Elders
SOME of my readers may imagine that my young man was a sickly, ecstatic, poorly developed creature, a pale, consumptive dreamer. On the contrary, Alyosha was at this time a well-grown, red-cheeked, clear-eyed lad of nineteen, radiant with health. He was very handsome, too, graceful1, moderately tall, with hair of a dark brown, with a regular, rather long, oval-shaped face, and wide-set dark grey, shining eyes; he was very thoughtful, and apparently2 very serene3. I shall be told, perhaps, that red cheeks are not incompatible4 with fanaticism5 and mysticism; but I fancy that Alyosha was more of a realist than anyone. Oh! no doubt, in the monastery6 he fully7 believed in miracles, but, to my thinking, miracles are never a stumbling-block to the realist. It is not miracles that dispose realists to belief. The genuine realist, if he is an unbeliever, will always find strength and ability to disbelieve in the miraculous8, and if he is confronted with a miracle as an irrefutable fact he would rather disbelieve his own senses than admit the fact. Even if he admits it, he admits it as a fact of nature till then unrecognised by him. Faith does not, in the realist, spring from the miracle but the miracle from faith. If the realist once believes, then he is bound by his very realism to admit the miraculous also. The Apostle Thomas said that he would not believe till he saw, but when he did see he said, “My Lord and my God!” Was it the miracle forced him to believe? Most likely not, but he believed solely9 because he desired to believe and possibly he fully believed in his secret heart even when he said, “I do not believe till I see.”
I shall be told, perhaps, that Alyosha was stupid, undeveloped, had not finished his studies, and so on. That he did not finish his studies is true, but to say that he was stupid or dull would be a great injustice10. I’ll simply repeat what I have said above. He entered upon this path only because, at that time, it alone struck his imagination and presented itself to him as offering an ideal means of escape for his soul from darkness to light. Add to that that he was to some extent a youth of our last epoch11 — that is, honest in nature, desiring the truth, seeking for it and believing in it, and seeking to serve it at once with all the strength of his soul, seeking for immediate12 action, and ready to sacrifice everything, life itself, for it. Though these young men unhappily fail to understand that the sacrifice of life is, in many cases, the easiest of all sacrifices, and that to sacrifice, for instance, five or six years of their seething13 youth to hard and tedious study, if only to multiply tenfold their powers of serving the truth and the cause they have set before them as their goal such a sacrifice is utterly14 beyond the strength of many of them. The path Alyosha chose was a path going in the opposite direction, but he chose it with the same thirst for swift achievement. As soon as he reflected seriously he was convinced of the existence of God and immortality15, and at once he instinctively16 said to himself: “I want to live for immortality, and I will accept no compromise.” In the same way, if he had decided17 that God and immortality did not exist, he would at once have become an atheist18 and a socialist19. For socialism is not merely the labour question, it is before all things the atheistic20 question, the question of the form taken by atheism21 to-day, the question of the tower of Babel built without God, not to mount to heaven from earth but to set up heaven on earth. Alyosha would have found it strange and impossible to go on living as before. It is written: “Give all that thou hast to the poor and follow Me, if thou wouldst be perfect.”
Alyosha said to himself: “I can’t give two roubles instead of ‘all,’ and only go to mass instead of ‘following Him.’” Perhaps his memories of childhood brought back our monastery, to which his mother may have taken him to mass. Perhaps the slanting22 sunlight and the holy image to which his poor “crazy” mother had held him up still acted upon his imagination. Brooding on these things he may have come to us perhaps only to see whether here he could sacrifice all or only “two roubles,” and in the monastery he met this elder. I must digress to explain what an “elder” is in Russian monasteries23, and I am sorry that I do not feel very competent to do so. I will try, however, to give a superficial account of it in a few words. Authorities on the subject assert that the institution of “elders” is of recent date, not more than a hundred years old in our monasteries, though in the orthodox East, especially in Sinai and Athos, it has existed over a thousand years. It is maintained that it existed in ancient times in Russia also, but through the calamities24 which overtook Russia — the Tartars, civil war, the interruption of relations with the East after the destruction of Constantinople — this institution fell into oblivion. It was revived among us towards the end of last century by one of the great “ascetics,” as they called him, Paissy Velitchkovsky, and his disciples25. But to this day it exists in few monasteries only, and has sometimes been almost persecuted26 as an innovation in Russia. It flourished especially in the celebrated27 Kozelski Optin Monastery. When and how it was introduced into our monastery I cannot say. There had already been three such elders and Zossima was the last of them. But he was almost dying of weakness and disease, and they had no one to take his place. The question for our monastery was an important one, for it had not been distinguished28 by anything in particular till then: they had neither relics29 of saints, nor wonder — working ikons, nor glorious traditions, nor historical exploits. It had flourished and been glorious all over Russia through its elders, to see and hear whom pilgrims had flocked for thousands of miles from all parts.
