feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Brothers Karamazov/section_2_part_4.txt
feat_book_id: The Brothers Karamazov.book 2.chapter 8
feat_summary_id: book 2, chapter 8
feat_summary: {"name": "book 2, Chapter 8", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210305110438/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/brothersk/section3/", "summary": "Scandal  Fyodor Pavlovich creates another scene before leaving the monastery. He angrily bursts in on the luncheon at the Father Superior's and launches into a long, vulgar tirade about the idiocy and hypocrisy of monastic life. Fyodor finally leaves, and as Ivan unhappily loads him into a carriage, he shouts back at Alyosha to leave the monastery and come home at once. The carriage drives away, and Fyodor begins contemplating the cognac he will have when they return home.", "analysis": "Book II: An Inappropriate Gathering, Chapters 5-8 Ivan's argument with the monks in Chapters 5 and 6 provides an approach to the world's problems that contrasts with the active love promoted by Zosima in the previous section. Unlike Zosima, who emphasizes the role of the individual conscience, Ivan proposes sweeping social changes designed to promote a specific outcome. While Zosima believes that every person should strive to do good, Ivan argues that civilization should erase the distinction between church and state in order to reduce criminality. Ivan's position differs from Zosima's in three specific ways. First, Ivan is interested in abstract conceptions of society and large groups of people, while Zosima is interested in the experience of the individual. Zosima proposes a way of life that, if everyone were to follow it, would make a better world, and Ivan proposes a change in the order of the world that, if enacted, would possibly make a better life for individuals. This difference is understandable given Ivan's and Zosima's own characteristics. Zosima is capable of loving human beings on an individual level, while Ivan is only capable of loving humanity in the abstract. Second, Zosima conceives of religion as a positive force, but Ivan believes it is negative. Zosima's approach to religion is to suggest ways that the individual can act to do good, while Ivan's is to suggest ways that religion can prevent the individual from doing evil. Because Zosima believes people are naturally loving and positive, he emphasizes the good that people can do for one another. Because Ivan believes people are naturally suspicious and negative, he emphasizes the evil that people must be prevented from doing to one another. The third difference between Zosima's and Ivan's arguments is their level of sincerity. Zosima wholeheartedly believes what he says, whereas Ivan argues from a detached, academic standpoint. Ivan does believe that powerful ecclesiastical courts would improve society. But he does not believe in God, making his desire for a religious society seem perplexingly out of line with his real beliefs. Nonetheless, Ivan thinks that religious courts would be most effective in controlling the masses, even if religion itself is false. The fact that Zosima is able to see Ivan's religious doubt even as Ivan argues for increased religious authority shows Zosima's penetrating understanding of human nature. These chapters represent the conflict between faith and doubt as a struggle between simple love for humanity and complicated theorizing about humanity. Zosima and Ivan both argue convincingly for their ideas, but Zosima's simple faith is more impressive than Ivan's highly complex doubt. Dostoevsky's treatment of philosophical concepts in this chapter is similar to his treatment of them in the rest of the novel. Dostoevsky frequently makes compelling abstract cases for two sides of an argument, and then, through the example of the characters' behavior, indicates the superiority of love, faith, and goodness. Zosima's enigmatic action when he kneels before Dmitri is open to a variety of interpretations. Zosima is able to understand other people's minds because his faith is logical and clearheaded. His kneeling before Dmitri indicates his understanding of something that no other character can see yet: that Dmitri, deep down, is a good man who will be forced to suffer before he can be redeemed. The narrative suggests that Zosima's insight is vastly superior to the sly theorizing of Rakitin in Chapter 7--Zosima is able to predict Dmitri's real future, whereas the rational Rakitin predicts that Dmitri will come to a violent end. In this way, Zosima's bow fore-shadows Dmitri's eventual fate. It also foreshadows a number of similarly enigmatic gestures made throughout the novel in moments of moral conflict, including Christ kissing the Grand Inquisitor and Alyosha kissing Ivan in Book V. Ivan's argument that the entire notion of morality is dependent on the idea that the soul is immortal has a direct bearing on Fyodor Pavlovich's character. If, as Ivan proposes, the idea of good and evil is dependent upon the existence of God, then Fyodor Pavlovich's gross sensuality is a perfectly logical way for him to behave, as he does not believe in God. All of Fyodor Pavlovich's morally questionable actions are irrelevant if morality is only a tool for securing a comfortable afterlife. Ivan himself seems to understand that Fyodor Pavlovich lives the logical extension of Ivan's own beliefs. This relationship between the two characters explains the simultaneous love and hatred Ivan feels toward his father. Ivan hates Fyodor Pavlovich because Ivan dislikes the idea that his argument about morality could justify such an abhorrent figure as Fyodor. But Ivan must tolerate Fyodor Pavlovich, because criticizing him would undermine his argument"}
text: Chapter VIII. The Scandalous Scene
  
