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"If God doesn't exist, everything is lawful," Ivan said, and Pavel understood perfectly. It didn't mean that the absence of God would make the human laws fall apart, the restrictions of birth and wealth. It meant that if you were clever enough to navigate between the human laws, no one would even know, no one would blame you, so why would it matter?
Ivan’s words were enough to drown Pavel in a deep dream.
In this dream Ivan Karamazov was incredibly clever, so clever that he understood every implicit hint Pavel gave him. And Pavel was seeing the truth under Ivan’s words all the time.
When they talked about love and the absurdity of marriage, tying people forever in a way that would bring them to hate each other, Pavel knew Ivan was thinking about Katerina most of all. But there was a world of secret meanings about it, about the Karamazov sensuality and the way desire was stronger than marriage. When Ivan talked about the sadness of giving yourself to a woman, Pavel was understanding how better a real connection between two men was, and his heart was yearning and twisting, wanting to explode out of his chest to meet Ivan's skin.
Everything was lawful; the very concept of depravity and sin had no meaning, and Pavel remembered this when he was lying on his belly, biting his pillow not to wake up Marfa, and chasing pleasure with his own hands, trying to imagine Ivan watching him with a knowing, bold smile. Pavel had no respect for money or education, but Ivan - he would have knelt before him. He would have worshipped him.
When Ivan talked about old Fyodor, about hating him, Pavel knew it meant he should have died. There was no reason for their father to live, and no one would mourn him anyway.
God doesn't exist, doesn't know your secret thoughts. People who know your secret thoughts are your only gods.
But then Ivan's pedestal was shattered, and he had been understanding nothing all this time. Pavel was glad for the absence of God, he realized, only because in his dreams Ivan had known him deeply, only because Ivan had replaced god to him.
You cannot build a God. You can explain what you were meaning, but even if it's well told enough that he understands you, it's only a pitiful fabrication, not something you can worship. Not someone you can worship.
The feelings could still be present though, a mix of longing and lust and hate poets would call love.
Ivan woke up. His hands flew to his face, found the familiar shapes of his nose and mouth, his burning forehead. In his nightmare, he had been Smerdyakov - he had had intense, lustful thoughts, and the terror of it still adhered to his brain.
He wished he were alone. Then maybe he was too much, so much that the devil had taken a seat near his bed. As he used to. The devil was wearing a dressing gown of quite bad taste.
"Such dislike and disgust," the devil said in a joyful voice. "It's your theory that you can only love humans at a distance, so understanding their thoughts would be the fastest way to hate. Poor Smerdyakov was so wrong about this. He loved you only because he actually knew nothing of you. Ah, I knew him well."
"How do you know my dream?" Ivan asked, before remembering the creature by his side was only a figment of his imagination. He always knew the devil had access to his darkest secrets, even the ones from the night, that the day erased.
The devil understood his thoughts, winked vulgarly. "Or maybe I gave you this dream. You know, creating bonds between people, it's all me. You didn't know how poor Smerdyakov saw you, did you, but you can only admit it explains a lot. Ha, he thought you more intelligent than you were, and you saw him to be more stupid than he was. I wonder though, if you had sought the secret messages he was sending, would you have seen them? How much of this was you not being very bright actually, and how much of this was you not caring about people? You will say the latter, as you think it is bright not to care."
"I'm not listening to you. You are not real."
"Really? Who told you about Smerdyakov, then?"
"I knew," Ivan said with a weak voice. He didn't. He realized he should have denied it, said it was only a fever dream. But he couldn't.
"So it is. Did you think about him a lot? You know, after all, corrupting youth with empty words and a pretty face is one of your favourite things. You don't even have to mean what you say. If young Lise, bewitched, threw herself at you, why wouldn't young men appreciate you too? Why would they not hurt and crave for you until the small virtue they had finished burning for you? Yes, your pride would have let you know. Too bad you didn't think of this before. It could have saved your father."
"Don't."
"But maybe you didn't want to save your father? Maybe if you had known the power you had on such a clever boy, you just would have asked him to blame someone else for the crime? You don't mind olf Fyodor being dead after all, only your brother being unfairly accused. Really, for the fulfilling of all your wishes, you wouldn't have minded giving him a few dishonest kisses..."
"Go away!"
"Yes, all of a sudden I'm no longer you at all." And the devil laughed, a discordant, terrible noise, sounding too real.
Ivan closed his eyes and denied that the devil was here, concentrating on the sound of the blood in his ears, beating like deafening drums. He wanted to escape, but he was too weak to stand and go look for someone else. Ivan wanted to sleep, but he wanted everything except to dream.