Forgive me if I don’t remember it entirely – and how inconsiderate I may appear to forego some research, some confirmation, a quote box imparted – but to spare you the details, I’ll summarize a novel moment. An excerpt from The Brothers Karamazov. A confrontation between Ivan and Alyosha.
The crux of the argument is surprisingly straightforward. It’s that which knits itself nicely around all interactions, all moments, all prodigal sons searching for more answers: innocence. Destruction of the innocent.
Linger around long enough and you(?) may find(?) yourself witness(?) to the brutal crushing of the innocent. The homeless, the damned. The forgotten, the abandoned. Lining the alleyway or sewers – a whole class of people viewing horrors as daily parts of living. I’ll explain the question marks soon.
The prime example would be walking through a children’s hospital. Roughly 6 a.m. across any nation there’s a cohort of mothers doing a curdling sort of march to their terminally ill child. Walking amongst these women as they file into each room, so you may catch a glimpse of the child passing. Some all ragged and faded, eyes almost dim – others oblivious to their situation. Some children shall smile and ask “When can I come home?” and the mother shall hide her tears. “Soon, sweetheart.”
In The Brothers Karamazov Ivan uses the example of a child dragged behind the outhouse and mauled by a pack of stray dogs. Ivan inquires and challenges Alyosha’s faith – why does God make a world in which the innocent are punished? He refuses to believe any God could be loving enough and yet permit such atrocities. So much so that he returns any sort of ticket to heaven. He would rather live with the indignation.
See, Alyosha looked down half the time. Maybe repeated a few quips of gospel – honestly don’t remember. But it’s important. It’s important that Alyosha’s response was forgotten or silent.
Browse the Internet long enough and you may be privy to some atrocities of your own. Maybe you’ll connect your own dots, spindle your own tinfoil. Assure that these set of numbers circulating around is actually a signal for the fifth act of Revelations.
One of my favourite books of the Bible is Ecclesiastes. It’s the one that warns of vanity, of senselessness. That the wicked are adorned and the righteous are disfigured. Amongst its sea of warnings so this conclusion sticks out:
Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart […]
Enjoy life with your wife, whom you love, all the days of this meaningless life […]
Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might […]
Meanwhile the New Testament promises a new world, new reality – a new kingdom and we’ll all be united. Contrasting it with the bloodshed found in the Old Testament sometimes leaves you wondering how they’re connected even if a Bible scholar would assault you if you asked.
The Old Testament is the same as the mauled child – as a whole it has this ongoing theme of “that’s how it is” and you can either accept it or let it accept you when it finds you, the same as Job.
The advice from Ecclesiastes above – while at first seems to be a shot from the hip, an afterthought on how to deal with the absolute nihilism that lines itself around the whole book – may in fact share some residue with something from the New.
Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true,
whatsoever things are honest,
whatsoever things are just,
whatsoever things are pure,
whatsoever things are lovely,
whatsoever things are of good report;
if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise,
think on these things.
Sometimes when I’m walking through the park and it’s an especially pretty day, the sparkle on the water feels so muffled. Like there’s this thick slab of glass between the boardwalk and the bobbing navigation buoys in the distance. Poking between some tree-vines and Cardinals.
And I’ll think how if I could only turn off my mind, I would be in paradise.
But it’s active.
And it’s thinking about the mauled child.
The especially “realist” sort of reminders popping out between the planks. The same as lizards hissing and circling. Congealing from molten so it solidifies into some fixtures for a glass slab existence. A heavy heart, an honest sigh. A mind clogged and congested and a mild haunted.
Maybe you have the same habit too. The one where you dot each sort of statement with an “as it is” reminder about the State of the World. Always the practical approach, always the dance and assertion This Is How It Is. A gentle sway into the suffered. Each point padded with a pendant of those lost and forgotten.
But one thing I finally realized through all my readings and clever past authors, is that some things you can’t reason your way out of. Let’s be clear: Ivan is right. There is no justification possible. There is nothing which can defend such cruelty about the world.
I will never understand why the children’s hospital has to exist. I don’t understand why people are borne with diseases and shine brightly to glimmer before a shy 11.
You can’t say anything that’d make the swaths of homeless any more understandable in a compassionate way. We could both talk about the many reasons behind it – but justifying its very existence won’t work. The same with drugs and zombies clouding up central city districts.
When I first would “learn” about all of these atrocities and walk through such districts, and then maybe think about them – if thinking would be considered a silent prayer, but I’m not so holy, just thinking – maybe one could conclude that at least you’re Informed. That you won’t get too Inflated about your own position in the world. You’ll learn to say Grace for what you got. You’ll Tiptoe around the topics now, knowing the clauses and captions and maybe your complaining has all but ceased.
Yet walking across the park, or lake fountain to causeway and maybe someday snowy mountains – what good does it do to know these things?
These constant sludge reminders blotting out these park days do nothing. It’s done nothing.
Maybe a little outlandish, but these constant sigils of thought toward the atrocities of the world comes from some incomplete Logic wounds. Comes from shoes untied. Comes from a comfort of thorns that you’re going to figure out how the world works and its ethics all in a nice little system. That maybe as long as we keep acknowledging the hardships and sicknesses others go through, we’re making strides toward a New World.
So… what’s with the question marks at the very top? It’s a surrender.
To surrender.
All of these hardships and sicknesses and other things I’ll never be able to explain to myself, or to you. Talking about it does nothing, because talking about it doesn’t engender any much action other than more sways of sorrow. There’s no point sporting some Humility if it means one shall be numb to a bayside sunset.
Let’s leave it to the Higher Powers. Let them figure it out. They’ll have their answers – maybe it’s all a nightmare for those who stick around. But while we’re in these dreams, however the song of yourself goes – while here I’d much rather free up all the canvas and see what you’ll paint next. Instead of Les Misérables let’s make way for Les Réjouissances.
My answer to Ivan is the same as Alyosha’s, however his went: whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent. There’s no more need to bring up these topics into view. Let them fade from your very consciousness. To the point where such things just Do Not Exist In Your Mind Or Conception Of The World. Seeing as there’s no way we could give justification to a children’s hospital, why bring it up or think about it? And even while you’re in one, why label it as anything else other than a place to meet people?
Some could call this cowardice. How dare you turn a blind eye from those suffering!
But the truth is, whether there’s an eye on them or not doesn’t make a difference.
And painting people with a pity doesn’t make much for a party: why else exist?
Whether one “acknowledges” the Pain others Go Through or not doesn’t do anything much. In a social graces sort of format, you’re being proper, but in a more existential format, you’re just hanging your head with everyone else. In an underhanded way, such affirmations are stating, “yeah, you’re just doomed, and that’s it.” Why accept such things, let alone bring such things into one’s mind?
The Superficial are right. While we’re in our penance everyday they’re enjoying the breeze. We weren’t put here to mourn – if we were I’d like a return ticket home.
So why not surrender? No one could ever give a logically sound reason as to why these things exist, and there’s surely no logic being miserable all of your life reminding yourself about them. Why not just forget it all exists and paint it a light blue? Just ban it all. It’s out of one’s domain, it just may as well no longer exist in one’s conceptions of the world.
While we’re here, let’s think of the pure, the simple, the lovely, the honest, the beautiful, hearts full of promise.
And if you do, well, that glass slab shall melt away too.
If banishing the Reality and the Real World and How Things Really Work pins me as a selfish monster, well, it’s not like I was doing anything much different before.
But at least now – when there’s a nice set of waves and the Sun gives a warm embrace – at least now one can fade away properly.