  
  Miuesov, as a man of breeding and delicacy, could not but feel some inward
  qualms, when he reached the Father Superior's with Ivan: he felt ashamed
  of having lost his temper. He felt that he ought to have disdained that
  despicable wretch, Fyodor Pavlovitch, too much to have been upset by him
  in Father Zossima's cell, and so to have forgotten himself. "The monks
  were not to blame, in any case," he reflected, on the steps. "And if
  they're decent people here (and the Father Superior, I understand, is a
  nobleman) why not be friendly and courteous with them? I won't argue, I'll
  fall in with everything, I'll win them by politeness, and ... and ... show
  them that I've nothing to do with that AEsop, that buffoon, that Pierrot,
  and have merely been taken in over this affair, just as they have."
  
  He determined to drop his litigation with the monastery, and relinquish
  his claims to the wood-cutting and fishery rights at once. He was the more
  ready to do this because the rights had become much less valuable, and he
  had indeed the vaguest idea where the wood and river in question were.
  
  These excellent intentions were strengthened when he entered the Father
  Superior's dining-room, though, strictly speaking, it was not a dining-
  room, for the Father Superior had only two rooms altogether; they were,
  however, much larger and more comfortable than Father Zossima's. But there
  was no great luxury about the furnishing of these rooms either. The
  furniture was of mahogany, covered with leather, in the old-fashioned
  style of 1820; the floor was not even stained, but everything was shining
  with cleanliness, and there were many choice flowers in the windows; the
  most sumptuous thing in the room at the moment was, of course, the
  beautifully decorated table. The cloth was clean, the service shone; there
  were three kinds of well-baked bread, two bottles of wine, two of
  excellent mead, and a large glass jug of kvas--both the latter made in the
  monastery, and famous in the neighborhood. There was no vodka. Rakitin
  related afterwards that there were five dishes: fish-soup made of
  sterlets, served with little fish patties; then boiled fish served in a
  special way; then salmon cutlets, ice pudding and compote, and finally,
  blanc-mange. Rakitin found out about all these good things, for he could
  not resist peeping into the kitchen, where he already had a footing. He
  had a footing everywhere, and got information about everything. He was of
  an uneasy and envious temper. He was well aware of his own considerable
  abilities, and nervously exaggerated them in his self-conceit. He knew he
  would play a prominent part of some sort, but Alyosha, who was attached to
  him, was distressed to see that his friend Rakitin was dishonorable, and
  quite unconscious of being so himself, considering, on the contrary, that
  because he would not steal money left on the table he was a man of the
  highest integrity. Neither Alyosha nor any one else could have influenced
  him in that.
  
  Rakitin, of course, was a person of too little consequence to be invited
  to the dinner, to which Father Iosif, Father Paissy, and one other monk
  were the only inmates of the monastery invited. They were already waiting
  when Miuesov, Kalganov, and Ivan arrived. The other guest, Maximov, stood a
  little aside, waiting also. The Father Superior stepped into the middle of
  the room to receive his guests. He was a tall, thin, but still vigorous
  old man, with black hair streaked with gray, and a long, grave, ascetic
  face. He bowed to his guests in silence. But this time they approached to
  receive his blessing. Miuesov even tried to kiss his hand, but the Father
  Superior drew it back in time to avoid the salute. But Ivan and Kalganov
  went through the ceremony in the most simple-hearted and complete manner,
  kissing his hand as peasants do.
  