What was such an elder? An elder was one who took your soul, your will, into his soul and his will. When you choose an elder, you renounce30 your own will and yield it to him in complete submission31, complete self-abnegation. This novitiate, this terrible school of abnegation, is undertaken voluntarily, in the hope of self-conquest, of self-mastery, in order, after a life of obedience32, to attain33 perfect freedom, that is, from self; to escape the lot of those who have lived their whole life without finding their true selves in themselves. This institution of elders is not founded on theory, but was established in the East from the practice of a thousand years. The obligations due to an elder are not the ordinary “obedience” which has always existed in our Russian monasteries. The obligation involves confession34 to the elder by all who have submitted themselves to him, and to the indissoluble bond between him and them.
The story is told, for instance, that in the early days of Christianity one such novice35, failing to fulfil some command laid upon him by his elder, left his monastery in Syria and went to Egypt. There, after great exploits, he was found worthy36 at last to suffer torture and a martyr’s death for the faith. When the Church, regarding him as a saint, was burying him, suddenly, at the deacon’s exhortation37, “Depart all ye unbaptised,” the coffin38 containing the martyr’s body left its place and was cast forth39 from the church, and this took place three times. And only at last they learnt that this holy man had broken his vow40 of obedience and left his elder, and, therefore, could not be forgiven without the elder’s absolution in spite of his great deeds. Only after this could the funeral take place. This, of course, is only an old legend. But here is a recent instance.
A monk41 was suddenly commanded by his elder to quit Athos, which he loved as a sacred place and a haven42 of refuge, and to go first to Jerusalem to do homage43 to the Holy Places and then to go to the north to Siberia: “There is the place for thee and not here.” The monk, overwhelmed with sorrow, went to the Oecumenical Patriarch at Constantinople and besought44 him to release him from his obedience. But the Patriarch replied that not only was he unable to release him, but there was not and could not be on earth a power which could release him except the elder who had himself laid that duty upon him. In this way the elders are endowed in certain cases with unbounded and inexplicable45 authority. That is why in many of our monasteries the institution was at first resisted almost to persecution46. Meantime the elders immediately began to be highly esteemed47 among the people. Masses of the ignorant people as well as of distinction flocked, for instance, to the elders of our monastery to confess their doubts, their sins, and their sufferings, and ask for counsel and admonition. Seeing this, the opponents of the elders declared that the sacrament of confession was being arbitrarily and frivolously48 degraded, though the continual opening of the heart to the elder by the monk or the layman50 had nothing of the character of the sacrament. In the end, however, the institution of elders has been retained and is becoming established in Russian monasteries. It is true, perhaps, that this instrument which had stood the test of a thousand years for the moral regeneration of a man from slavery to freedom and to moral perfectibility may be a two-edged weapon and it may lead some not to humility51 and complete self-control but to the most Satanic pride, that is, to bondage52 and not to freedom.
The elder Zossima was sixty-five. He came of a family of landowners, had been in the army in early youth, and served in the Caucasus as an officer. He had, no doubt, impressed Alyosha by some peculiar53 quality of his soul. Alyosha lived in the cell of the elder, who was very fond of him and let him wait upon him. It must be noted54 that Alyosha was bound by no obligation and could go where he pleased and be absent for whole days. Though he wore the monastic dress it was voluntarily, not to be different from others. No doubt he liked to do so. Possibly his youthful imagination was deeply stirred by the power and fame of his elder. It was said that so many people had for years past come to confess their sins to Father Zossima and to entreat55 him for words of advice and healing, that he had acquired the keenest intuition and could tell from an unknown face what a new-comer wanted, and what was the suffering on his conscience. He sometimes astounded56 and almost alarmed his visitors by his knowledge of their secrets before they had spoken a word.
