Rebirth and the Mosaic of
Immortality At the end of The Brothers Karamazov Alyosha closes the book on a triumphant
note. He tells the young children that they should always remember and keep places for each other in their hearts. I found this statement very interesting primarily because it contrasted so thoroughly with the worries and the pains of the rest of the characters. For the critics of father Zossimov, the fact that his body did not decay when he died was a sign of the mortality of his soul. They judged him harshly and almost completely shut themselves out to the wonderful things Zossimov accomplished in his life. Fyodor Karamazov, convinced that he was to live the rest of his days out in sin never bothered to correct himself. Many of the characters seemed like perfect existential battlers- people obsessed with lasting through eternity, with
immortality and all the rest. When I first approached Christianity, one of the things that bothered me was the fact that many Christian ideas were based upon promises of eternal life as collateral. It seemed like Christians did things not because they loved God, but more so because they were afraid of death and wished to have some sort of lasting existence. However, for me, much of the philosophy of Eastern religions seemed empty as well. As father Zossimov dies, he embraces the ground in the shape of a cross. A Buddhist would say that he is returning to his origin, that his transient body is returning to its whole. But to me, the human soul seemed much more enduring than a simple piece of organic matter. The thought that I belong to a final entity gave me no existential repose, but instead disturbed me. I think, though, that Alyosha at the end of the novel sums up the synthesis of my new outlook very well. He tells the children to always remember each other as they grow apart. To remember to be kind like Illusha, clever like Kolya, and the rest. He says that although we will all die and that life is inherently transient, it is the mosaic of our memories that draw us close together, define our lives, and give us, in a way- a type of immortality. This outlook seems to transcend both the dichotomous damnation- salvation principles of traditional Judea-Christian values, but is not quite as “inhuman” as Eastern philosophy. The way that I view immortality is much the same way. Our lives are not independent of themselves- they are the product of empirical
influences, of a thousand ideas and influences from thousands of sources. To say that we have “independent” free will is a fallacy, but to acknowledge that we still have free will is true. Thus, each of us is a mosaic made of infinite pieces of life and experiences. Yet, despite our influences, we gravitate in life toward who we essentially are, and if we listen closely to God we gravitate more quickly. Eventually, this gravitation leads us to our piece in God’s plan- the ultimate mosaic that is a work of art. It is a work of interlocking webs of causality, of thousands of prayers answered and unanswered and infinite happiness. To be happy is to find one’s place in this mosaic, to find God’s calling in one’s life and to obey it. This cannot be done through the acknowledgement of creed, the reciting of dogma, but simply through living. By watching God’s glory unfold individually for us, each of us develops an idiosyncratic but perfectly ordered relationship with God and we fall into place. When Alyosha said to the boys to remember each part of each boy, he touched upon this squarely, showing us that although memories often die in illusion. That although memories will fade, we must always acknowledge that within us there is a little bit of Albert Hwang, a bit of the cleverness of Kolya, and kindness of Illusha. That each of us is a part of one another and if we hold together tight, we will come to know ourselves better. We will be stronger in times of tribulation and more clear as to where we fit in the gigantic scheme of thiings. To me, the remembrance of friends, of family, and of small children I don’t know is, in itself, a type of immortality that rivals that of heaven. The cheer at the end of the book “Hurrah for Karamazov” is the final sentence because it shows the redemption and the possible immortality of the Karamazov name. It shows that despite Fyodor’s obsession with baseness, despite all the death pain and hurt caused by the Karamazov name, there exists still a place amongst the mosaic. There exists still an ounce of God and good that makes them truly unforgettable. I imagine that in heaven we will find not individual souls floating around chatting, but instead pieces of memories that synthesize into God - our creator and true nature. And that we will cheer, like the little children, “Hurrah God!” and know that we have been saved and reborn.