  "We must apologize most humbly, your reverence," began Miuesov, simpering
  affably, and speaking in a dignified and respectful tone. "Pardon us for
  having come alone without the gentleman you invited, Fyodor Pavlovitch. He
  felt obliged to decline the honor of your hospitality, and not without
  reason. In the reverend Father Zossima's cell he was carried away by the
  unhappy dissension with his son, and let fall words which were quite out
  of keeping ... in fact, quite unseemly ... as"--he glanced at the
  monks--"your reverence is, no doubt, already aware. And therefore,
  recognizing that he had been to blame, he felt sincere regret and shame,
  and begged me, and his son Ivan Fyodorovitch, to convey to you his
  apologies and regrets. In brief, he hopes and desires to make amends
  later. He asks your blessing, and begs you to forget what has taken
  place."
  
  As he uttered the last word of his tirade, Miuesov completely recovered his
  self-complacency, and all traces of his former irritation disappeared. He
  fully and sincerely loved humanity again.
  
  The Father Superior listened to him with dignity, and, with a slight bend
  of the head, replied:
  
  "I sincerely deplore his absence. Perhaps at our table he might have
  learnt to like us, and we him. Pray be seated, gentlemen."
  
  He stood before the holy image, and began to say grace, aloud. All bent
  their heads reverently, and Maximov clasped his hands before him, with
  peculiar fervor.
  
  It was at this moment that Fyodor Pavlovitch played his last prank. It
  must be noted that he really had meant to go home, and really had felt the
  impossibility of going to dine with the Father Superior as though nothing
  had happened, after his disgraceful behavior in the elder's cell. Not that
  he was so very much ashamed of himself--quite the contrary perhaps. But
  still he felt it would be unseemly to go to dinner. Yet his creaking
  carriage had hardly been brought to the steps of the hotel, and he had
  hardly got into it, when he suddenly stopped short. He remembered his own
  words at the elder's: "I always feel when I meet people that I am lower
  than all, and that they all take me for a buffoon; so I say let me play
  the buffoon, for you are, every one of you, stupider and lower than I." He
  longed to revenge himself on every one for his own unseemliness. He
  suddenly recalled how he had once in the past been asked, "Why do you hate
  so and so, so much?" And he had answered them, with his shameless
  impudence, "I'll tell you. He has done me no harm. But I played him a
  dirty trick, and ever since I have hated him."
  
  Remembering that now, he smiled quietly and malignantly, hesitating for a
  moment. His eyes gleamed, and his lips positively quivered. "Well, since I
  have begun, I may as well go on," he decided. His predominant sensation at
  that moment might be expressed in the following words, "Well, there is no
  rehabilitating myself now. So let me shame them for all I am worth. I will
  show them I don't care what they think--that's all!"
  
  He told the coachman to wait, while with rapid steps he returned to the
  monastery and straight to the Father Superior's. He had no clear idea what
  he would do, but he knew that he could not control himself, and that a
  touch might drive him to the utmost limits of obscenity, but only to
  obscenity, to nothing criminal, nothing for which he could be legally
  punished. In the last resort, he could always restrain himself, and had
  marveled indeed at himself, on that score, sometimes. He appeared in the
  Father Superior's dining-room, at the moment when the prayer was over, and
  all were moving to the table. Standing in the doorway, he scanned the
  company, and laughing his prolonged, impudent, malicious chuckle, looked
  them all boldly in the face. "They thought I had gone, and here I am
  again," he cried to the whole room.
  
  For one moment every one stared at him without a word; and at once every
  one felt that something revolting, grotesque, positively scandalous, was
  about to happen. Miuesov passed immediately from the most benevolent frame
  of mind to the most savage. All the feelings that had subsided and died
  down in his heart revived instantly.
  
