Saintliness in The Brothers Karamazov

Dostoyevsky’s masterpiece offers us, what I believe, are three possible characterisations of sainthood: Alyosha Karamazov, The Elder Zosima, and the hermit.
Although Zosima has managed to shape himself into the worthy character of the monastery’s revered Elder, we soon learn that his past was rather sordid. Indeed, it seems that this still incredibly charismatic individual was unable to restrain himself from lewd behaviour in the lay-world that nearly led to the death of, if not another, at least of himself. His self-imposed exile from the outside world, seems not only to be part of the deal he struck with himself/God/the-powers-that-be given that he survived this final ordeal, but, moreover, a recognition of his inability to be self-governing. Admirably, Zosima seems to have paid his debt for his good fortune many times over; Alyosha is not the only one who fervently believes and hopes that his mentor will be officially recognised as a saint. And yet, with his passing, Dostoyevsky strikes the final blow, and the corpse begins to emit a most foul effluence.
I think, at first glance, one may be tempted to regard Dostoyevsky’s motivation this matter merely as a demonstration of the fickle and superstitious nature of all those in the township that smugly smiled at this phenomenon. Certainly, I do not refute this interpretation; Dostoyevsky, the narrator, makes such an insight quite explicit. However, Dostoyevsky, when it comes to the larger picture, I believe, has a far greater capacity for subtlety than most. It was not merely the morally-loaded reactions of the townsfolk that would have served as the impetus for Dostoyevsky’s choice in the posthumous fate of Zosima; it was the fate itself, as it spoke to the life of the man, that is primary in our interpretation of the phenomenon. With his passing, Zosima finally let go of the decay that he so admirably kept at bay since his conversion. The charity and piety that he fostered in himself during in his time in the monastery were the result of a genuine (and successful) attempt to save his soul, but they weren’t natural to his character. Indeed, even more symbolically, we may wish to say that, while his soul was finally able to leave this world untarnished owing to his virtuous endeavours, the body he left behind ultimately revealed its true naturally corrupted self.
Aloysha, on the other hand, is handsomely innocent. A joy to all, he reflexively finds joy in all. Zosima is all to happy to have him around while he is alive, in the belief that his influence has the potential to educate the somewhat naïve Alyosha, not only that life will sometimes demand that you act purposefully and conscientiously (as it did so dramatically in Zosima’s life), but that it can be successfully accomplished, and that, furthermore, it is worthwhile to do so.
Zosima’s final testament that Alyosha should leave the monastery, I believe, faithfully echoes Dostoyevsky’s own point of view: while Alyosha’s brief sojourn was fruitful for the reasons stated above, without the influence of Zosima, the monastic life most certainly had the potential to suffocate the immense potential for doing good in the world at large. Indeed, I think it fair to claim that the crazy old hermit that lived out in the forest behind the monastery was representative of Dostoyevsky’s prediction of what would become of someone as naively conscientious as Alyosha if he was to become a monk. An individual such as Zosima was himself protected by such a fate, by his true nature. But, while Alyosha’s beautiful innocence has the potential to inspire no end of good in the world at large, as a monk he would be stifled and ultimately suffocated.