«I also will choose their delusions, and will bring their fears upon them; because when I called, none did answer; when I
spake, they did not hear: but they did
evil before mine
eyes, and chose that in which I delighted not.»
I have had this experience three times now, on three different occasions, in admittedly similar circumstances, but not similar enough to explain the coincidence: I am
speaking from a podium to a fairly large audience on the topics of — to put it broadly —
evil, suffering, and God; I have been talking for several minutes about Ivan Karamazov, and about things I have written on Dostoevsky, to what seems general approbation; then, for some reason or other, I happen to remark that, considered purely as an artist, Dostoevsky is immeasurably inferior to Tolstoy; at this, a single pained gasp of incredulity breaks out somewhat to the right of the podium, and I turn my head to see a woman with long brown hair, somewhere in her middle thirties, seated in the third or fourth row, shaking her head in wide -
eyed astonishment at my loutish stupidity.