Alyosha noticed that many, almost all, went in to the elder for the first time with apprehension58 and uneasiness, but came out with bright and happy faces. Alyosha was particularly struck by the fact that Father Zossima was not at all stern. On the contrary, he was always almost gay. The monks59 used to say that he was more drawn60 to those who were more sinful, and the greater the sinner the more he loved him. There were, no doubt, up to the end of his life, among the monks some who hated and envied him, but they were few in number and they were silent, though among them were some of great dignity in the monastery, one, for instance, of the older monks distinguished for his strict keeping of fasts and vows61 of silence. But the majority were on Father Zossima’s side and very many of them loved him with all their hearts, warmly and sincerely. Some were almost fanatically devoted62 to him, and declared, though not quite aloud, that he was a saint, that there could be no doubt of it, and, seeing that his end was near, they anticipated miracles and great glory to the monastery in the immediate future from his relics. Alyosha had unquestioning faith in the miraculous power of the elder, just as he had unquestioning faith in the story of the coffin that flew out of the church. He saw many who came with sick children or relatives and besought the elder to lay hands on them and to pray over them, return shortly after — some the next day — and, falling in tears at the elder’s feet, thank him for healing their sick.
Whether they had really been healed or were simply better in the natural course of the disease was a question which did not exist for Alyosha, for he fully believed in the spiritual power of his teacher and rejoiced in his fame, in his glory, as though it were his own triumph. His heart throbbed63, and he beamed, as it were, all over when the elder came out to the gates of the hermitage into the waiting crowd of pilgrims of the humbler class who had flocked from all parts of Russia on purpose to see the elder and obtain his blessing65. They fell down before him, wept, kissed his feet, kissed the earth on which he stood, and wailed66, while the women held up their children to him and brought him the sick “possessed with devils.” The elder spoke57 to them, read a brief prayer over them, blessed them, and dismissed them. Of late he had become so weak through attacks of illness that he was sometimes unable to leave his cell, and the pilgrims waited for him to come out for several days. Alyosha did not wonder why they loved him so, why they fell down before him and wept with emotion merely at seeing his face. Oh! he understood that for the humble64 soul of the Russian peasant, worn out by grief and toil67, and still more by the everlasting68 injustice and everlasting sin, his own and the world’s, it was the greatest need and comfort to find someone or something holy to fall down before and worship.
“Among us there is sin, injustice, and temptation, but yet, somewhere on earth there is someone holy and exalted69. He has the truth; he knows the truth; so it is not dead upon the earth; so it will come one day to us, too, and rule over all the earth according to the promise.”
Alyosha knew that this was just how the people felt and even reasoned. He understood it, but that the elder Zossima was this saint and custodian70 of God’s truth — of that he had no more doubt than the weeping peasants and the sick women who held out their children to the elder. The conviction that after his death the elder would bring extraordinary glory to the monastery was even stronger in Alyosha than in anyone there, and, of late, a kind of deep flame of inner ecstasy71 burnt more and more strongly in his heart. He was not at all troubled at this elder’s standing72 as a solitary73 example before him.
“No matter. He is holy. He carries in his heart the secret of renewal74 for all: that power which will, at last, establish truth on the earth, and all men will be holy and love one another, and there will be no more rich nor poor, no exalted nor humbled75, but all will be as the children of God, and the true Kingdom of Christ will come.” That was the dream in Alyosha’s heart.
