LITMIR.BIZ

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life and death and our relation to the unseen, are the same in all the great religious books of the East or of the West, but, for himself at least, Tolstoy found in the Gospels (though they contain many blunders, perversions and superstitions) the best, most helpful, and clearest expression of those truths.

      He had always admired many passages in the Gospels, but had also found much that perplexed him. He now re-read them in the following way: the only way, he says, in which any sacred books can be profitably studied.

      He first read them carefully through to see what they contained that was perfectly clear and simple, and that quite agreed with his own experience of life and accorded with his reason and conscience. Having found (and even marked in the margin with blue pencil) this core that had been expressed so plainly and strongly that it was easy to grasp, he read the four little books again several times over, and found that much that at first seemed obscure or perplexing, was quite reasonable and helpful when read by the light of what he had already seen to be the main message of the books. Much still remained unintelligible, and therefore of no use to him. This must be so in books dealing with great questions, that were written down long ago, in languages not ours, by people not highly educated and who were superstitious.

      For instance, if one reads that Jesus walked on the water, that Mahommed’s coffin hung between heaven and earth, or that a star entered the side of Buddha’s mother before he was born, one may wonder how the statement got into the book, and be perplexed and baffled by it rather than helped; but it need not hinder the effect of what one has understood and recognised as true.

      Reading the Gospels in this way, Tolstoy reached a view of life that answered his question, and that has enabled him to walk surefootedly, knowing the aim and purpose of his life and ready to meet death calmly when it comes.

      Each one of us has a reason and a conscience that come to us from somewhere: we did not make them ourselves. They oblige us to differentiate between good and evil; we must approve of some things and disapprove of others. We are all alike in this respect, all members of one family, and in this way sons of one Father. In each of us, dormant or active, there is a higher and better nature, a spiritual nature, a spark of the divine. If we open our hearts and minds we can discern good from evil in relation to our own conduct: the law is “very near unto you, in your heart and in your mouth.” The purpose of our life on earth should be to serve, not our lower, animal nature but the power to which our higher nature recognises its kinship. Jesus boldly identifies himself with his higher nature, speaks of himself, and of us, as Sons of the Father, and bids us be perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect.

      This then is the answer to the question: What is the meaning and purpose of my life? There is a Power enabling me to discern what is good, and I am in touch with that Power; my reason and conscience flow from it, and the purpose of my conscious life is to do its will, i.e. to do good.

      Nor do the Gospels leave us without telling us how to apply this teaching to practical life. The Sermon on the Mount (Matthew, chaps. v. vi. and vii.) had always attracted Tolstoy, but much of it had also perplexed him, especially the text: “Resist not him that is evil; but whosoever smiteth thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” It seemed to him unreasonable, and shocked all the prejudices of aristocratic, family and personal ‘honour’ in which he had been brought up. But as long as he rejected and tried to explain away that saying, he could get no coherent sense out of the teaching of Jesus or out of the story of his life.

      As soon as he admitted to himself that perhaps Jesus meant that saying seriously, it was as though he had found the key to a puzzle; the teaching and the example fitted together and formed one complete and admirable whole. He then saw that Jesus in these chapters is very definitely summing up his practical advice: pointing out, five times over, what had been taught by “them of old times,” and each time following it by the words, “but I say unto you,” and giving an extension, or even a flat contradiction, to the old precept.

      Here are the five commandments of Christ, an acceptance of which, or even a comprehension of, and an attempt to follow which, would alter the whole course of men’s lives in our society.

      (1) “Ye have heard that it was said to them of old time, Thou shalt not kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment: but I say unto you, that every one who is angry with his brother shall be in danger of the judgment.”

      In the Russian version, as in our Authorised Version, the words, “without a cause,” have been inserted after the word angry. This, of course, makes nonsense of the whole passage, for no one ever is angry without supposing that he has some cause. Going to the best Greek sources, Tolstoy detected this interpolation (which has been corrected in our Revised Version), and he found other passages in which the current translations obscure Christ’s teaching: as for instance the popular libel on Jesus which represents him as having flogged people in the Temple with a scourge!

      This, then, is the first of these great guiding rules: Do not be angry.

      Some people will say, We do not accept Christ’s authority — why should we not be angry?

      But test it any way you like: by experience, by the advice of other great teachers, or by the example of the best men and women in their best moods, and you will find that the advice is good.

      Try it experimentally, and you will find that even for your physical nature it is the best advice. If under certain circumstances — say, if dinner is not ready when you want it — you allow yourself to get very angry, you will secrete bile, which is bad for you. But if under precisely similar circumstances you keep your temper, you won’t secrete bile. It will be better for you.

      But, finally, one may say, “I cannot help being angry, it is my nature; I am made so.” Very well; there is no danger of your not doing what you must do; but religion and philosophy exist in order to help us to think and feel rightly, and to guide us in so far as our animal nature allows us to be guided. If you can’t abstain from anger altogether, abstain from it as much as you can.

      (2) “Ye have heard that it was said, Thou shalt not commit adultery: but I say unto you, that every one that looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.”

      This second great rule of conduct is: Do not lust.

      It is not generally accepted as good advice. In all our towns things exist — certain ways of dressing, ways of dancing, some entertainments, pictures, and theatrical posters — which would not exist if everybody understood that lust is a bad thing, spoiling our lives.

      Being animals we probably cannot help lusting, but the fact that we are imperfect does not prevent the advice from being good. Lust as little as you can, if you cannot be perfectly pure.

      (3) “Again, ye have heard that it was said to them of old time, Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oaths: but I say unto you, Swear not at all… . But let your speech be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay.”

      How absurd! says some one. Here are five great commandments to guide us in life — the first is: “Don’t be angry,” the second is: “Don’t lust.” These are really broad, sweeping rules of conduct — but the third is: “Don’t say damn.” What is the particular harm, or importance, of using a few swear-words?

      But that, of course, is not at all the meaning of the commandment. It, too, is a broad, sweeping rule, and it means: Do not give away the control of your future actions. You have a reason and a conscience to guide you, but if you set them aside and swear allegiance elsewhere — to Tsar, Emperor, Kaiser, King, Queen, President or General — they may some day tell you to commit the most awful crimes; perhaps even to kill your fellow-men. What are you going to do then? To break your oath? or commit a crime you never would have dreamt of committing had you not first taken an oath?

      The present Emperor of Germany, Wilhelm II, once addressed some naval recruits just after they had taken the oath of allegiance to him. (The oath had been administered by a paid minister of Jesus Christ, on the book which says “Swear not at all.”) Wilhelm II reminded them that they had taken the oath, and that if he called them out to shoot their own fathers they must now obey!

      The

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