How, then, shall we view the masses?

The many, the humble, the ignorant, the mediocre?

I have taken this post nearly word for word from an assignment I have completed for my philosophy course upon reading Dostoevsky's tale of the Grand Inquisitor, omitting only insignificant details in respect to others' privacy.
May it lead you, my dear reader, to further doubts and questions regarding the state of your soul, your faith, and indeed, your very existence.

"As _____ stated in the very first post, this is, indeed, difficult reading. I found myself at several points making the same objections _____ did - but, humanity is glorious! We are strong! We are wonderful! We possess choice, and this is the gift which God has given us!
We are up to the challenge.

At this point, I came to my most uncomfortable realization.
We're not.

The Inquisitor, in a sense, is right. While he does, in the end, release the prisoner, while he does retain the warmth of that kiss in his heart, he refuses to depart from his love of humanity.
Indeed, how could he?
Being a student of Christ and a student of humanity, he had no other option.

I have returned, at _____'s gentle (and likely entirely accidental) prodding, to my old haunt - a forum I frequented in my youth, and may yet frequent, driven by the protective glow of my memories.
I am not there, however, as an equal to the children who call it their home - rather, I am their older brother, I am their caretaker, I am their protector, I am their guardian and their shield, I am loved and adored there still: and it makes my very soul sick.
It makes my heart ache to know that these children - mere children! - are destined to lives of ignorance, not by force, but by choice. That they long to give up their bread, to push away their freedom, to sacrifice it to another.
And so I take their bread. I shepherd these children in the ways of doubt, I assuage their pain and restore their broken confidence, I stand as the impenetrable wall between them and all who would assault them.
For I remember only all too well the days of living among an online community - of dedicating myself to those I had only met through lines of text and disembodied voices in my ear, living all over this forsaken planet. Of loving them, caring for them, needing them.
I remember all too well the days of doubt, of captivity and fear, and the comfort which lies in the protection of others.

Now, of course, that I have left these things behind, I see the behaviors in others still - and I have no recourse left but to act as their Grand Inquisitor.
I cherish these children - As representatives of humanity, as individual sparks in this sea of light, I could even be said to love them in my way. I believe that humanity is worth protecting.

With that in mind, I am confronted with the dilemma brutal honesty brings: those that need protecting aren't worth protecting, as the effort devoted to their protection is effort taken from the reach for ever greater glory, learning and discovery - in my own way, I sin.
Rather than reaching for God myself, I acknowledge with some wistfulness that although I possess that capability, though I possess that strength of spirit, that very spirit bestows upon me the duty to protect those who will not, who cannot do the same.

The Inquisitor presents us with a difficult dilemma.

Yes, humans possess the ability to choose freedom. We possess free will, we possess consciousness, we possess awareness - the problem lies, however, in the fact that many of us simply don't desire it. In the vast fearfulness of an entire universe laid bare to our wondering eyes, many of us - the huddled masses, the poor in spirit, the weak and the ignorant - choose to screw our eyes tightly shut and beg Jesus to make it all go away. We don't want fear, we don't want wonder, we don't want insecurity or uncertainty - we want love, unfettered and unconditional. We want a mother's embrace, the relief and security of a stalwart guardian's strong arms bearing sharpened sword and plated shield.

What, then, of those who take up the sword and shield? Who crusade against certainty, who assail the fortresses of ignorance and hatred with questing darts of curiosity, who plant seeds of doubt in the mortar of blind ignorance?

First, we are hated. If we are weak, we succumb and apologize, lay down arms and stop asking questions. Sometimes we join a church, sometimes we simply settle down to our basic duty as humans to produce offspring and foster generations to come.

If we are strong, however, we stand fast. We shatter the arrows of hatred upon our shields of doubt and cut through certainty with blades of curiosity.
And what then? Why, we are loved.
We are suddenly revered as pillars of knowledge - knowledge we often don't have - and held up as role models for entire communities. We are feared and awed, and approached with the meekest timidity, if at all.

We have, in essence, taken God's place. Others come to us to ask who to worship and how to worship them. They come to us to reinforce their faith, when we were the ones who tore it down in the first place.

At this point, another transformation has the potential to take place.
At this point as well, a crucial question must be asked: where does our love lie? Does it lie with the divine, with the growth of love and learning and knowledge? Do we dare to explore more and more of the world outside the cave?
Or does our love lie with humanity? Do we reject God, reject the divine, in order to call to our fellows dancing with shadows and lead them into the light? Do we sin in our deception of our weaker brethren while we take their hands and give them succor in their fear?

Which shall we choose? In our love of humanity, do we reject God? Or in our love of God, do we reject humanity?

At this point, I don't have an answer - but I must admit that the Grand Inquisitor frames it in such a way that I'm sure it will be nestling in the back of my mind for weeks, months, possibly even years to come.

The profound is rarely satisfying, it seems - the greatest questions lead only to more of the same, while only a combination of fear and the basest answers truly sate the appetite of curiosity.