among those who deny the divinity of Christ. As we all know, there is much in the gospels that we can read and talk about and even believe without having it interfere in any radical manner with our way of life, but there is also much in the gospels (and this, too, we know) that we cannot believe without having it interfere in every manner with our way of life. As a result something of this sort happens. Whatever in the gospel will not interfere with what we like to do, or feel we must do, we gladly believe; and to the rest we close our eyes. Most of us do this half-unconsciously, perhaps, but in our innermost selves we can hardly help knowing that we are not Christians, and that there is in the gospel something fundamental—a vital message, an essence-which we do not wish to understand.

Even those who confess this to themselves are not always led to look more deeply into the Scriptures, because they are afraid that this fundamental something will upset them, trouble them and hurt them. None is, of course, so blind as he who will not see, and if we do not wish to understand, and if, like Pilate, we are not sincerely seeking an answer, is it not more than probable that we shall remain forever in darkness? But it must not be forgotten that if we love darkness rather than light, it is because our deeds are evil. Or perhaps it is better to say that we do not sincerely seek the truth because we are without faith that the truth will set us free. In any case there seems to be a widespread fear amongst us that if we should fully understand Jesus, we should then have to live differently-so very differently-make many sacrifices and change radically not only our lives, but even the social and industrial bases of the world in which we live.

CHAPTER II

HOW TOLSTOY SOUGHT THE TRUTH

"Thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink and be merry.”

"For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”

ONE man there was who did not love the darkness. He yearned for the light. With all his soul he yearned for the light. He feared only falsehood and he loved only truth. He believed that the truth would set him free; and this faith of his was so strong that it made him fearless and great, so fearless and so great indeed that all the world took notice of him and everywhere—in India, in China, in America, and throughout Europe-sensational stories were printed in magazines and newspapers of the strange deeds of Count Leo Tolstoy. He had become a Christian and was going to put into practice the entire program of Christianity. From the highest to the lowest, the world was all attention. It was not that Tolstoy had entered the church, or had changed from an agnostic to a believer. These things happen too frequently in society to be noticed by the press. What interested the press and what particularly interests us is Tolstoy's dramatic, and in modern times almost unique, effort to obey literally the commandments of Jesus. There were at that time other men and women who were attempting to lead lives of selfsacrifice. There were many missionaries going into foreign countries, cheerfully accepting privation and suffering. There was Father Damien, a Catholic priest, who went to live among the lepers, knowing that death there awaited

him. There were settlement workers and physicians who were giving up ease, health and life in their service to mankind. Arnold Toynbee, Jane Addams, Dr. E. L. Trudeau, and many others were devoting their lives to the aid and comfort of suffering humanity. These men and women and their activities aroused attention, but they proved nothing like so interesting to the world as the news that a wealthy nobleman, and the most famous novelist of Russia, had determined to do the things which Jesus commanded in the Sermon on the Mount. None of the others sought exactly what Tolstoy sought. They were endeavoring to serve their fellow-men, but not necessarily to live the perfect Christian life. They did not feel it necessary to give everything away, nor to become vagabonds, nor even to do manual labor in order to support themselves. Moreover, they were not noblemen, nor were they unusually rich or famous, nor had they large families. They were for the most part earnest men and women engaged in comparatively commonplace activities, highly estimable but not singular, sensational and revolutionary as the activities of Count Tolstoy unquestionably were.

The story of Tolstoy's effort to become a Christian is not only unusually interesting, it is also authentic. We have a narrative of all his experiences; of his first doubts and questionings; of why he was led to seek the truth, and of where he found it. We have the story of his mental suffering, of the struggles with his surroundings, of the problems that arose in his family. There is not an essential fact left out. We do not know the struggles of any other modern character so intimately as we know those of Tolstoy. We have what might be called a moving picture of Tolstoy's mind and soul for thirty years of his life, when he was seeking with tragic earnestness to perfect his life and to do all things in harmony with the teachings of Jesus.

There are not many who will deny that Tolstoy was one

of the greatest men of our time. He was an indefatigable student and was very learned. His knowledge of the literature of all times and of all countries was extraordinary. He was well read in ancient epics and mythologies; yet he was no less familiar with the latest writings of the most decadent of the French. He astonished one by quoting from some obscure American, whose writings are almost unknown to his own countrymen, and from him Tolstoy might turn to discourse on the literature of the early Semites and Chinese. All religions interested him, and he might have written much invaluable commentary upon comparative religions. He was not especially interested in politics, social science, or economics; yet he wrote, when occasion arose, freely and readily, though not always clearly, upon these subjects. Metaphysics and philosophy, art and music also held his interest and attention. If we accept Matthew Arnold's definition of culture, Tolstoy was perhaps the most cultured man of our age. Moreover, he seemed to know men. The human soul interested him far more than books, and in his writings he was able to make men and women live. The wonderful array of characters in his novels and dramas is eloquent testimony of this. He sounded the depths of passion. He laid bare and interpreted the innermost thoughts of saint and sinner, of nobleman and peasant, of capitalist and laborer, of Czar and revolutionist. His pictures of tender, simple, sweet maidens and of the most abandoned and hardened prostitutes are ever memorable. This was the work of Tolstoya master artist. In the acquisition of knowledge, in the interpretation of men's souls, in his wide and varied creative art, Tolstoy's life was but partially expressed. The story of his struggles and passions, of his weakness and vice, including every secret of his innermost life, was given to all mankind. He was forever writing his own biography. He was forever dwelling upon his own moral and spiritual

problems. He lived and suffered in every struggle of his characters, and whether he was writing of saint or sinner, he was writing of his own soul. His was anything but a simple mind. He had a morbid conscience; and a dual being which was constantly playing one part against the other. Given to introspection, he would sit for hours watching the sensations of his own soul: laughing, scorning, approving, condemning his own self. One heart was always battling with another heart. In constant mental and spiritual turmoil, he was always striving to find a firm, rational foundation upon which he could build his thought and life. He was a vain man, who never missed an opportunity of humbling himself. He was a good man, who could not resist maligning himself. He was a great artist, who despised his art; and he was a learned man, who thought that most learning was useless. Although a nobleman, he lived much like a peasant. He loved every refinement, including perfume and fine linen; yet he worked in the manure of stables, cobbled old boots, and eagerly turned his hand to any foul thing that needed to be done. Inheriting great power through land, he voluntarily became landless.* Possessing great talent as an artist, he devoted much of this talent to the writing of religious tracts, while he turned his physical energies into manual labor. Although a soldier, he became a nonresistant; and although indifferent to religion the greater part of his early life, he became in his old age like a little child with its hands raised in prayer to God.

Nearly all of Tolstoy's writings are in some sense autobiographical. In 1852 he began his literary career by publishing "Childhood" and two years later "Boyhood,' where in Irteneff we have a description of Tolstoy's early life. Of the period when he, having left the university, * Cf. footnote, pp. 51-52.