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Tolstoy and Spiritualit y Tolstoy and Spirituality Edited by PREDRAG CICOVACKI and HEIDI NADA GREK Boston 2018 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Cicovacki, Predrag, editor. | Grek, Heidi Nada, editor. Title: Tolstoy and spirituality / edited by Predrag Cicovacki and Heidi Nada Grek. Description: Boston : Academic Studies Press, 2018. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018034290 (print) | LCCN 2018053081 (ebook) | ISBN 9781618118837 (ebook) | ISBN 9781618118707 (hardcover) Subjects: LCSH: Tolstoy, Leo, graf, 1828-1910--Criticism and interpretation. | Spirituality in literature. | Tolstoy, Leo, graf, 1828-1910--Philosophy. Classification: LCC PG3415.S65 (ebook) | LCC PG3415.S65 T65 2018 (print) | DDC 891.73/3--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018034290 Copyright © 2018 Academic Studies Press ISBN 978-1-61811-870-7 (hardcover) ISBN 978-1-61811-883-7 (electronic) Book design by Kryon Publishing Services (P) Ltd. www.kryonpublishing.com Cover design by Ivan Grave. Published by Academic Studies Press in 2018. 28 Montfern Avenue Brighton, MA 02135, USA P: (617)782-6290 F: (857)241-3149 press@academicstudiespress.com www.academicstudiespress.com Table of Contents Acknowledgments#8; vii Contributors#8; viii Introduction#8; xii Chapter 1: #7;But to Continue the Life—For What Purpose?#8; 01 Mikhail Shishkin Chapter 2: #7;Tolstoy’s Fiction: Its Spiritual Legacy#8; 16 Rosamund Bartlett Chapter 3: #7;What Is the Good According to Tolstoy, and How Good Can I Be?#8; 37 Donna Tussing Orwin Chapter 4: #7;Tolstoy’s Unorthodox Catechesis: English Novels#8; 53 Liza Knapp Chapter 5: #7;Tolstoy and Diderot on Women as “Dangerous Objects”#8; 77 Miran Bozovic Chapter 6: #7;Tolstoy’s Divine Madness: An Analysis of The Kreutzer Sonata#8;93 Predrag Cicovacki Chapter 7: #7; T he Kreutzer Sonata, Sexual Morality, and Music#8; 109 Alexandra Smith Chapter 8:  #7;A Prophet of the Family: Vasily Rozanov Reads Tolstoy#8; 128   Diana Dukhanova vi Table of contents Chapter 9:  The Death of Ivan Ilyich: Death and Authentic Life#8; 149   Božidar Kante Chapter 10:  Tolstoy’s Spiritual Nonviolence#8; 161   Robert L. Holmes Chapter 11: #7;Three Attempts on Carthage: Tolstoy’s Designs of Nonviolent Destruction#8; 180   Inessa Medzhibovskaya Chapter 12:  Tolstoy’s Philosophical Legacy#8; 212   An Interview with Abdusalam A. Guseynov Index#8; 233 Acknowledgments T his collection of essays was inspired by an international and interdisciplinary conference, “Tolstoy and Spirituality,” held at the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Massachusetts on April 21 and 22, 2017. We would like to thank Philip Boroughs, S.J., President of the College, for his continuous support and the opening speech at the conference. Our gratitude also goes to Olga Partan, Professor of Russian in the Department of Modern Languages and Literature, who was selflessly engaged in the preparation and organization of the conference, and to Svyatoslav Gorbunov, for his help with identifying numerous Tolstoy references. The conference was sponsored and hosted by the McFarland Center for Religion, Ethics, and Culture, and special thanks are due to Thomas M. Landy, Director of the Center, for the support of the conference and of the publication of this volume, as well as to Danielle Kane, Associate Director for Communications, and Patricia Hinchliffe, Administrative Assistant of the Center. Contributors Rosamund Bartlett completed her doctorate at Oxford and spent fifteen years pursuing an academic career, latterly as head of the Russian Department at the University of Durham, before becoming a full-time writer and translator. She is the author and editor of several books, including Wagner and Russia (1995) and Shostakovich in Context (2000), as well as two biographies: Chekhov: Scenes from a Life (2004) and Tolstoy: A Russian Life (2010). Her translations for Oxford World About Love and Other Stories Classics include the Chekhov anthology (2004) and Anna Karenina (2014), for which she also wrote the introduction and accompanying notes. Chekhov: A Life in Letters, which she edited and co-translated for Penguin Classics (2004), is the first unexpurgated edition in any language. Her most recent publication is The Russian Soul: Selections from “A Writer’s Diary” by Fyodor Dostoevsky (2017), for which she wrote the introduction. Miran Bozovic is Professor of Philosophy at the University of Ljubljana, Slovenia, specializing in Early Modern Philosophy. He is the author of, among other works, Der grosse Andere: Gotteskonzepte in der Philosophie der Neuzeit (1993), An Utterly Dark Spot: Gaze and Body in Early Modern Philosophy (2000), and the editor of Jeremy Bentham’s The Panopticon Writings (1995). Predrag Cicovacki is Professor of Philosophy at the College of the Holy Cross. He is the author of several books, including Dostoevsky and the Affirmation of Life (2012) and Gandhi’s Footprints (2015). He is the co-editor of Dostoevsky’s “Brothers Karamazov”: Art, Creativity and Spirituality (with Maria Granik; 2010), and of Nonviolence as a Way of Life: History, Theory, Practice (with Kendy Hess; 2017). Diana Dukhanova received her PhD in Slavic Studies from Brown University in 2018 with a dissertation entitled “Jesus of Bethlehem: Vasily Rozanov and the Contributors ix Discourse of Matrimonial Sexuality in the Russian Orthodox Church.” Diana also holds an MA in Religious Studies from Brown and an MA in Comparative Literature from Dartmouth College. She served as Visiting Instructor of Russian at the College of the Holy Cross in 2014–17. Diana’s work has appeared in the Journal of Icon Studies and Brown Slavic Contributions, and she will publish a number articles on topics of gender, sexuality, and religion in Russia in 2018. She also covers these topics for a popular audience, including her blog called “Russia: Religion Watch” (https://russiareligionwatch.squarespace.com). Heidi Grek is a PhD candidate in