Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov stands as one of the great literary achievements of all time. The story is breathtaking in scope and plumbs the depths of human desire. It addresses what it means to live before God. Among a great number of famous scenes, perhaps the most famous is “The Grand Inquisitor.” In it, Ivan, one of the three Karamazov brothers, tells a fictional story to his brother Alyosha. The story is about an inquisitor during the sixteenth-century Spanish inquisition. He is a cardinal who seeks to protect, shepherd, and keep his flock happy.
Ivan’s story begins with Jesus returning to the earth to be greeted with joy by people who desire to be healed. The inquisitor, however, is not pleased and locks Jesus in prison. After a day in the dungeon, the inquisitor visits Jesus for a private interview. Jesus says nothing, but the inquisitor lays at His feet a powerfully worded accusation. He claims that Jesus did not love His people because He gave them the freedom to choose Him or reject Him.
Ivan Karamazov, in the guise of the inquisitor, believes that “nothing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom.” The freedom that concerns Ivan is not political or economic freedom but, rather, the freedom people are given to decide for themselves if they wish to follow God. Jesus failed to take away that choice, and because of that perceived failure, the inquisitor and others like him have had to step up and do what Jesus would not do: “… they have vanquished freedom and have done so to make men happy” (232)[1].
The inquisitor develops his criticism of Jesus by reviewing the three temptations Satan used to tempt Jesus in the wilderness. First, Jesus could have spared mankind the uncertainty of freedom by promising bread: “But Thou didst reject the one infallible banner which was offered Thee to make all men bow down to Thee alone—the banner of earthly bread. And Thou hast rejected it for the sake of freedom and the bread of Heaven” (234). Jesus’ second failure was to reject the temptation to show His glory with a spectacular miracle that no one would have any choice but to believe; Jesus’ rejection of “miracle” was unconscionable according to the inquisitor, who felt obliged to fix it: “We have corrected Thy work and have founded it upon miracle, mystery and authority. And men rejoiced that they were again led like sheep, and that the terrible gift that brought them such suffering, was, at last, lifted from their hearts. … Did we not love mankind, so meekly acknowledging their feebleness, lovingly lightening their burden?” (237). The third temptation was similar: “…Thou didst reject with scorn, that last gift he offered Thee, showing Thee all the kingdoms of the earth. We took from him Rome and the sword of Caesar, and proclaimed ourselves sole rulers of the earth” (237).
In each case, the inquisitor identifies himself with Satan, feeling compelled to correct Jesus’ failure to put men at ease and rid them of the uncertainty and anguish of choosing: “The most painful secrets of their conscience, all, all they will bring to us, and we shall have an answer for all. And they will be glad to believe our answer, for it will save them from the great fear and terrible agony they endure at present in making a free decision for themselves. And all will be happy” (239).
After telling this story to his brother, Ivan admits he is an atheist. He cannot believe in a God that would leave man with the excruciating uncertainty and unhappiness of freedom of choice. The solution, according to Ivan, is the inquisitor’s solution: create a framework where people are no longer burdened by choice; decide for them how they should live and think so that they may be spared the burden. The inquisitor is willing to take on himself the burden of choice so that others will not have to face it. In essence, they will not have to face life. The inquisitor is the ultimate example of a “helicopter priest.”
What motivates the inquisitor? He does not deny who Jesus is. He recognizes Jesus, and he knows that he is working against Him. The inquisitor could bow his knee, confess his crime, and ask for forgiveness. He knows that Jesus will forgive him if he repents. In fact, in one of the most moving parts of the story, Jesus, having said nothing, kisses the inquisitor on the forehead.
But the inquisitor cannot repent. He cannot because he cannot stand to see the masses suffer. In his mind, the pain of seeing others suffer is truly insufferable. He will sacrifice his soul so that he does not have to see lost sheep aimlessly bleating on the hillside.
The desire of the inquisitor can be found in every human heart. We know all too well the danger of rebellion against God that our friends, family, and community face. We see it everywhere. We even feel the temptation to rebel in our own sinful souls. Few, if any, of us are untouched by students, friends, or family members who stray from the truth. We do not live in a medieval culture where “Christian confession” is nearly universal. We live in a world that the church no longer controls. The stakes are high, and we want to tilt the odds in our favor.
In our secret thoughts, many of us fear the pain of watching our children, our congregation, our students, or even our country going astray. In our best moments, the fear arises from our care and concern. In our worst moments, it arises from our selfishness.
To embrace the Gospel, however, we must trust God. Not only must we trust Him with our own souls, but we must trust Him with the souls of our loved ones. The opposite of trusting is to try to control the outcome ourselves. We hope and often believe that if we can create the right circumstances, the right education, the right habits, the right answers, and the right loves—then those we care for will come out right. We attempt to socialize them into the truth. We may deplore secular attempts to socialize people into a secular agenda, but do we deplore only the end of secular socialization or also the means? We want to prevent our loved ones from asking the deep and hard questions of existence because that is outrageously dangerous. We want them to have skills and abilities, as long as they don’t use those tools to question the right way.
But God is so much bigger than us. We are out of our depth. The inquisitor may have been able to make people happy and thus assuage his pain. But he could not prevent God from facing each and every member of his “flock” with a choice. The inquisitor cannot, as much as he would like, take away their freedom. And neither can we.
To embrace the Gospel requires both love and trust. Our job is to love and nurture. But it is also to trust that God will bring our loved ones along the path as He sees fit. Part of faithful love, of course, is to teach what we think is true. But we also have a responsibility to give those we teach the skills and encouragement to face the questions of life with some independence.
The choice that God has given us is not an easy one. We must continue to choose Him, even when it is hard. I fail every day. I feel that pain of seeing others choose poorly. I live in the balance of faithfully fulfilling my responsibility to others and trying to control outcomes. The good news—and it is very good news—is this: God will redeem our attempts and struggles, and we are not in charge; He is.
Notes
1 Citations from The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky; trans. Constance Garnett (New York: Signet Classic, New American Library, 1957).
This article first appeared in the Summer 2025 issue of Colloquy, Gutenberg College’s free quarterly newsletter. Subscribe here.
