The Grand Inquisitor

I took the theme of Dostoevsky's "Grand Inquisitor" story from "The Brothers Karamazov" and ran with it.

 

“Order! I said, Order!” the judge roared, banging his gavel down upon the wood. The audience did not appear to heed him, and they continued shouting and throwing things at a young man who stood handcuffed to the platform nicknamed the “Confession stand”. The judge’s face turned an ugly shade of scarlet and he stuck two greasy fingers into his mouth and whistled. On cue, a squad of policemen marched into the courtroom and fired their warning shots over the audience.

            The room fell silent instantly, many with looks of fear and resignation as they sat in their seats. The contrast between the roar a few seconds before and the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the court did not appear to shock any of the witnesses. Grinning appreciatively, one of the policemen stepped forward.

            The man glittered from the number of badges he wore upon his vest, more numerous than any of the policemen behind him. He was obviously the leader of this band, and he carried himself as such: arrogantly and with an air of invulnerability. “Next time the honorable Judge Taylor has to call us in here, we won’t be firing into the ceiling,” he said in barely more than a whisper, but the audience heard every word. He glared around the room once more before he and his men swept out.

            As their metallic footsteps faded, the silence draped itself over the courtroom even more. Judge Taylor smirked and waved his large hand for the Grand Inquisitor to continue his questioning.

            Suddenly, a sound echoed through the courtroom. It was almost inhuman, and many in the audience glanced around quickly before realizing that it originated with the young man at the Confession Stand. It could not be described as a scream, a wail, nor a shriek. No, it was the sound of a man in absolute, unmitigated pain. Some of the younger members of the audience clamped their hands over their ears and looked shocked, but the elderly watched with unemotional eyes.

            The noise stopped, and the Grand Inquisitor stepped forward. “What possessed you to steal from this town, boy?” The young man did not answer, and the Grand Inquisitor continued. “This is a God-fearing community, and we do not hesitate to do His will and punish those who steal from his world. Surely you must know this.”

            The young man shook his head.

            “You did not know?” the Grand Inquisitor voiced. “How could you not know that stealing from His Holiness is a sin?”
            “I knew,” the young man croaked, his voice cracking.

            “You knew, yet you did it anyway? This is far worse than mere ignorance, boy,” the Grand Inquisitor said triumphantly. “If you knew your crime yet committed it anyway, it suggests an impassiveness that ought to be completely destroyed.”      

            “Stealing from God is a crime,” the young man gasped, “But I did not steal from Him. I stole from those who believe themselves to be God. And believing yourself to be as high as God, sir, is a worse sin than stealing.”

            The courtroom held its breath as the Grand Inquisitor stepped forward, his boots clicking against he wooden floor. “It surely is,” he said, his quiet voice as sweet as honey, “Yet I do not believe that any man in here would claim to be as high as God.”

            “They may not claim to be so, yet their actions suggest they believe it,” the young man cried, his voice growing stronger. “They take the word of God and make their own interpretations, all the while crying that God’s will is unknowable. I believe in God just as much as the next person, but I refuse to follow the laws of those who are not God himself!”

            The Grand Inquisitor laughed. “Boy, do you really believe that we have misinterpreted God’s laws that much? Is it really that hard to believe that God would not allow thieves to thrive within his land?”

            “I find it hard to believe that God would allow the poor to starve in the streets while the rich give their pets caviar and steak every night,” the young man returned. “I find it hard to believe that God would allow children to be beaten bloody until they can no longer walk or speak, and would not punish those who did not even try to help.”

            “But we do not believe that either,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “The poor have no money for a reason – they have sinned, and so deserve their fates. Those who are more fortunate to have good luck in their lives should be thankful, for God has judged them and rendered them worthy of such gifts.”   

            “So the children who were born into poverty deserve their fate?”

            “They may work themselves out of the sins of their parents. God may smile upon them, and He is not totally apathetic to the cries of the people. He listens, and He provides means for them to escape their unfortunate conditions. If they do not take those means, then it is their fault, but not the fault of Him.”
            “And do the rich not have a duty to help those below them, instead of fretting their money away on food and drink and fashionable clothing to impress their neighbors?”

            “If the rich do such things all the time, then they will no longer be wealthy,” the Grand Inquisitor said mockingly, and then held up his hands. “But enough of this silly chatter, we are not here to discuss the will of God, nor our differing beliefs on the subject. We are here because you have decided that God is merciful enough to forgive your numerous sins, even though you do not repent.”

            “I have not sinned,” the young man insisted, his eyes locked upon the Grand Inquisitor’s face with a gleam of what appeared to be defiance.

            The audience began murmuring to itself, obviously disagreeing with the man’s sentence. One man shook his head violently and muttered, “He stole from honest, hard-working people like us. If he don’t call that a sin, then he deserves his fate.”

            The Judge Taylor lifted his gavel once more, and the murmurs ceased. A few of the members of the crowd looked fearfully toward the door which the policemen had exited through, as though expecting them to burst back into the room and continue their assault upon the disturbers.

            The Grand Inquisitor, however, merely threw back his head and laughed. “You have already confessed to stealing from honorable people. Are you attempting to take back that claim?”

            “No, I am not,” the young man said confidently.

            “You admit that you have stolen, but you do not believe it is a sin? Perhaps you need another lesson in morality,” the Grand Inquisitor said, and lifted his hand once more.

            The young man screamed, an echo of the sound that had reverberated around the courtroom minutes before. The audience watched as this time, the screaming did not cease as the young man fell out of sight behind the Confession Stand. The only bit of him they were able to see was part of the arm that was handcuffed to the Stand. It twitched violently, in time with the noise emerging from the man.

            Once more, a deathly silence fell over the room when the screaming ceased. The arm was draped, unmoving, across the Stand. The Grand Inquisitor marched over to the platform, his boots echoing around the room, reverberating within the minds of all who were present. In a swift movement, he reached underneath the podium and lifted the young man with one arm, throwing him into view.

The young man’s head bowed slowly as his shoulders slumped as though in defeat. His eyes, directed at the dusty floor, held no emotion, as though he had finally accepted that it would be futile to argue. There were murmurs from the crowd – some smiling, with a manner about them as though they believed that the young man had gotten what he deserved, others – the ones who had been captured by his argument and his honesty - shaking their heads sadly.

“It is a sin to steal,” the Grand Inquisitor told him, his voice carrying across the room, “No matter what your motivation was, no matter what you did with the goods you stole, and no matter how many people were fed from the food that you gave to them. It is a sin to take from those who have earned their living and their fortune. Those below them were placed there by God for their sins, and they are not deserving of any emotion from those above, including pity.”

There was silence as the young man shook delicately. He made a few pathetic attempts to lift himself up, but only succeeded in tiring himself out. Finally, he slumped over the Confession Stand and coughed out, “I refuse to worship any God who has placed caring and honest people like them below murdering cowards such as you.”

“Unfortunately, boy, God does not care what thieves think of him,” the Grand Inquisitor smirked as he stepped forward. “Judge Taylor, gentlemen of the jury, I believe you have seen all that you need to. This man has confessed his guilt, yet he has not repented. I recommend the old punishment.” The court watched him exit the room, uncaring of the fate of the boy he had just condemned.

 

Reviews

[Andromeda]

I love this. The Judge's argument about the poor, etc deserving their fate is the most sickening thing that I know of. When I was diagnosed, I actually had people tell me that I got diabetes because of my sins, so I completely empathize w/ the boy, and I know, like he does that God does not punish like that, that we are given such things because we can handle it or perhaps use it, like the boy does in capturing the attention of some of the people in the courtroom.