German and Comparative Literature at Washington University in St. Louis. Her research interests include Goethe’s Faust, the European epic tradition, and world literature. She is also a co-translator (from Serbian; with Predrag Cicovacki) of Laza Kostić, The Basic Principle (2016). Abdusalam A. Guseynov is Professor of Philosophy of Moscow State University, Full Member of the Russian Academy of Sciences, Principal Adviser for Academic Affairs of the Institute of Philosophy of Russian Academy of Sciences, Director of the Institute of Philosophy (2006–15), Member of the International Institute of Philosophy (Paris) (2012), and Laureate of the UNESCO-Madanjeet Singh Prize for the Promotion of Tolerance and NonViolence (1996). He is the author of the books: Zolotoe pravilo nravstvennosti (The Golden Rule of Morality; 1988), Velikie proroki i mysliteli: nravstvennye ucheniia ot Moiseia do nashikh dnei (Great Prophets and Thinkers. The Moral Teachings from Moses to Our Times; 2009), Antichnaia etika (Ancient Ethics; 2011), Filosofiia—mysl′ i postupok (Philosophy—Thought and Action; 2012), and Etika. Uchebnik dlia filosofskikh fakul′tetov (Ethics: Text-Book for Faculties of Philosophy; 2013). Robert L. Holmes is Professor Emeritus of Philosophy, University of Rochester. He is the past president of the Concerned Philosophers for Peace, editor of Public Affairs Quarterly, Senior Fulbright lecturer at the Moscow State University, and Rajiv Gandhi Professor of Peace and Disarmament, at the Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. He is the author of On War and Morality Basic Moral Philosophy Pacifism: A Philosophy (1989; reprint 2014), (2006), of Nonviolence (2016) and Introduction to Applied Ethics (forthcoming). He is the editor (with Barry Gan) of N ations, but among 3 all the nations of the world. Introduction xv This insistence on the law of love as the law of God also explains why Tolstoy favored Christianity over other religions and why it should be accepted as the leading “kindly light” for all nations: The fact that love is a necessary and happy aspect of human life was recognized by all the ancient religious beliefs. In all the teachings of the Egyptian sages, the Brahmins, the Stoics, the Buddhists, Taoists and others, amicability, pity, mercy, charity and love in general are considered the chief virtues. . . . But not one of these doctrines made this virtue the basis of life, a supreme law that should be not only the chief, but the only, guiding principle in people’s conduct, as did the most recent religion: Christianity. In all the pre-Christian doctrines love was regarded as one of the virtues, but not as that which the Christian teaching acknowledges it to be: metaphysically the origin of everything, practically the highest law of human 4 life, i.e., that which under no circumstances admits of exception. THE CONTRIBUTIONS TO THIS VOLUME Tolstoy’s insistence on life with simplicity, thorough nonviolence and unconditional love are considered so radical that, in the words of Richard F. Gustafson, 5 “Much of what is central to Tolstoy seems embarrassing to Western critics.” That is one of the main reasons why, throughout the major part of the twentieth century, Tolstoy’s spiritual legacy had been either passed over in silence, or simply dismissed as impracticable and utopian. The most puzzling thing was that, instead of examining Tolstoy’s views, his critics often engaged in what looks more like a “character-assassination.” Edward Crankshaw, for instance, maintains that, after his “spiritual conversion,” Tolstoy became “the enemy of life.” In his view, Tolstoy “was an overbearing man, and selfish. He went on incessantly about sincerity and the lack of it in everyone he met, but he himself practiced double standards.” His Confession 6 did not mark a genuine spiritual quest, but was “in effect largely an apology to live.” Even when Tolstoy’s radical spiritual views were taken more seriously, they were by no means always appreciated or endorsed. Aylmer Maude, one of the greatest admirers and translators of Tolstoy, could not support what to Tolstoy was one of the central points of his spiritual turn, the teaching on nonresistance to evil by violence: “I am convinced that Tolstoy’s misstatement of the theory of Nonresistance has served, more than anything else, to conceal from mankind xvi Introduction his greatness as a thinker, and I always regret to find people devoting special 7 attention to that side of his thought.” In this collection of essays, the contributors overcome the sense of embarrassment voiced by Tolstoy’s critics and carefully reexamine his controversial views on spirituality, including his ideals with regard to love, marriage, sex, and nonresistance to evil. A unique contribution of this collection is that Tolstoy’s spiritual legacy is examined from two frequently used but rarely combined approaches: literary criticism and philosophical analysis. Among the contributors we find quite diverse authorities as one of the leading Russian writers, Mikhail Shishkin; the world’s premier expert on Tolstoy’s fictional writings, Donna Tussing Orwin; Tolstoy’s biographer, Rosamund Bartlett; several well-established Russian scholars, Liza Knapp, Alexandra Smith, and Inessa Medzhibovskaya; two Slovenian philosophers, Božidar Kante and Miran Bozovic; and two of the leading world’s proponents of the ethics of nonviolence, Robert L. Holmes and Abdusalam Guseynov. Mikhail Shishkin maintains that Tolstoy was one of those rare human beings who all his life asked seemingly naïve questions. In his Confession, he confronted himself thus: “Well, you will have 6,000 desyatinas of land in Samara Government and 300 horses, and what then? Very well; you will be more famous than Gogol or Pushkin or Shakespeare or Molière, or than all the 8 writers in the world—and what of it?” This, indeed, sounds very naïve to our sophisticated ears. Yet, Shishkin asserts, Tolstoy’s naïvety makes the foundations of the universe shake: this is “naïvety with earthquaking power.” Several months before his death Tolstoy kept questioning in the same spirit: “Machines to produce—what? Telegraphs to pass—what? Schools, Universities, Academies to teach—what? Assemblies to discuss—what? Books and newspapers to spread the information—about what? The railways to travel—to whom and where? Millions of people gathered together under the command of one power to make—what?” Tolstoy’s questioning never stopped, until he came to the roots of the problems: “Hospitals, doctors, pharmacies to continue the life. But to continue the life—for what purpose?” We still need to confront these questions. It may be that in our age, the confrontation of these questions has become more urgent than in Tolstoy’s time: we have seen what “machines” can do for our lives (in both the positive and negative sense) to brought him thousands of disciples and followers. 