave and generous as Ilyusha, as intelligent, bold, and generous as Kolya . . . and as shy, intelligent, and sweet as Kartashov.”

However, as the end of the novel reveals, Alyosha is there to guide the boys when they are young to a more tenable philosophy than the rationalism of Ivan and the passionate drives of Dmitry. He tells the boys to remember forever Ilyusha and his death, to remember that all human beings have a responsibility towards each other, and the importance of love and tradition.

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