The Brothers Karamazov
“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 organization 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 organization 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 Païssy
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 civilization 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 organization,’ or as ‘an organization 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 honor 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 had
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 Païssy 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 civilization. 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,” Miüsov said smiling,
again crossing his legs. “So far as I understand, then, the realization
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?” Miüsov 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,” Miüsov 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 Miüsov, with lively curiosity.
“Why,” began the elder, “all these sentences to exile with hard labor,
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 recognizing his wrong-doing
as a son of a Christian society—that is, of the Church—that he
recognizes 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 recognize 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 as 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
some one 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