10 Mikhail Shishkin But Tolstoy went further and rose up against two other most important sources of life that had distanced him from the divine in himself: the instinct to procreate, and the creative instinct, the need to write. He wanted to disembarrass himself of skin and flesh, everything earthly, and leave only his naked soul, only his pure spirit. To wrest himself from the clutches of his animal nature and free himself from the artist’s pride. The Kreutzer Sonata is a gauntlet thrown in the face of the Creator, who willed us to be fruitful and multiply. A declaration of war against life itself. Tolstoy’s might is consistent throughout, even in its rejection of everything living on earth. His rejection of the corporeal leads ultimately to the notion of the extinction of humanity itself: “But what about the human family? I don’t know. I only know that the law of copulation is not mandatory for man” (PSS 27:28). If at age twenty-eight, during his journey through Switzerland, he wrote about himself as a writer (PSS 47:142): “You must be bold, otherwise you won’t say anything other than what is graceful, and I need to say a great deal that is new and sound”—then after he had proven to himself that he could write humanity’s greatest novels, he simply repudiated them, stating that writing as such was not important. He spoke of art as something unnecessary and amoral. When his friends and family reproached him, saying he needed to continue writing, he grinned in reply (PSS 50:86): “You know, this reminds me of former admirers of an aging French tart telling her: ‘How ravishingly you lifted your little skirt and sang your little songs!’” Understandably, Tolstoy’s rejection of creativity was connected with that strange simultaneous sense of fullness and emptiness that overtakes a writer after completing a major work. He needs to catch his breath. Take a gulp of air. Tolstoy’s lungs needed a lot of air. The breathing of an ordinary mortal is barely enough to blow out a candle. Tolstoy’s breath could warm a humanity that has turned to ice without love. When the next text came to him, he forgot all about his declarations and promises and sat down to write The Death of Ivan Ilyich, The Kreutzer Sonata, and Hadji Murat—works that were all written after his rejection of art and that belong among the best of world literature. The fear of death is a diligent muse. The fear of disappearing accompanies every person her whole life, but only with creative people do these onslaughts of horror bring on onslaughts of the energy that gives birth to paintings and But to Continue the Life—For What Purpose? 11 books. In “Memoirs of a Madman,” Tolstoy describes an onslaught like this, familiar to each of us: I tried to think about what had interested me—about the purchase, about my wife—and not only was there nothing cheerful, but it had all turned into nothing. Everything was overshadowed by my horror at my perishing life. I needed to sleep. I went to lie down. But no sooner had I lain down than suddenly I jumped up in horror. The anguish, the anguish, the spiritual anguish, such as happens before vomiting, only spiritual. It’s awful, it’s frightening, death seems frightening, but you recall, you think about life, and it’s the dying life that’s frightening. Somehow life and death have merged into one. Something kept trying to tear my soul to pieces and couldn’t. Once again I went to look at the people sleeping, once again I tried to fall asleep, and still the same horror, red, white, and square (PSS 26:470). A black hole through which death peers into your eyes takes on the shape of a square. The story was published posthumously, in 1912. A year later, Malevich begins to draw his own squares. In Tolstoy’s notes, you are constantly coming across thoughts on the necessity and desirability of death. In May 1889, about Jean-Paul [born Johann Paul Friedrich Richter]: “His story about a father who raised his children underground is good. They have to die in order to come into the light. They wanted very badly to die.” Or: “Life is the transition from one form to another form. The life of this world is the material for the new form.” Or: “The fear of death comes from the fact that people take for life one small part of it that is limited by their false notion.” Or another: “Substance and space, time and movement, 5 separate me and all living things from all of God.” Thoughts of death were the threads out of which all his years were woven. If we realize that Tolstoy’s entire life, each minute, each second, was a conscious and desperate preparation for this most important moment of human existence, then we can understand all his eccentricities, quirks, and rejections. In essence, all his rebellions against nature, against the natural course of things, were his insurrection against death, against the inevitable end. After the sight of the guillotine in operation in Paris, the thought of death becomes his constant companion, and the more powerfully the fear of death torments him, the mor ventional assumptions” had as much to do with his 26 Rosamund Bartlett 32 amazing p opularity abroad as the artistic