The astonishment felt by Vronsky at hearing Karénin’s words, we
also have some right to feel in reading Tolstoï’s work entitled “My
Religion.” This work is a socialistic and communistic interpretation of
the gospel. The censorship has put an end to the publication and sale
of it; but it cannot prevent the manuscript from passing from hand to
hand; and, when it shall have succeeded in destroying it, it will be
forever unable to suppress the state of mind of which this work is only
a manifestation, and which will possibly be before long the state of
mind of a whole people.
It is possible now, if it ever was, by looking towards Russia, to find
in the spectacle of the moral phenomena there going on an answer to the
question, “How are dogmas born?”
It was remarked long ago that all the great convulsions of a nation
are followed by an increased tendency towards mysticism: this is
manifested in Russia more than elsewhere. For example, after the
invasion in 1812, a sort of sectarian eruption followed the patriotic
fever. The _muzhik_ had bravely burned his harvest, and had taken arms
to drive out the foreigner. He had done a man’s work, and had been
given to understand, that, as soon as the enemy were out of the way,
the grateful country would recognize him as a son and give him his
freedom. The French, burned out by fire, cut down by frost,[55] retire,
sowing the path of their journey back with corpses. But the hour of
liberty does not yet strike. The affairs of Europe must be put in order
before taking hold of the _muzhik’s_. After the treaties have been
signed, after the armies have gone home, the rights of the _muzhik_
remain neglected, and his complaints are stifled. His despair is seen
in emigrations, in deeds of violence, in his affiliation with existing
sects, in the formation of a new social and religious dogma. At that
moment we see arise for the first time the _bogomól_, or praying men.
In the last quarter of the century, Russia has experienced a storm more
tremendous than that of the invasion of 1812: it might be said that the
face of the country was transformed by the upheaval in the condition of
the people.
The single reign of Alexander II. saw such facts accomplished as the
abolition of serfdom; the redivision of the land; above all, the
increase in the taxes, which has touched the people in a very different
way from all the reforms. The dominating influence of wealth has grown
more and more; a great net-work of railroads has extended over the
country; the maxim of _laissez faire_ and _laissez passer_ has made
its way into the Russian village. None of these changes has fully
succeeded, or, in better words, none has succeeded as yet. In periods
of transition, it is the feature of inconvenience that, above all,
attracts attention, and more often than not causes the advantageous to
be overlooked. Now, here, the ill has often surpassed the good. Thus
in the regulation of landed property, the insufficiency of the lots
of land granted the _muzhik_, and the lack of proportion between the
revenue and the tax imposed, have quickly brought the small cultivator
back into dependence upon the great proprietor, and serfage has
re-appeared in disguise.
As to the administrative reforms, the _zemstvo_, the tribunal, the
school, all this has scarcely made any impression upon the people
except as bringing an increase in the tax, expressed by the immemorial
formula _so much per soul_. The taxes coming in much less than the
increase in the rates, extreme measures have to be taken to obtain the
payment of them. The _muzhik_ has only one way of escaping prosecution,
and that is to give himself over, body and soul, to the usurer. In
short space of time the misery is universal. A single man gets rich
at the expense of all the others: it is the _kulak_ (the fist), the
monopolist.
Bread is lacking in many places. In its place they eat, not cake,
but preparations of straw, bark, or grass, all that which is called
by the expressive term _cheat-hunger_.[56] It is plain to see that
the _muzhiks_, reduced to these extremities, lose their interest in a
society which treats them a little less kindly than if they were common
cattle. All that they know of public affairs is that it is necessary to
pay the tax. The most palpable advantage which they get from the time
spent in discussing the common interests is the bumper of _vodka_ with
which discussions are kept alive: thus they forget themselves for a few
hours.
Then, in hatred of the present, minds turn back to the past, and, above
all, yearn eagerly for the future. The peasant’s _naïve_ imagination is
consoled by his dreams; the ardor of his desires is spent in Utopias.
The idea of _free lands_ haunts these enthusiastic minds. The story is
secretly whispered about of the promises made by the Shah of Persia
to emigrants who will come and settle in his dominions: his subjects
shall pay no taxes and have no superiors. Solid masses of people set
out suddenly, and depart for “the country of the white waters.” There
it is that the popular ideal is to be realized. Many outlaw themselves
without leaving their residences, and refuse to answer any of their
obligations towards the commune or the _mir_. Others take refuge in
the neighboring forest, go and settle in the desert, in the steppe.
A considerable number go on pilgrimages to the holy places. Finally,
there are those who go to swell the class of true Nihilists; that is to
say, people who make their lives even a bold negation of all that is
accepted, affirmed, around them,--the class of wanderers, or that of
occults.
The attitude of these refractory men and women strikes the people, and
is not slow to inspire them with a respect which is thus explained.
The Russian people’s heads are stuffed with legends. One of the widest
spread is that of the centenarian who lives in the desert, taking
no other food than a consecrated wafer once a week; and, though he
has not the slightest notion of the alphabet, yet he reads the Holy
Book, the book with the leaves of gold, where is found the answer to
every question, the rule for all conduct. We see now how reality and
legend can come to be confounded. In the lonely hut where this hermit
dwells apart, fitted as he is ordinarily by his intelligence and his
will for the exceptional part which he is going to perform, he allows
himself endlessly to reflect on all sorts of subjects. He ruminates at
his leisure, in the solitude, over all the difficulties of the life
from which he has torn himself away. He gropes after his definition
of things good and of things evil; he slowly builds up his solemn
casuistry.
The peasants one after another take the road to his hermitage. They
are sure of bringing away good advice about disputed cases. Their
cases include every subject,--family affairs, commune affairs,
church affairs. Every thing is discussed, exposed to the cenobite’s
criticism, to his interpretation. It is a matter of course that
religious questions fill a large part in this programme, worked up by
the anxieties of the throng, and the prophetic explanations of the
hermit. But the programme also takes up economic or social questions.
It prepares for the coming of a new law. This law is the outcome of a
duty, and this duty is summed up in the formula, “To live according to
justice;” or, in other words, “according to the will of God.”
The schisms formed, as we have just seen, are those of unimportant
people. They have nothing in common with those which the irksomeness of
living develops, in similar lines, in Russia, among the upper classes
of the nation. Quite contrary to the sects born in the aristocracy,
the schisms among the common people take their rise in the need of
existence. They serve the instinct which impels the creature to seek
not only life, but the best form of life. That is why they act so
powerfully on the masses; that is why they cross time and space, making
proselytes, apostles, martyrs.
The surprising thing is that the rich and aristocratic Count Tolstoï
should become the apostle of such a religion. Like the sectaries of the
rustic class, he builds a complete religious, political, and social
system upon a new interpretation of the Gospels.
His religion, properly speaking, takes as its foundation the maxim of
the Evangelist, “Resist not the one that is evil.” And it is not in an
allegorical sense, it is by the letter, that these words of Jesus must
be understood. The law laid down by Jesus’ disciples is precisely the
opposite of that of the disciples of this world, which is the _law of
conflict_. This doctrine of Jesus, which is sure to give peace to the
world, is contained wholly in five commandments:--
1. Be at peace with everybody. Do not allow yourself to consider any
one as low or stupid.