leave their father and mother and all that they possessed. Men of your opinion are ready to employ force against force, and violence against violence, in order to gain your ends, but you are not ready to sacrifice your family at the command of your conscience.”
One of the revolutionists broke out and said,—“Truly, these landowners, these usurpers of the soil, deserve nothing but our hatred. We hate them, and would kill them, if we got the chance.”
At this Tolstoy could only with great difficulty restrain himself. “Hatred,” he cried, “is the most bestial thing. It is the lowest sentiment which exists! Whenever a man is conscious of moral elevation, he inevitably finds, associated with it, a consciousness of love, love to God, love to his neighbour, love to all men without exception. But you appeal to Hate. If I have the right to say, that men should hate landlords, then landlords have the same right to say, that men should hate revolutionaries.”
“But if we are unable,” the revolutionist broke in, “to endure their injustice, is it improper to bring pressure upon men in order to convince them that they must cease from injustice?”
“It is right,” said Tolstoy, “to teach and persuade men. That is always right and good. But is it possible to dispense with the human virtues of reason and love and compel a person to be just?”
One of the revolutionists answered, “We agree with you that it would be possible to pursue a different policy from that of violence, in order to seek our end. But would it bring results? For instance, if we were to practise your doctrine, of refusing to take part in government, for conscience sake, we should be thrown into prison. Thus we should be destroyed, and the whole revolutionary movement would collapse.”
“Take the example of Christ,” Tolstoy replied. “He was crucified, and it might have seemed as though his life amounted to nothing. But the result has been, that I and millions of men are trying to live as followers of his teaching. At the same time it is very doubtful whether he succeeded in converting Pontius Pilate.”
“But it is questionable,” said the revolutionist, “whether, in our own case, we can get any improvement at all by your principle of passive goodness. History does not show it.”
“Quite the contrary,” said Tolstoy, with great animation, “the course of history teaches us one thing, namely, that humanity exists for the sake of moral progress. That is humanity’s special function, without which it has no meaning, no purpose. If we are merely to debate, whether violence has ever achieved results, and if I take one side and you take the other, we shall get no further. But I have on my side something more than an historical demonstration. By acting according to my principle, I am conscious of acting in accordance with the eternal laws of reason and love, which all the wise men of the world have proclaimed and which I feel in my own heart. You can have no such satisfying conscience. My inner guide, my private conscience, tells me that violence and murder are revolting, that sacrifice and love are a blessing. This itself is the final proof, that my position is right and yours is wrong.”
Then the revolutionists asked Tolstoy to state briefly, so that they might remember them, his three points against a violent revolution.
Tolstoy replied as follows —
“First of all, I think violent revolution immoral, because it violates the highest law of human conduct, which is, Love for all our fellow men without exception.
“Secondly, I believe that violence never accomplishes its object, but only leads to fresh violence.
“Thirdly, the thing that impelled me to invite you to see me was this, that if you were to sacrifice yourself for a moral law, like those who, for conscience sake, refuse military service, I should envy you, but now I can only pity you in your blindness.”
One of the revolutionists then said scoffingly, “You compare us with those