merits and eloquence of his books. The anarchic Russian Count who dressed like a peasant, and spoke out against state-sponsored violence and the hypocrisy of organized religion, was one of the world’s first international celebrities. The reclusive author suddenly wished to communicate with everybody after emerging from the spiritual crisis that Anna Karenina overcame him when he finished in 1877, and the evangelical zeal with which he sought to spread his new-found Christian ideas around the globe had the consequence of also increasing the popularity of his novels, as well as the number of translators ready to do battle with his prose. Henry James can be forgiven for not immediately perceiving Tolstoy’s l iterary genius in the first defective translations of his novels in the 1880s, but the new generation of translators who appeared on the scene a decade later were distinguished by their professionalism. In 1901 Constance Garnett completed Anna Karenina, War her translation of and by 1904 she had also t ranslated and Peace. Until the catastrophe of World War I, Tolstoy’s spiritual writings continued to exert a profound influence around the world. An Oxford undergraduate called Stephen Hobhouse stumbled across A Confession in January 1902, for example, and its “twin revelation of the evil entangling our society and of the stern ideal of brotherly love which alone could avert its destruction” led him to become a Quaker, live amongst the London slums and renounce his inheritance. In 1917, his mother found herself publishing a pamphlet on behalf of her son and all the other conscientious objectors who were serving British jail sentences amid brutal conditions for 33 refusing to be conscripted into the war effort. Gilbert Murray (1866–1957), Regius Professor of Greek, University of Oxford, directly addressed Tolstoy’s continuing importance in his Introduction: When compulsory military service was made part of the law of England in January 1916 it was well known that there existed in the country a c ertain number of persons who looked upon war as murder and on military service as a training in deliberate evil. The Society of Friends, an influential and universally respected body, had traditionally taken up this attitude with regard to war, and had been specially exempted from service in the Napoleonic wars by Mr. Pitt. Other religious bodies, such as the Christadelphians and the Plymouth Brethren, were known to hold more or less similar views. More important still, though perhaps not quite appreciated in War Office circles, the greatest of all modern men of letters, whose books sold by the hundred-thousand in almost every country Tolstoy’s Fiction: Its Spiritual Legacy 27 of Europe, had devoted himself to a spiritual crusade against war and violence in any shape. Tolstoy’s doctrines were so extreme that actual Tolstoyans were rare; but almost every young man and woman in Europe who possessed any free religious life at all had been to some extent influenced by Tolstoy. And his influence was probably at its greatest in 34 Russia and England. This influence began to wane sharply after World War I, however, in inverse proportion to the growing esteem of his novels. Here a key role was played not only by Constance Garnett, but also Louise and Aylmer Maude. The son of an Anglican clergyman from Ipswich, Maude finished his schooling in Moscow, and settled there in 1884, having married Louise Shanks, who had grown up in the city. For the next decade he embarked on a successful career selling carpets while they raised a family, but in 1895 he came under Tolstoy’s spell and soon became a trusted associate and full-time disciple. The Maudes settled back in England in 1897, with their translations of Anna Karenina and War and Peace appearing in 1918 and 1922, respectively, followed by a successful campaign for a complete Tolstoy edition in English, launched in 1928, on the centenary of the writer’s birth. It was Garnett and the Maudes’ translations of Tolstoy’s fiction that did most to ensure Tolstoy’s enduring reputation as one of the world’s great writers. Their editions deservedly stood the test of time, bewitching modernist writers. As Virginia Woolf commented in 1929, having read Anna Karenina between 1909 and 1911, and in 1926: “Practically every scene in Anna Karenina is branded on me, though I’ve not read it for 35 15 years.” The catastrophe of World War II, coupled with Tolstoy’s growing stature as a writer of fiction, led to the ultimate eclipse of his once hallowed status as religious thinker and patron of the pacifist cause, such that it would have been already implausible for Irvine to think of suggesting Alan Turing read one of Tolstoy’s spiritual works along with his novels in 1952. If it is sad to consider the short-lived legacy of Tolstoy’s spiritual writings in the English-speaking world, it is nothing short of tragic where his homeland is concerned. While Tolstoy’s spiritual thought achieved new popularity in Russia following the February Revolution in 1917, when censorship was fully lifted, and remained influential into the 1920s, it once again became subject to official repression after Stalin came to power. As an indefatigable critic of Tsarist power, and one of the world’s greatest writers, Tolstoy was too valuable to the Bolsheviks to be left out of their artistic canon, but he had to be ‘tamed’ in order to fit into the ideolo s within You, Tolstoy argues that we would do this because our selfhood in its essence is a “spark of the divine,” and “a human being loves not because it is 50 Donna Tussing Orwin advantageous for him to love this or those ones, but because love is the essence of his soul, because he cannot not love” (PSS 28:85). It is unlikely that human beings could reject the body and individuality as totally as this definition of the soul implies, or that society could be structured on such a plan, so that teaching seems utopian. The stories based solely on it, like “Walk in the Light While There is Light” (written