wrapping up Tolstoy's Confession

It's been three months since I blogged on his book, A Confession-- on excerpts from chapter 1, chapter 2 and chapter 3. Although I finished the book some time ago, it's sat on my pile of "things to blog" for quite awhile. Some repetition and no new overarching themes in the rest of the book-- less that was compelling for me, but still a worthy read. So, for you, a dog's breakfast of excerpts from chapters 4-16...

From chapter 5, some thoughts on the limits of Science and the unfortunate propensities of some scientists...

The problem of experimental science is the sequence of cause and effect in material phenomena. It is only necessary for experimental science to introduce the question of a final cause for it to become nonsensical. The problem of abstract science is the recognition of the primordial essence of life. It is only necessary to introduce the investigation of consequential phenomena (such as social and historical phenomena) and it also becomes nonsensical. Experimental science only then gives positive knowledge and displays the greatness of the human mind when it does not introduce into its investigations the question of an ultimate cause. And, on the contrary, abstract science is only then science and displays the greatness of the human mind when it puts quite aside questions relating to the consequential causes of phenomena and regards man solely in relation to an ultimate cause.

In chapter 7, we reach the climax to the problem eventually resolved in his testimony.

First, he finds four "methods of escape" from the ethical/intellectual dilemmas with which he wrestled: ignorance (not knowing the dilemmas), epicureanism (ignoring the dilemma and "enjoying life"-- the most commonly chosen route), "strength and energy"-- in destroying life (i.e., having the courage to kill oneself!), and "weakness" (seeing the dilemmas but clinging to a false life).

He wants to kill himself, but he can't-- because of some nagging doubts about his reasoning:

I see now that if I did not kill myself it was due to some dim consciousness of the invalidity of my thoughts. However convincing and indubitable appeared to me the sequence of my thoughts and of those of the wise that have brought us to the admission of the senselessness of life, there remained in me a vague doubt of the justice of my conclusion....

The reasoning showing the vanity of life is not so difficult, and has long been familiar to the very simplest folk; yet they have lived and still live. How is it they all live and never think of doubting the reasonableness of life?

My knowledge, confirmed by the wisdom of the sages, has shown me that everything on earth - organic and inorganic - is all most cleverly arranged - only my own position is stupid. and those fools - the enormous masses of people - know nothing about how everything organic and inorganic in the world is arranged; but they live, and it seems to them that their life is very wisely arranged!

And it struck me: "But what if there is something I do not yet know? Ignorance behaves just in that way. Ignorance always says just what I am saying. When it does not know something, it says that what it does not know is stupid. Indeed, it appears that there is a whole humanity that lived and lives as if it understood the meaning of its life, for without understanding it could not live; but I say that all this life is senseless and that I cannot live.

He concludes, rightly and quite ironically, that he (the intellectual) must be ignorant in a way already understood by the peasants/masses!

He wrestles with this through chapter 12, before reaching a conclusion of sorts in the beginning of chapter 13 about the practice of his new-found or newly-discovered "faith"...

Every man has come into this world by the will of God. And God has so made man that every man can destroy his soul or save it. The aim of man in life is to save his soul, and to save his soul he must live "godly" and to live "godly" he must renounce all the pleasures of life, must labour, humble himself, suffer, and be merciful. That meaning the people obtain from the whole teaching of faith transmitted to them by their pastors and by the traditions that live among the people. This meaning was clear to me and near to my heart.

But together with this meaning of the popular faith of our non-sectarian folk, among whom I live, much was inseparably bound up that revolted me and seemed to me inexplicable: sacraments, Church services, fasts, and the adoration of relics and icons. The people cannot separate the one from the other, nor could I. And strange as much of what entered into the faith of these people was to me, I accepted everything, and attended the services, knelt morning and evening in prayer, fasted, and prepared to receive the Eucharist: and at first my reason did not resist anything. The very things that had formerly seemed to me impossible did not now evoke in me any opposition.

Independent of what one thinks about Tolstoy's "conversion", I am struck by the disparate routes to faith taken by such great writers as Lewis, Chesterton, and Tolstoy. Their paths and their work point to an Infinite and Infinitely Interesting God.