Elder Zosima Quotes

Alyosha, was not at all a fanatic, and, in my view at least, even not at all a mystic. I will give my full opinion beforehand: he was simply an early lover of mankind,1 and if he threw himself into the monastery path, it was only because it alone struck him at the time and presented him, so to speak, with an ideal way out for his soul struggling from the darkness of worldly wickedness towards the light of love. And this path struck him only because on it at that time he met a remarkable being, in his opinion, our famous monastery elder Zosima, to whom he became attached with all the ardent first love of his unquenchable heart.

When I was seventeen I could still see well enough to read. My reading was a trait my parents admired without sharing it themselves. They described me to their friends as “bookish.” Really, I just appreciated how static and parsable words were on a page, how little they demanded of me visually. I liked books that took a long time to read, which meant that I read a lot of Russian novels, and The Brothers Karamazov was my favorite. I was reading it for the third time at Last Chance, imagining that I was Alyosha, a saint surrounded by sinners. I especially liked the part where the Elder Zosima described his childhood: I was the sickly elder brother who inspired him to become a man of the cloth, or maybe I was Zosima himself, who Alyosha prayed both for and with. The book had as many examples of how to be good as it had examples of how to be bad. It stretched for miles in my head.

The elder Zosima died!” Grushenka exclaimed. “Oh, Lord, I didn’t know!” She crossed herself piously. “Lord, but what am I doing now, sitting on his lap!” She suddenly gave a start as if in fright, jumped off his knees at once, and sat down on the sofa. Alyosha gave her a long, surprised look, and something seemed to light up in his face. “Rakitin,” he suddenly said loudly and firmly, “don’t taunt me with having rebelled against my God. I don’t want to hold any anger against you, and therefore you be kinder, too. I’ve lost such a treasure as you never had, and you cannot judge me now. You’d do better to look here, at her: did you see how she spared me? I came here looking for a wicked soul—I was drawn to that, because I was low and wicked myself, but I found a true sister, I found a treasure—a loving soul … She spared me just now … I’m speaking of you, Agrafena Alexandrovna. You restored my soul just now.” Alyosha was breathless and his lips began to tremble. He stopped. “Really saved you, did

Of the Elder Zosima it was said by many that in admitting for so many years into his presence all those who came to him in order to confess their hearts and who thirsted for counsel and healing discourse, he had taken into his soul so many revelations, griefs and unbosomings that in the end he had acquired a perspicacity of such subtle depth as made the first glance at the face of a stranger who had come to him sufficient for him to be able to guess correctly the reason for his arrival, the object of his need, and even the nature of the torment that was racking his conscience, and that he would astonish, embarrass and sometimes almost frighten the newcomer by such intimacy with his secret before the latter had even uttered a word. In this context, however, Alyosha nearly always observed that many, indeed practically all of those who came to the Elder for the first time in order to have a private talk with him made their entrances in fear and trembling, but always came out radiant and joyful, and the blackest of countenances turned to happy ones. Alyosha was also singularly impressed by the fact that the Elder was in no wise stern; on the contrary, there was unfailingly what almost amounted to gaiety in his demeanour. The monks used to say of him that he formed close soul-attachments precisely to those who were more sinful, and that those who were most sinful, those too were most beloved by him. Of the monks there were some, even towards the very end of the Elder’s life, who were his haters and enviers, but they were by this time growing few, and they kept silent, though there were among their number several persons very famous and important in the monastery, as for example one of the most ancient cenobites, a great observer of the vow of silence and an exceptional faster. But all the same it was now beyond question that the vast majority had taken the side of the Elder Zosima, and of these there were very many who positively loved him with all their hearts, ardently and sincerely; some were even attached to him with a kind of fanaticism. They used to say openly, though not quite out loud, that he was a saint, that of this there was no longer any doubt and, foreseeing his imminent decease, went in expectation from the departed of immediate miracles and great glory in the very nearest future for the monastery.

So Father Zosima decided to bang his forehead on the floor, just in case. And later, if anything does happen, people will say: "Ah, that saintly elder prophesied it!" Although, come to think of it, what kind of prophesying is it to bang one's head on the floor? No, they will say, it was symbolic, allegorical, or heaven knows what! They'll sing his praises and remember it forever! He anticipated the crime and pointed out the perpetrator of it. That's the way it always is with God's fools: they're liable to cross themselves at the sight of a tavern and then hurl stones at a church. And that's how your elder is, too: he'll drive a righteous man out with a stick and then prostrate himself before a murderer.