around 1886) are dull. Zhilin in “Prisoner of the Caucasus” did not die, but “went on serving in the Caucasus.” His story is structured around a life lesson that conveys him from the animal to the social stage of life. Aksyonov, who eventually forgives even a personal enemy, dies. He has nothing left to live for, so his story ends. It is a paradox, but one that addresses the very real problem of human incompleteness and mortality. Perhaps in my conversation with my supervisor I should have focused on the human longings that Tolstoy’s art expresses and addresses. No modern writer confronts them more directly than he does, no one shows more forcefully how these longings structure our lives, and that is why his art continues to intrigue and move us. It may not have answers we can entirely accept, but it asks questions we cannot ignore if we want to live a meaningful life. ENDNOTES   1 See L. N. Tolstoy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii [The Complete Works], 90 vols. (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1928–58), 30:163. To be fair, he did say that the ones he recommended, both by him and by others, were merely examples that came easily to mind, and that there might well be others.   2 PSS 21:325–26; translation by Louise and Aylmer Maude with my modifications; italics mine.   3 For a fascinating and relevant anthropological account of this dynamic in the Caucasus, see Bruce Grant, The Captive and the Gift: Cultural Histories of Sovereignty in Russia and the Caucasus (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2009), especially chap. 4, 63–90.   4 It is no accident that, as L. E. Kocheshkova shows, Tolstoy relied on Russian folk epic bylina (the in particular) in creating “Prisoner of the Caucasus.” See “‘Kavkazskii plennik’ L. N. Tolstogo i ‘neoklassicheskaia’ proza kontsa ХХ veka: Tip smyslovoi tselostnosti” [Leo Tolstoy’s “Prisoner of the Caucasus” and the “Neo-Classical” Prose at the End of the Twentieth Century], in Russkaia klassika: mezhdu arkhaikoi i modernom [Russian Classic Literature: Between Archaism and Modernity] (St. Petersburg: Izd-vo RGPU im. Gertsena, 2002), 111–17.   5 Hugh McLean and Gary Jahn debate the significance of the fact that Aksyonov denies he knows the wrongdoer. See McLean, “Could the Master Err? A Note on ‘God Sees the Truth, but Waits,’” Tolstoy Studies Journal 16 (2004): 77–81; and Jahn, “Was the Master What Is the Good According to Tolstoy, and How Good Can I Be? 51 Well Served? Further Comment on ‘God Sees the Truth, but Waits,’” Tolstoy Studies Journal 16 (2004): 81–86. The debate is reprinted in McLean, ed., In Quest of Tolstoy (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2008), 87–102. Tolstoy’s disciple Vladimir Chertkov disliked the fact that Aksyonov lied here because he considered lying un-Christian, and he proposed a change in the work when it was to be published in Intermediary Press (which Tolstoy and Chertkov founded to publish works for the people) in 1885. In his version, Aksyonov would say, not that he did not know, but that he would not tell who has been digging the tunnel. Tolstoy agreed to this but wrote Chertkov to make the change himself. The Jubilee edition uses the original text, and McLean and Jahn— the latter approving and the former disapproving—disagree about this decision.   6 PSS 21:253; translation by Robert Chandler with my modifications; italics mine.   7 For a cogent summary of Tolstoy’s artistic and symbolic use of colloquial language in the work, see Zinaida Uglitsky, “L. Tolstoy’s ‘Story God Sees the Truth’: Stylistic Analysis,” in Australasian Universities Language and Literature Association: Proceedings and Papers of the Twelfth Congress Held at the University of Western Australia, February 5–11, 1969, ed. A. P. Treweek and H. C. Coombs (Sydney: AULLA, 1970), 131–32. See also P. I. Mel′nikov-Davydov, “Opyt filologicheskogo rasskaza L. N. ‘Kavkazskii plennik’” [An Essay in Philological Story: “Prisoner of the Caucasus”], Tolstovskii sbornik (2008): 125–35. The story was neglected during Soviet times because it was considered too religious. Pushing back against this perception, the prominent Soviet scholar, N. N. Gusev, argued that it had no religious or mystical content, and that God is present in the title only as part of a folk expression. See Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy: Materialy k biografii s 1870 po 1881 god [Leo Tolstoy: Biographical Materials, 1870–1881] (Moscow: USSR Academy of Sciences, 1963), 78. In 1964, Soviet critic I. A. Kashtanova, reporting on Chertkov’s objections in the letter to Tolstoy discussed above, argues that the fact that Aksyonov lied proves that the story is about “human” rather than Christian truth, and therefore is suitable for Soviet children. See “Rasskaz-byl′ L. N. Tolstogo ‘Bog pravdu vidit, da ne skoro skazhet’” [A Story-Byl′ of Leo Tolsloy “God Sees the Truth, but Waits”], Tolstovskii sbornik 2 (1964): 84–85.   8 PSS 21:315. The filicide is especially horrendous because the Russians have killed seven of the old man’s eight sons, and it is the eighth remaining one whom he kills.   9 Jahn also pays close attention to when Aksyonov’s apotheosis occurs. 10 McLean, “Could the Master Err?,” 78. 11 Jahn, “Was the Master Well Served?,” 85. 