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Thats rebellion, murmured Alyosha, looking down. Rebellion? I am sorry you call it that, said Ivan earnestly. One can hardly live in rebellion, and I want to live. Tell me yourself, I challenge youanswer. Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last, but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creaturethat baby beating its breast with its fist, for instanceand to found that edifice on its unavenged tears, would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me, and tell the truth. No, I wouldnt consent, said Alyosha softly. And can you admit the idea that men for whom you are building it would agree to accept their happiness on the foundation of the unexpiated blood of a little victim? And accepting it would remain happy for ever? No, I cant admit it. Brother, said Alyosha suddenly, with flashing eyes, you said just now, is there a being in the whole world who would have the right to forgive and could forgive? But there is a Being and He can forgive everything, all and for all, because He gave His innocent blood for all and everything. You have forgotten Him, and on Him is built the edifice, and it is to Him they cry aloud, Thou art just, O Lord, for Thy ways are revealed! Ah! the One without sin and His blood! No, I have not forgotten Him; on the contrary Ive been wondering all the time how it was you did not bring Him in before, for usually all arguments on your side put Him in the foreground. Do you know, Alyoshadont laugh! I made a poem about a year ago. If you can waste another ten minutes on me, Ill tell it to you. You wrote a poem? Oh, no, I didnt write it, laughed Ivan, and Ive never written two lines of poetry in my life. But I made up this poem in prose and I remembered it. I was carried away when I made it up. You will be my first readerthat is, listener. Why should an author forego even one listener? smiled Ivan. Shall I tell it to you? I am all attention, said Alyosha. My poem is called The Grand Inquisitor; its a ridiculous thing but I want to tell it to you. |
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