  "No! this I cannot endure!" he cried. "I absolutely cannot! and ... I
  certainly cannot!"
  
  The blood rushed to his head. He positively stammered; but he was beyond
  thinking of style, and he seized his hat.
  
  "What is it he cannot?" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, "that he absolutely
  cannot and certainly cannot? Your reverence, am I to come in or not? Will
  you receive me as your guest?"
  
  "You are welcome with all my heart," answered the Superior. "Gentlemen!"
  he added, "I venture to beg you most earnestly to lay aside your
  dissensions, and to be united in love and family harmony--with prayer to
  the Lord at our humble table."
  
  "No, no, it is impossible!" cried Miuesov, beside himself.
  
  "Well, if it is impossible for Pyotr Alexandrovitch, it is impossible for
  me, and I won't stop. That is why I came. I will keep with Pyotr
  Alexandrovitch everywhere now. If you will go away, Pyotr Alexandrovitch,
  I will go away too, if you remain, I will remain. You stung him by what
  you said about family harmony, Father Superior, he does not admit he is my
  relation. That's right, isn't it, von Sohn? Here's von Sohn. How are you,
  von Sohn?"
  
  "Do you mean me?" muttered Maximov, puzzled.
  
  "Of course I mean you," cried Fyodor Pavlovitch. "Who else? The Father
  Superior could not be von Sohn."
  
  "But I am not von Sohn either. I am Maximov."
  
  "No, you are von Sohn. Your reverence, do you know who von Sohn was? It
  was a famous murder case. He was killed in a house of harlotry--I believe
  that is what such places are called among you--he was killed and robbed,
  and in spite of his venerable age, he was nailed up in a box and sent from
  Petersburg to Moscow in the luggage van, and while they were nailing him
  up, the harlots sang songs and played the harp, that is to say, the piano.
  So this is that very von Sohn. He has risen from the dead, hasn't he, von
  Sohn?"
  
  "What is happening? What's this?" voices were heard in the group of monks.
  
  "Let us go," cried Miuesov, addressing Kalganov.
  
  "No, excuse me," Fyodor Pavlovitch broke in shrilly, taking another step
  into the room. "Allow me to finish. There in the cell you blamed me for
  behaving disrespectfully just because I spoke of eating gudgeon, Pyotr
  Alexandrovitch. Miuesov, my relation, prefers to have _plus de noblesse que
  de sincerite_ in his words, but I prefer in mine _plus de sincerite que de
  noblesse_, and--damn the _noblesse_! That's right, isn't it, von Sohn?
  Allow me, Father Superior, though I am a buffoon and play the buffoon, yet
  I am the soul of honor, and I want to speak my mind. Yes, I am the soul of
  honor, while in Pyotr Alexandrovitch there is wounded vanity and nothing
  else. I came here perhaps to have a look and speak my mind. My son,
  Alexey, is here, being saved. I am his father; I care for his welfare, and
  it is my duty to care. While I've been playing the fool, I have been
  listening and having a look on the sly; and now I want to give you the
  last act of the performance. You know how things are with us? As a thing
  falls, so it lies. As a thing once has fallen, so it must lie for ever.
  Not a bit of it! I want to get up again. Holy Father, I am indignant with
  you. Confession is a great sacrament, before which I am ready to bow down
  reverently; but there in the cell, they all kneel down and confess aloud.
  Can it be right to confess aloud? It was ordained by the holy Fathers to
  confess in secret: then only your confession will be a mystery, and so it
  was of old. But how can I explain to him before every one that I did this
  and that ... well, you understand what--sometimes it would not be proper to
  talk about it--so it is really a scandal! No, Fathers, one might be carried
  along with you to the Flagellants, I dare say ... at the first opportunity
  I shall write to the Synod, and I shall take my son, Alexey, home."
  
