Anna Karenina (Louise Maude's Translation) - Leo Tolstoy

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polemic against the materialists, and Sergius Koznyshev, who followed this polemic with interest, on reading the professor’s last article had written to him reproaching him with having conceded too much to the materialists; and the professor had come at once to talk the matter over. The question was the fashionable one, whether a definite line exists between psychological and physiological phenomena in human activity; and if so, where it lies?

      When Levin entered, Sergius Ivanich greeted him with the coldly affable smile he bestowed on everybody and, having introduced him to the professor, went on with the discussion.

      The small spectacled man with the narrow forehead interrupted the conversation a moment to say, ‘how do you do’ to Levin and, paying no further attention to him, went on talking. Levin sat down to wait till the professor should go, but soon became interested in the subject of their conversation.

      He had seen in the papers the articles they were discussing, and had read them because they interested him as a development of the bases of natural science — familiar to him as he had studied in that faculty at the University; but he had never connected these scientific deductions as to man’s animal origin, reflex actions, biology and sociology, with those questions concerning the meaning to himself of life and death, which had of late more and more frequently occurred to him.

      Listening to his brother’s conversation with the professor, he noticed that they connected the scientific question with the spiritual and several times almost reached the latter, but every time they approached this, which seemed to him the most important question, they at once hurriedly retreated and again plunged into the domain of fine subdivisions, reservations, quotations, hints and references to authorities; and he found it difficult to understand what they were talking about.

      ‘I cannot admit,’ said Koznyshev with his usual clear and precise expression and polished style, ‘I cannot on any account agree with Keiss that my whole conception of the external world is the outcome of impressions. The most fundamental perception — that of existence — is not received through the senses, for there is no special organ to convey that perception.’

      ‘Yes, but they (Wurst and Knaust and Pripasov) will tell you that your conception of existence results from the collective effect of all your sensations and is therefore a result of sensations. Wurst actually says that without the senses there can be no perception of existence.’

      ‘I would maintain the opposite …’ began Koznyshev.

      But here again it seemed to Levin that having reached the most important matter they avoided it; and he made up his mind to ask the professor a question.

      ‘Consequently, if my senses are destroyed, if my body dies, no further existence is possible?’ he asked.

      The professor, vexed and apparently mentally hurt by the interruption, turned to look at this strange questioner who resembled a barge-hauler rather than a philosopher, and then looked at Koznyshev, as if asking, ‘What can one say to this?’

      But Koznyshev, who did not speak with anything like the same effort, or as one-sidedly, as the professor, and had room in his head for an answer to his opponent as well as for comprehension of the simple and natural point of view from which the question arose, smiled and said:

      ‘That question we have as yet no right to decide …’

      ‘We have not the data …’ added the professor and went back to his arguments. ‘No,’ said he; ‘I point out that if as Pripasov definitely states, sensation is based on impressions, we must still carefully distinguish between these two perceptions.’

      Levin listened no longer but sat waiting for the professor to go.

      Chapter 8

      WHEN the professor had gone, Koznyshev turned to his stepbrother.

      ‘I am very glad you have come. Are you here for long? How do you get on with your farming?’

      Levin knew that farming did not interest his elder brother and that the question was merely a concession; therefore he replied generally as to the sale of wheat and money matters. He wanted to tell his brother of his intended marriage and to ask his advice. He had even firmly made up his mind to do so, but when he saw his brother and heard his conversation with the professor, and afterward noticed the involuntarily patronizing tone in which he asked him about the business of their estate (this estate which they had jointly inherited from their mother had not been divided, and Levin was managing the whole of it), he felt that something prevented him from beginning to speak to his brother about his intention to marry. He felt that his brother would not look at the matter as he wished him to.

      ‘Well, and how is your Zemstvo getting on?’ asked Koznyshev, who took a keen interest in the rural administration and attached great importance to it.

      ‘I really don’t know.’

      ‘What? But you are a Member?’

      ‘No, I am no longer on it. I resigned,’ answered Levin, ‘and don’t attend the Meetings any more.’

      ‘That’s a pity!’ said Koznyshev, and frowned. To justify himself Levin began to relate what used to happen at the Meetings in his district.

      ‘There now! It’s always the same,’ interrupted Koznyshev. ‘We Russians are always like that. It may be a good trait in us — this capacity to see our own faults — but we overdo it, and comfort ourselves with sarcasm, which is always ready on our tongues. I can only tell you, that with such rights as we have in our rural institutions, any other European nation — the English or the Germans — would have secured their freedom, while we only jeer at our Zemstvos!’

      ‘But what is to be done?’ said Levin guiltily. ‘That was my last attempt. And I tried with my whole soul… . But I can’t do it! I’m incapable.’

      ‘Incapable!’ said Koznyshev. ‘No, you don’t look at it from the right point of view.’

      ‘That may be,’ said Levin mournfully.

      ‘Do you know that our brother Nicholas is here again?’

      Nicholas was Constantine Levin’s elder brother, and Koznyshev’s half-brother. He was a ruined man who had squandered the greater part of his fortune, mixed with the strangest and worst society, and quarrelled with his brothers.

      ‘You don’t mean to say so!’ cried Levin, horror-struck. ‘How do you know?’

      ‘Prokofy met him in the street.’

      ‘Here, in Moscow? Where is he? Do you know?’ Levin rose from his chair as if meaning to go at once.

      ‘I am sorry I told you,’ said Koznyshev, shaking his head at his brother’s excitement. ‘I sent to find out where he is living, and forwarded him a note of hand he had given to Trubin, which I had paid. And this is the answer I received.’

      Koznyshev took a note from under a paper-weight and handed it to his brother.

      Levin read the note, written in a curious but familiar hand:

      ‘I humbly beg you to leave me alone. That is all I demand of my dear brothers. — NICHOLAS LEVIN.’

      When Levin had read the note, holding it in his hand, he remained standing in front of Koznyshev without lifting his head.

      A struggle was going on within him between the desire to forget his unfortunate brother for the present, and the consciousness that this would be wrong.

      ‘He evidently wants to offend me,’ continued Koznyshev, ‘but he cannot do that. I wish with all my heart I could help him, but I know it can’t be done.’

      ‘Yes, yes,’ said Levin, ‘I understand, and appreciate your attitude toward him; but personally I shall go to see him.’

      ‘Go if you like, but I don’t advise it,’ said Koznyshev. ‘That’s to say, I’m not afraid of it on my own account, he will not make mischief between us, but on your account

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