The arrival of his two brothers, whom he had not known till then, seemed to make a great impression on Alyosha. He more quickly made friends with his half-brother Dmitri (though he arrived later) than with his own brother Ivan. He was extremely interested in his brother Ivan, but when the latter had been two months in the town, though they had met fairly often, they were still not intimate. Alyosha was naturally silent, and he seemed to be expecting something, ashamed about something, while his brother Ivan, though Alyosha noticed at first that he looked long and curiously76 at him, seemed soon to have left off thinking of him. Alyosha noticed it with some embarrassment77. He ascribed his brother’s indifference78 at first to the disparity of their age and education. But he also wondered whether the absence of curiosity and sympathy in Ivan might be due to some other cause entirely79 unknown to him. He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving towards some goal, perhaps very hard to attain, and that that was why he had no thought for him. Alyosha wondered, too, whether there was not some contempt on the part of the learned atheist for him — a foolish novice. He knew for certain that his brother was an atheist. He could not take offence at this contempt, if it existed; yet, with an uneasy embarrassment which he did not himself understand, he waited for his brother to come nearer to him. Dmitri used to speak of Ivan with the deepest respect and with a peculiar earnestness. From him Alyosha learnt all the details of the important affair which had of late formed such a close and remarkable80 bond between the two elder brothers. Dmitri’s enthusiastic references to Ivan were the more striking in Alyosha’s eyes since Dmitri was, compared with Ivan, almost uneducated, and the two brothers were such a contrast in personality and character that it would be difficult to find two men more unlike.
It was at this time that the meeting, or, rather gathering81 of the members of this inharmonious family took place in the cell of the elder who had such an extraordinary influence on Alyosha. The pretext82 for this gathering was a false one. It was at this time that the discord83 between Dmitri and his father seemed at its acutest stage and their relations had become insufferably strained. Fyodor Pavlovitch seems to have been the first to suggest, apparently in joke, that they should all meet in Father Zossima’s cell, and that, without appealing to his direct intervention84, they might more decently come to an understanding under the conciliating influence of the elder’s presence. Dmitri, who had never seen the elder, naturally supposed that his father was trying to intimidate85 him, but, as he secretly blamed himself for his outbursts of temper with his father on several recent occasions, he accepted the challenge. It must be noted that he was not, like Ivan, staying with his father, but living apart at the other end of the town. It happened that Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miusov, who was staying in the district at the time, caught eagerly at the idea. A Liberal of the forties and fifties, a freethinker and atheist, he may have been led on by boredom86 or the hope of frivolous49 diversion. He was suddenly seized with the desire to see the monastery and the holy man. As his lawsuit87 with the monastery still dragged on, he made it the pretext for seeing the Superior, in order to attempt to settle it amicably88. A visitor coming with such laudable intentions might be received with more attention and consideration than if he came from simple curiosity. Influences from within the monastery were brought to bear on the elder, who of late had scarcely left his cell, and had been forced by illness to deny even his ordinary visitors. In the end he consented to see them, and the day was fixed89.
“Who has made me a judge over them?” was all he said, smilingly, to Alyosha.
Alyosha was much perturbed90 when he heard of the proposed visit. Of all the wrangling91, quarrelsome party, Dmitri was the only one who could regard the interview seriously. All the others would come from frivolous motives92, perhaps insulting to the elder. Alyosha was well aware of that. Ivan and Miusov would come from curiosity, perhaps of the coarsest kind, while his father might be contemplating93 some piece of buffoonery. Though he said nothing, Alyosha thoroughly94 understood his father. The boy, I repeat, was far from being so simple as everyone thought him. He awaited the day with a heavy heart. No doubt he was always pondering in his mind how the family discord could be ended. But his chief anxiety concerned the elder. He trembled for him, for his glory, and dreaded95 any affront96 to him, especially the refined, courteous97 irony98 of Miusov and the supercilious99 half-utterances of the highly educated Ivan. He even wanted to venture on warning the elder, telling him something about them, but, on second thoughts, said nothing. He only sent word the day before, through a friend, to his brother Dmitri, that he loved him and expected him to keep his promise. Dmitri wondered, for he could not remember what he had promised, but he answered by letter that he would do his utmost not to let himself be provoked “by vileness,” but that, although he had a deep respect for the elder and for his brother Ivan, he was convinced that the meeting was either a trap for him or an unworthy farce100.
“Nevertheless I would rather bite out my tongue than be lacking in respect to the sainted man whom you reverence101 so highly,” he wrote in conclusion. Alyosha was not greatly cheered by the letter.
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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atheist
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| n.无神论者 | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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atheistic
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| adj.无神论者的 | |
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atheism
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| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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monasteries
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| 修道院( monastery的名词复数 ) | |
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calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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frivolously
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| adv.轻浮地，愚昧地 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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83
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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intimidate
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| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wrangling
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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99
supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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