  We must note here that Fyodor Pavlovitch knew where to look for the weak
  spot. There had been at one time malicious rumors which had even reached
  the Archbishop (not only regarding our monastery, but in others where the
  institution of elders existed) that too much respect was paid to the
  elders, even to the detriment of the authority of the Superior, that the
  elders abused the sacrament of confession and so on and so on--absurd
  charges which had died away of themselves everywhere. But the spirit of
  folly, which had caught up Fyodor Pavlovitch, and was bearing him on the
  current of his own nerves into lower and lower depths of ignominy,
  prompted him with this old slander. Fyodor Pavlovitch did not understand a
  word of it, and he could not even put it sensibly, for on this occasion no
  one had been kneeling and confessing aloud in the elder's cell, so that he
  could not have seen anything of the kind. He was only speaking from
  confused memory of old slanders. But as soon as he had uttered his foolish
  tirade, he felt he had been talking absurd nonsense, and at once longed to
  prove to his audience, and above all to himself, that he had not been
  talking nonsense. And, though he knew perfectly well that with each word
  he would be adding more and more absurdity, he could not restrain himself,
  and plunged forward blindly.
  
  "How disgraceful!" cried Pyotr Alexandrovitch.
  
  "Pardon me!" said the Father Superior. "It was said of old, 'Many have
  begun to speak against me and have uttered evil sayings about me. And
  hearing it I have said to myself: it is the correction of the Lord and He
  has sent it to heal my vain soul.' And so we humbly thank you, honored
  guest!" and he made Fyodor Pavlovitch a low bow.
  
  "Tut--tut--tut--sanctimoniousness and stock phrases! Old phrases and old
  gestures. The old lies and formal prostrations. We know all about them. A
  kiss on the lips and a dagger in the heart, as in Schiller's _Robbers_. I
  don't like falsehood, Fathers, I want the truth. But the truth is not to
  be found in eating gudgeon and that I proclaim aloud! Father monks, why do
  you fast? Why do you expect reward in heaven for that? Why, for reward
  like that I will come and fast too! No, saintly monk, you try being
  virtuous in the world, do good to society, without shutting yourself up in
  a monastery at other people's expense, and without expecting a reward up
  aloft for it--you'll find that a bit harder. I can talk sense, too, Father
  Superior. What have they got here?" He went up to the table. "Old port
  wine, mead brewed by the Eliseyev Brothers. Fie, fie, fathers! That is
  something beyond gudgeon. Look at the bottles the fathers have brought
  out, he he he! And who has provided it all? The Russian peasant, the
  laborer, brings here the farthing earned by his horny hand, wringing it
  from his family and the tax-gatherer! You bleed the people, you know, holy
  fathers."
  
  "This is too disgraceful!" said Father Iosif.
  
  Father Paissy kept obstinately silent. Miuesov rushed from the room, and
  Kalganov after him.
  
  "Well, Father, I will follow Pyotr Alexandrovitch! I am not coming to see
  you again. You may beg me on your knees, I shan't come. I sent you a
  thousand roubles, so you have begun to keep your eye on me. He he he! No,
  I'll say no more. I am taking my revenge for my youth, for all the
  humiliation I endured." He thumped the table with his fist in a paroxysm
  of simulated feeling. "This monastery has played a great part in my life!
  It has cost me many bitter tears. You used to set my wife, the crazy one,
  against me. You cursed me with bell and book, you spread stories about me
  all over the place. Enough, fathers! This is the age of Liberalism, the
  age of steamers and railways. Neither a thousand, nor a hundred roubles,
  no, nor a hundred farthings will you get out of me!"
  
  It must be noted again that our monastery never had played any great part
  in his life, and he never had shed a bitter tear owing to it. But he was
  so carried away by his simulated emotion, that he was for one moment
  almost believing it himself. He was so touched he was almost weeping. But
  at that very instant, he felt that it was time to draw back.
  
  The Father Superior bowed his head at his malicious lie, and again spoke
  impressively:
  
  "It is written again, 'Bear circumspectly and gladly dishonor that cometh
  upon thee by no act of thine own, be not confounded and hate not him who
  hath dishonored thee.' And so will we."
  