12 In another article, Jahn argues convincingly that the story is symmetrical, the first part being about Aksyonov’s early life up until the crisis, and the second part, twenty-six years later, about its resolution. See “A Structural Analysis of Leo Tolstoy’s ‘God Sees the Truth, but Waits,’” Studies in Short Fiction 12 (1975): 261–69. In Jahn’s reading, Aksyonov passes from youth to old age, and from material to spiritual happiness. While Jahn attr nt extent, because of a whole series of extramarital romantic liaisons of one of the spouses. Moreover, the sexual promiscuity of one of the spouses does not 82 Miran Bozovic cause a s candal but is met with public approval. If the deceived husband earns not ridicule but respect, it is because of his sympathetic acceptance of his wife’s inconstancy as something natural. An affair with her is not viewed as a stain on a man’s reputation but rather as a sure sign of his moral excellence. Conversely, it is the one with whom she refuses to have an affair that is considered morally questionable. In short, to engage in impure and sinful activities with her serves as the ultimate guarantor of one’s moral purity. Here, engaging in vice not only leaves the virtue intact, as was the case in Mandeville, but to an important extent also contributes to its greatness. *** For Mandeville, “Publick Whoring” is not an enemy of the institution of marriage but rather its previously unsuspected ally. In his view, “the experienc’d Man,” the one who used to be a frequent visitor to brothels, will make a better husband and will better fulfill the goals and purposes of marriage than “a chaste unexperienc’d Man,” the one who has been “perfectly chaste” before mar16 Although acquiring the required “Experience” by frequenting brothels before marriage is beneficial, it would be “dangerous” to continue to do so after entering into marriage. Thus, besides preventing “the debauching of modest Women” to the greatest possible extent, “Publick Stews” are also an anteroom to marriage, wherein, however, chastity must reign. It is in this kind of society, that is, in a society that embodies Mandeville’s “Paradox,” that Pozdnyshev seems to live. In this society, there is a prevalent belief that depravity is “good for one’s health” (14). Consequently, the government not only does nothing to eradicate depravity but even actively encourages it by organizing “proper, efficient depravity” (14). The government “oversees the correct operation of houses of ill repute” and, with the help of medical doctors, ensures “the safety of debauchery.” In his youth, Pozdnyshev, by his own admission, used to visit brothels regularly acquiring the required “Experience,” which later, in marriage, evidently proved to be beneficial, just as Mandeville expected, since after getting married he has “never been unfaithful” to his wife (63). In short, everything seems to have run smoothly, in complete accordance with Mandeville’s fantasy of “Publick Whoring”—and yet something goes horribly wrong. Pozdnyshev summarizes what went wrong as follows: his first “fall” in a brothel—which occurred not because of his succumbing to the charms of any one woman in particular but simply because society considered depravity to be “a good thing” (14)—has forever destroyed his relationship with women. In a Tolstoy and Diderot on Women as “Dangerous Objects” 83 word, the moment he lost his innocence in a brothel, he became a “fornicator” who will never be able to have “simple, clear, pure relations with a woman” (15), and that, he says, is what has brought him to ruin. For him, “ natural,” “simple,” and “pure” relations with women, the loss of which he mourns, are “ brotherly relations” (15), that is, absolute chastity or complete sexual abstinence. If total sexual abstinence is the only natural and pure relation with a woman, this means that intra-marital sexual activity, too, counts as debauchery, or “Whoring.” Thus, Pozdnyshev would most likely be glad to agree with Daniel Defoe, who in his work Conjugal Lewdness: Or, Matrimonial Whoredom (1727) says that even a husband can “make a Whore of his Wife,” namely, 17 by treating her “merely as a Woman.” As a fornicator incapable of “brotherly relations” with women, Pozdnyshev treated every woman— i ncluding his own wife—“merely as a Woman,” while his married life was an embodiment of “Matrimonial Whoredom.” If ever there was a book that Pozdnyshev kept in his bedside cabinet, this, one suspects, must have been it. In the moral system of Pozdnyshev, there is no chastity any more, not even among monogamous married women, precisely there where in Mandeville’s view it could still be found. For Pozdnyshev, that which Mandeville called “Female Virtue” simply no longer exists; there are no “honorable” or “decent” women any more. Accordingly, in his eyes, all distinction is lost between that which Bayle called “places of debauchery” on the one hand, and the world inhabited by women whose chastity was guarded and preserved by brothels on the other. The whole world is one giant “place of debauchery” in which there is simply no room left for chastity. Not only the lives of the unfortunate women who were forced into prostitution, according to Pozdnyshev, but the life of women from the highest ranks of society, too, is nothing other than “one unceasing brothel.” In Pozdnyshev’s view, then, all women are prostitutes; it is just that some are “short-term prostitutes” and the others “long-term prostitutes,” and while the former are “usually despised,” the latter are “well respected” (18). Pozdnyshev articulates the underlying reasons for this bleak worldview by saying that just as, on the one hand, “a man needs a woman’s body and e verything that shows it off in the most alluring light” (18), so, on the other hand, the women are well aware of this. “That’s why those vile sweaters exist, those bustles worn on their behinds, those bare shoulders, arms, and almost bare breasts” (18), Pozdnyshev goes on to add, barely suppressing his rage. In order to attract and keep the attention of men, all women—exper his wife, Sofia Andreevna, was the “pagan” period of his life, while the “triumph of Christianity” came in his old age. Here there is a definitive break, as final in 134 Diana Dukhanova Tolstoy’s life as in history, of the two principles between which Rozanov had been attempting to maintain continuity. While Rozanov comes to accept Tolstoy’s late beliefs as genuine, he still argues that the Church must remember Tolstoy particularly for his “religion of the family” and his positive descriptions of the Church in Anna Karenina. For the Church, he should remain an eternal son and a reformer of the family. In “Tolstoy Among the Greats of the World,” Rozanov writes that the