by Octavian Gabor
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The Brothers Karamazov begins with an odd description of Alyosha Karamazov: he is a non-hero, Dostoevsky writes, basing his claim primarily on Alyosha’s indeterminacy. Alyosha could not be captured in any category. Immediately after this description, Dostoevsky acknowledges that his book is not even about the main hero’s life, but is rather the first volume of a larger project. Alyosha’s life story belongs to two novels: “The second novel is the main one; this concerns my hero’s actions right up to the present time.”1 I take this to be a suggestion that Alyosha’s real life stories take place in each of the readers’ hearts.
I begin with these thoughts because my book Immigrant on Earth: A Philosopher on the Road to Emmaus (2025) is the incarnation of the idea that each of us, as persons, have multiple lives, “up to the present time,” in the way we come to life each moment in the souls of the people we encounter. “Alyosha haunts his readers, just as Dostoevsky’s book does. The second book, while it is Dostoevsky’s, is not only his: it is the volume that comes to be in his readers’ hearts […]. It so happens when someone dwells in your heart: the relationship you have with him is renewed at every instance.”2 I would say that Immigrant on Earth is one possible second life of Alyosha’s story, because many of the ideas described in this book stem from what The Brothers Karamazov gave birth into my heart. Traveling from the pages of Dostoevsky’s book to the pages of Immigrant on Earth, Alyosha reveals our status as immigrants—one of the essential features we have as human beings. This status is renewed every moment by the way in which we travel in the souls of others, for the good and for the bad. Often, we are not aware of our contributions to their lives. Even so, we live in their world as immigrants, and they live in ours. This brings forward the idea of responsibility that we often find in Dostoevsky’s world. Thus, on its first level, the book is composed of various stories that deal with the responsibility we have for each other. It is the same responsibility that Father Zosima and Mitya Karamazov discover when they behold their involuntary participation in ugliness just by their existence in the world. It is also expressed in our participation in beauty when we allow ourselves to be co-creators of reality, by reinforcing the connections we have with others and healing the brokenness that inevitably takes place in the world.
It is difficult to think of a person’s actions in Dostoevsky’s world. In our usual, linear thinking (one may call it Aristotelian), actions have determinate beginnings and ends; a hero’s life also has a determinate beginning and end. This is primarily because we are used to thinking in categories. In Dostoevsky’s world, however, things are much more complex than that. This complexity is expressed in his simple phrase quoted above: “right up to the present time.” For what is “the present time”? Is it the moment in which Alyosha’s life ends? Is it the moment when the author of his story no longer has access to the events of his life? Or is it that it never ends as long as the novel continues to be read by people from different generations, different stages in life, or different nations?
On another level, Immigrant on Earth is about personhood, which is expressed in the way we connect with other people’s hearts. Alyosha appears again in the pages dealing with personhood. He gives entry visas to his heart to all refugees, all the rejected of the world. In his presence, everyone feels accepted and reacts differently than they would react to others. His father, a despicable character for many, has moments of goodness when his son is there. This is because Alyosha embraces all, without judgment. This does not mean that he has no values. In fact, to be an oasis for others, as Alyosha is, two features are important [3].3 The first is to stand for something, to have an orientation. People need to know where to find you, where to apply for visas. Alyosha’s values offer orientation, without transforming this orientation into judgment.
We are fundamentally immigrants, not just in the strict sense of the word, when we live our lives in other countries, but in the way in which we attempt to be accepted in the souls of our brethren. This idea is approached in various ways throughout the pages of Immigrant on Earth. It can be found in the encounters with the works of Dostoevsky, Plato, Aesop, or Staniloae, and so readers will find philosophy, literature, and theology woven together, but also through the souls of the people I have encountered. They could be a person sitting next to me on a plane, whose lack of boundaries reminded me of my potential of being a Raskolnikov. Or a store owner, whose father takes all within his heart, regardless of his inability to speak English. Or a shuttle driver, whose singing “Sweet Caroline” brings two strangers together in a morning drive to the airport. Each one of these people belongs to different constellations, in fact to several ones at the same time. At times, this is due to their national identity. At other times, it is due to the situations they have in life. However, these differences do not separate them but provide the basis for meaningful, personal interactions.
The people mentioned above are real human beings whom I encountered in life. They have left a mark on me, as it happens during any meaningful interaction, and they may leave a mark on you as well, if you allow them. The book contains short stories. Perhaps the most concise and accurate description comes from Caryl Emerson: “These are fragments, perhaps even of a Romantic-era type, but more disciplined, more spiritual and scriptural, with an overlay of awe and its unexpected renewability.” The way I see it, it is also a testimony to the idea that, once we begin with any type of ideology, we are one step away from murder. The potential of being an ideologist (or a Raskolnikov) is present in all. It can be noticed anytime we cannot accept another in our hearts because we are too full of our own image of the world, with our own definition of goodness. By reading this book, you can witness one’s struggle with the temptation of becoming a “lonely superhuman with simple arithmetic”4 who wants to beautify the world according to his own principles. At the same time, you can witness moments of beauty that take place in anonymity but nevertheless compose the miracles of life.
Octavian Gabor is a professor of philosophy at Methodist College, where he also serves as the dean of academic affairs and chief academic officer. He authored articles on Greek philosophy and Dostoevsky, and he translated books from French to Romanian and Romanian to English.
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