  "Tut, tut, tut! Bethinking thyself and the rest of the rigmarole. Bethink
  yourselves, Fathers, I will go. But I will take my son, Alexey, away from
  here for ever, on my parental authority. Ivan Fyodorovitch, my most
  dutiful son, permit me to order you to follow me. Von Sohn, what have you
  to stay for? Come and see me now in the town. It is fun there. It is only
  one short verst; instead of lenten oil, I will give you sucking-pig and
  kasha. We will have dinner with some brandy and liqueur to it.... I've
  cloudberry wine. Hey, von Sohn, don't lose your chance." He went out,
  shouting and gesticulating.
  
  It was at that moment Rakitin saw him and pointed him out to Alyosha.
  
  "Alexey!" his father shouted, from far off, catching sight of him. "You
  come home to me to-day, for good, and bring your pillow and mattress, and
  leave no trace behind."
  
  Alyosha stood rooted to the spot, watching the scene in silence.
  Meanwhile, Fyodor Pavlovitch had got into the carriage, and Ivan was about
  to follow him in grim silence without even turning to say good-by to
  Alyosha. But at this point another almost incredible scene of grotesque
  buffoonery gave the finishing touch to the episode. Maximov suddenly
  appeared by the side of the carriage. He ran up, panting, afraid of being
  too late. Rakitin and Alyosha saw him running. He was in such a hurry that
  in his impatience he put his foot on the step on which Ivan's left foot
  was still resting, and clutching the carriage he kept trying to jump in.
  "I am going with you!" he kept shouting, laughing a thin mirthful laugh
  with a look of reckless glee in his face. "Take me, too."
  
  "There!" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, delighted. "Did I not say he was von
  Sohn. It is von Sohn himself, risen from the dead. Why, how did you tear
  yourself away? What did you _vonsohn_ there? And how could you get away
  from the dinner? You must be a brazen-faced fellow! I am that myself, but
  I am surprised at you, brother! Jump in, jump in! Let him pass, Ivan. It
  will be fun. He can lie somewhere at our feet. Will you lie at our feet,
  von Sohn? Or perch on the box with the coachman. Skip on to the box, von
  Sohn!"
  
  But Ivan, who had by now taken his seat, without a word gave Maximov a
  violent punch in the breast and sent him flying. It was quite by chance he
  did not fall.
  
  "Drive on!" Ivan shouted angrily to the coachman.
  
  "Why, what are you doing, what are you about? Why did you do that?" Fyodor
  Pavlovitch protested.
  
  But the carriage had already driven away. Ivan made no reply.
  
  "Well, you are a fellow," Fyodor Pavlovitch said again.
  
  After a pause of two minutes, looking askance at his son, "Why, it was you
  got up all this monastery business. You urged it, you approved of it. Why
  are you angry now?"
  
  "You've talked rot enough. You might rest a bit now," Ivan snapped
  sullenly.
  
  Fyodor Pavlovitch was silent again for two minutes.
  
  "A drop of brandy would be nice now," he observed sententiously, but Ivan
  made no response.
  
  "You shall have some, too, when we get home."
  
  Ivan was still silent.
  
  Fyodor Pavlovitch waited another two minutes.
  
  "But I shall take Alyosha away from the monastery, though you will dislike
  it so much, most honored Karl von Moor."
  