Church ought to have allowed him to live the life of an elder in a monastery in his old 13 age regardless of the excommunication. He had turned to the monastery when he became ill, but “fanatics” had prevented him from entering, as he 14 writes in “At the Grave of Tolstoy.” Tolstoy’s funeral must be in the Church, as it would put an end to the “cult of Tolstoy,” showing the idea of a Tolstoyan religion distinct from Orthodoxy to be an error. Let us turn now to the two articles most important to Rozanov’s deployment of Tolstoy as a prophet of the Christian family. Besides, in these articles, entitled “From Grey Antiquity” and “Family as Religion,” Rozanov lays out his own alternative reading of Christianity as a “religion of reproduction.” The first, which is an essay about the religions of the Ancient Near East, explores the idea 15 of Tolstoyan plots as manifestations of the religion of the family. The center of Rozanov’s focus in this and other essays on the same theme was Egypt, the 16 civilization that was, for him, founded on the religious value of the family. Although he was part of a larger Russian and European trend during the late nineteenth century to “rediscover a cultural heritage in Egypt,” “Rozanov is distinguished among his contemporaries in that his exploitation of Egypt is a 17 genuine attempt to look for a way to reform or restore Orthodoxy.” Levin’s religious transformation in Anna Karenina—an example, for Rozanov, of the way in which Christianity might resurrect the sanctification of the family based on the models provided in the religions of antiquity—is retold as the ascension to the innermost sanctum of the Babylonian temple. The temple, like the Egyptian pyramid, is a visual metaphor for the family, and one who ascends the temple finds increasingly small spaces mirroring a family home. The domestic spaces are open to intimates of the masters of the house, who are allowed “into the depths of their living space, where the rooms are smaller and 18 darker.” Only the true friend is allowed into the bedroom’s anteroom, where children play and one’s wife is dressed down. In this “soul” of the house, we find an “image” [an icon]. In the bedroom, where even the friend cannot go, “there is always a ‘blessed image,’ that is, the image with which their parents blessed their 19 marriage.” This inner sanctum of the house is the temple’s prototype, “lit up A Prophet of the Family: Vasily Rozanov Reads Tolstoy 135 20 to surround the life that is being made here.” Every home and family, writes 21 Rozanov, “is to this day a Babylonian or an Egyptian temple in miniature.” Just as the Babylonian temple is not a removed repository for the soul, the Russian Orthodox temple must become subordinate to the family, claims Rozanov. It is essential that it is the Orthodox matrimonial bedroom that he offers as an example of a holy space modeled on the same principles as the Babylonian temple. Remarkable here too is Rozanov’s deft transformation of the inner sanctum of the Babylonian temple into the bedchamber of a Russian Orthodox family, as witnessed by the presence of the traditional icons. This speaks to the crucial historical continuity of a particular religious essence. In “From Grey Antiquity,” Rozanov begins his brief excursion on Anna Karenina’s character Levin, by recounting his premarital confession of impurity to Kitty. Levin seeks in Kitty a “pure, undefiled place,” something holy away from the brothels and prostitutes he is fleeing, in order to build a family. The brothel of Levin’s bachelorhood constitutes the “opposite pole” of the Church—yet, crucially, in his transformation from debauched bachelor to chaste married man, Levin is said to bring “the rhythm of sex” from the brothel into his holy marriage. In this sense, the transition from the heights of debauchery to the heights of chastity is necessary for the creation of a sanctified place 22 in the Church for matrimonial intercourse. Throughout this excursion, Kitty’s virginal body is styled as the physical manifestation of the metaphorical “undefiled space” that Levin seeks in Christian marriage and domesticity. She is also a representation of the literal “undefiled space” at the apex of the Semitic temple, which is itself the image of the domestic bedchamber. Levin’s ascension is a representation of the sanctification of the body performed in marriage, wherein one can reach the heights of holiness only with a “blameless, beloved and loving, morally upstanding woman.” The apex of the temple is the space wherein the human being is closest to the divine, and Kitty’s body provides a pathway for Levin to purify his raw sexual passions rather than reject them. Levin’s marriage is explicitly linked to the idea of religious continuity and the preservation of the pagan spirit. The episode is crucial for Rozanov’s point that it is not the rejection of the animalistic, the physical, and the passionate that make for a sanctified Christian marriage, but rather the raising of these instincts to the spiritual heights that family life demands. The sexual drive of those who are pure and undefiled reaches for the “heavenly rhythm of marriage, its purity, and e of Leo Tolstoy’s Exegesis of the Sermon on the Mount,” Politics and Religion 1, no. 1 (2008): 27–54; Inessa Medzhibovskaya, “Tolstoy’s Response to Terror and Revolutionary Violence,” Kritika 3, no. 9 (2008): 505–31; Michael Denner, 206 Inessa Medzhibovskaya “Resistance Is Futile, but Nonresistance Might Work: The East and Russia in Tolstoi’s Political Imagination, 1905–1910,” Kritika 16, no. 1 (2015): 37–55.   2 #7;#7;Christoyannopoulos, Christian Anarchism, 146, 239, 317.   3 #7;#7;Tolstoy specifically invites the two editors not to feel obligated to publish his response, feeling certain that his message was not going to meet their expectations. All subsequent references to Tolstoy’s text are to the Jubilee edition: L. N. Tolstoy, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii [The Complete Works], ed. V. G. Chertkov, 90 vols. (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1928–58); cited by volume and page. Tolstoy’s remark to Moneta and Hamon appears in the editorial section of vol. 39 of the Jubilee edition published there for the first time by volume editor V. S. Mishin (PSS 39:251).   4 #7;#7; L. Tolstoy, “Carthago delenda est, April 23, 1898,” Svobodnoe slovo: periodicheskii sbornik. ed. P. I. Biriukov (Purleigh: V. Tchertkoff, 1898) 1, no. 1 (1898): 6–17. Tolstoy’s “Carthago” was followed by translated excerpts from Thoreau’s “Civil Disobedience.”   5 #7;#7; I will henceforth refer to fragments as “Carthago” (1889), “Carthago” (1896), “Carthago” (1898). All translations are my own.   6 #7;#7;See Boswell-Johnson exchanges in November-December 1779, in James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson (New York: Modern Library, 1953), 889.   7 #7;#7; These variant phrases are also used: Delenda est Carthago; Carthago delenda est; and Ceterum censeo Carthaginem delendam esse.   8 #7;#7;See Plutarch, Lives, Themistocles and Camillus. Aristides and Cato Major. Cimon and Lucullus, trans. Bernadotte Perrin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1914), 2:383; Pliny, Natural History, vol. 4, bks. 12–16, trans. H. Rackham (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1945), 339; and Livy, Julius Obsequens: History of Rome, Summaries, Fragments, Julius Obsequens (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1959), 14:23.   9 #7;#7;On the public career of Cato the Elder, see Erica Sciarrino, Cato the Censor and the Beginnings of Latin Prose: From Poetic Translation to Elite Transcription (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2011); and Alan E. Astin, Cato the Censor (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). 10 #7;#7; On the Punic Wars, see Adrian Keith Goldsworthy, The Punic Wars (London: Cassell, 2000); Nigel Bagnall, The Punic Wars (London: Hutchinson, 1990); Brian Caven, The Punic Wars (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1980); and Richard Miles, Carthage Must Be Destroyed: The Rise and Fall of an Ancient Civilization (New York: Penguin, 2012). 11 #7;#7;Aristotle, Politics 1269b1–73b1, 1280b1. Quoted from The Complete Works of Aristotle: The Revised Oxford Translation, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press 1984), 2:2014–20; 2:2031–32. When Aristotle was writing these words about Carthage, his recalcitrant former charge and student Alexander the Great had just died. 12 #7;#7; Carl von Clausewitz, studied by Tolstoy very closely, was one of the first to draw the parallel between Napoleonic and Punic Wars. See Carl von Clausewitz, On War, ed. Anatol Rapoport (New York: Penguin, 1985), 237, 376–77. 13 #7;#7;Michel de Montaigne, The Complete Works: Essays, Travel Journal, Letters, trans. Donald M. Frame (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2003), 63, 78, 628. Three Attempts on Carthage: Tolstoy’s Designs of Nonviolent Destruction 207 14 #7;#7; The fragment was first published with a brief chronological commentary in vol. 27 of the Jubilee edition in 1936 (PSS 27:534–35), eds. N. K. Gudzii and N. N. Gusev. 15 #7;#7; On the concept of reasonable consciousness, see Inessa Medzhibovskaya, Tolstoy and the Religious Culture of His Time: A Biography of a Long Conversion, 1845–1887 (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2008), 28, 43, 64, 133, 338–47. The fullest elaboration of the concept is made by Tolstoy is his work O zhizni [On Life], written in 1886–87 (PSS 26:313–442). 16 #7;#7; On January 12, 1889, Andrei Ivanovich Ershov (1834–1907), author of Sevastopl′skie vospominaniia artilleriiskogo ofitsera [Sevastopol Memoirs of an Artillery Officer], visited Tolstoy to ask that he write a preface for the reissue in one volume of his memoir, published originally in journal form (1856–57). Reading Ershov’s Sevastopol memoir on October 31, 1857, Tolstoy remarked in his diary, “It is good” (PSS 47:161). He had other thoughts about the same work thirty-two years later. Tolstoy wrote several drafts of the preface, but the new edition of Ershov’s memoir published by Aleksei Suvorin in 1891 came out without it. Chertkov published Tolstoy’s preface under the title “Protiv voiny” [Against War] in England (1902). 17 #7;#7;Both in the finished version and in variants of the “Preface,” Tolstoy writes about the atrocities committed by the troops ordered to drink spirits before action by General Skobelev during the Russo-Turkish War of 1877–78 (PSS 27:522, 734). 18 #7;#7;Regarding Tolstoy’s definitions of violence and the structural forms of its existence through the year 1887, see Medzhibovskaya, Tolstoy and the Religious Culture, 9–11, 49–50, 62–66, 73–74, 95–97, 117–20, 124–30, 212–13. 19 #7;#7; I have written on the course and the process of assimilation of this discovery at length in chaps. 8, 9, and 10 of Medzhibovskaya, Tolstoy and the Religious Culture, 199–294. 20 #7;#7; Tolstoy does not indicate his sources, but he encloses the three paragraphs describing the incident at the Tannhäuser in quotation marks (PSS 39:217). These paragraphs can be either his translation from the foreign press or a quotation from one of the short news reports from abroad common in Russian newspapers of the period. 21 #7;#7;Apparently, von Brüsewitz’s friend, Lieutenant von Jung-Stilling, abetted the murder. 22 #7;#7; For further details on Siepmann’s murder by von Brüsewitz, see Angela Borgstedt, “Der Fall Brüsewitz: Zum Verhältnis von Militär und Zivilgesellschaft im Wilhelminischen Kaiserreich,” Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 55, no.7/8 (2007): 605–23. 23 #7;#7; See Thomas Theodor Heine, “Aus Karlsruhe: Der Lieutenant ist los,” Simplicissimus, November 14, 1896, 1. The first issues of the journal founded in the same year came out in April 1896. 24 #7;#7; For a fine article on the topic of dueling according to Tolstoy and Clausewitz, see Rick McPeak, “Tolstoy and Clausewitz: The Duel as a Microcosm of War,” in Tolstoy on War: Narrative