  Ivan shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and turning away stared at the
  road. And they did not speak again all the way home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: book 2, Chapter 8
target: Scandal  Fyodor Pavlovich creates another scene before leaving the monastery. He angrily bursts in on the luncheon at the Father Superior's and launches into a long, vulgar tirade about the idiocy and hypocrisy of monastic life. Fyodor finally leaves, and as Ivan unhappily loads him into a carriage, he shouts back at Alyosha to leave the monastery and come home at once. The carriage drives away, and Fyodor begins contemplating the cognac he will have when they return home.
feat_summary_analysis: Book II: An Inappropriate Gathering, Chapters 5-8 Ivan's argument with the monks in Chapters 5 and 6 provides an approach to the world's problems that contrasts with the active love promoted by Zosima in the previous section. Unlike Zosima, who emphasizes the role of the individual conscience, Ivan proposes sweeping social changes designed to promote a specific outcome. While Zosima believes that every person should strive to do good, Ivan argues that civilization should erase the distinction between church and state in order to reduce criminality. Ivan's position differs from Zosima's in three specific ways. First, Ivan is interested in abstract conceptions of society and large groups of people, while Zosima is interested in the experience of the individual. Zosima proposes a way of life that, if everyone were to follow it, would make a better world, and Ivan proposes a change in the order of the world that, if enacted, would possibly make a better life for individuals. This difference is understandable given Ivan's and Zosima's own characteristics. Zosima is capable of loving human beings on an individual level, while Ivan is only capable of loving humanity in the abstract. Second, Zosima conceives of religion as a positive force, but Ivan believes it is negative. Zosima's approach to religion is to suggest ways that the individual can act to do good, while Ivan's is to suggest ways that religion can prevent the individual from doing evil. Because Zosima believes people are naturally loving and positive, he emphasizes the good that people can do for one another. Because Ivan believes people are naturally suspicious and negative, he emphasizes the evil that people must be prevented from doing to one another. The third difference between Zosima's and Ivan's arguments is their level of sincerity. Zosima wholeheartedly believes what he says, whereas Ivan argues from a detached, academic standpoint. Ivan does believe that powerful ecclesiastical courts would improve society. But he does not believe in God, making his desire for a religious society seem perplexingly out of line with his real beliefs. Nonetheless, Ivan thinks that religious courts would be most effective in controlling the masses, even if religion itself is false. The fact that Zosima is able to see Ivan's religious doubt even as Ivan argues for increased religious authority shows Zosima's penetrating understanding of human nature. These chapters represent the conflict between faith and doubt as a struggle between simple love for humanity and complicated theorizing about humanity. Zosima and Ivan both argue convincingly for their ideas, but Zosima's simple faith is more impressive than Ivan's highly complex doubt. Dostoevsky's treatment of philosophical concepts in this chapter is similar to his treatment of them in the rest of the novel. Dostoevsky frequently makes compelling abstract cases for two sides of an argument, and then, through the example of the characters' behavior, indicates the superiority of love, faith, and goodness. Zosima's enigmatic action when he kneels before Dmitri is open to a variety of interpretations. Zosima is able to understand other people's minds because his faith is logical and clearheaded. His kneeling before Dmitri indicates his understanding of something that no other character can see yet: that Dmitri, deep down, is a good man who will be forced to suffer before he can be redeemed. The narrative suggests that Zosima's insight is vastly superior to the sly theorizing of Rakitin in Chapter 7--Zosima is able to predict Dmitri's real future, whereas the rational Rakitin predicts that Dmitri will come to a violent end. In this way, Zosima's bow fore-shadows Dmitri's eventual fate. It also foreshadows a number of similarly enigmatic gestures made throughout the novel in moments of moral conflict, including Christ kissing the Grand Inquisitor and Alyosha kissing Ivan in Book V. Ivan's argument that the entire notion of morality is dependent on the idea that the soul is immortal has a direct bearing on Fyodor Pavlovich's character. If, as Ivan proposes, the idea of good and evil is dependent upon the existence of God, then Fyodor Pavlovich's gross sensuality is a perfectly logical way for him to behave, as he does not believe in God. All of Fyodor Pavlovich's morally questionable actions are irrelevant if morality is only a tool for securing a comfortable afterlife. Ivan himself seems to understand that Fyodor Pavlovich lives the logical extension of Ivan's own beliefs. This relationship between the two characters explains the simultaneous love and hatred Ivan feels toward his father. Ivan hates Fyodor Pavlovich because Ivan dislikes the idea that his argument about morality could justify such an abhorrent figure as Fyodor. But Ivan must tolerate Fyodor Pavlovich, because criticizing him would undermine his argument