I had lived in the country and had entered into relations with the country-poor. It is not out of false modesty1, but that I may state the truth, which is necessary in order to understand the run of all my thoughts and feelings, that I must say that in the country I had done perhaps but little for the poor, the help which had been required of me was so small; but even the little I had done had been useful, and had formed round me an atmosphere of love and sympathy with my fellow-creatures, in the midst of whom it might yet be possible for me to quiet the gnawing2 of my conscience as to the unlawfulness of my life of luxury.
On going to the city I had hoped for the same happy relations with the poor, but here things were upon quite another footing. In the city, poverty was at once less truthful3, more exacting4, and more bitter, than in the country. It was chiefly because there was so much more of it accumulated together, that it produced upon me a
most harrowing impression. What I experienced at Liapin's house made my own luxurious5 life seem monstrously6 evil. I could not doubt the sincerity7 and strength of this conviction; yet, notwithstanding this, I was quite incapable8 of carrying out a revolution which demanded an entire change in my mode of life: I was frightened at the prospect9, and so I resorted to compromises. I accepted what I was told by everyone, and what has been said by everybody since the world began,—that riches and luxury are in themselves no evil, that they are given by God, and that whilst continuing to live luxuriously10 it is possible to help those in need. I believed this and wanted to do so. And I wrote an article in which I called upon all rich people to help. These all admitted themselves morally obliged to agree with me, but evidently did not wish to do or give anything for the poor, or could not do so.
I then began visiting, and discovered what I had in no way expected to see. On the one hand, I saw in these dens11 (as I had at first called them) men whom it was impossible for me to help, because they were working-men, accustomed to labour and privation, and therefore having a much firmer hold on life than I had. On the other hand, I saw miserable12 men whom I could not aid because they were just such as I was myself. The majority of the poor whom I saw were wretched, merely because they had lost the capacity, desire, and habit of earning their bread; in other words, their misery13 consisted in the fact that they were just like myself. Whereas, of poor people to whom it was possible to give immediate14 assistance—those suffering from illness, cold, and hunger,—I found none, except the starving Agafia; and I became persuaded that, being so far removed from the life of those whom I wished to succour, it was almost impossible to find such need as I sought, because all real need was attended to by those amongst whom these unhappy creatures lived: and my principal conviction now was, that, with money, I could never reform that life of misery which these people led.
I was persuaded of this: yet a feeling of shame to leave off all I had begun, and self-deception as to my own virtues15, made me continue my plan for some time longer till it died a natural death; thus, only with great difficulty and the help of Iván Fedotitch, I managed to distribute in the tavern16 at Rzhanoff's house the thirty-seven rubles which I considered were not my own.
Of course I might have continued this style of thing and have transformed it into a kind of charity; and, by importuning17 those who promised to give me money, I
might have obtained and distributed more, thus comforting myself with the idea of my own excellence18: but I became convinced on the one hand that we rich people do not wish,—and are also unable,—to distribute to the poor a portion of our superfluities (we have so many wants ourselves), and that money should not be given to any one if we really wish to do good, instead of merely distributing it at random19 as I had done in the Rzhanoff tavern. So I dropped the affair entirely20 and in despair quitted Moscow for my own village.
I intended on returning home to write a pamphlet on my experience, and to state why my project had not succeeded. I wanted to justify21 myself from the imputations which resulted from my article on the census22; I wanted also to denounce society and its heartless indifference23; and I desired to point out the causes of this town misery, and the necessity for endeavouring to remedy it, as well as the means which I thought were requisite24 for this purpose. I began even then to write, and fancied I had many very important facts to communicate. But in vain did I rack my brain: I could not manage it, notwithstanding the super-abundance of material at my command, because of the irritation25 under which I wrote, and because I had not yet learned by experience what was necessary to grasp the question rightly; still more because I had not become fully26 conscious of the cause of it all,—a very simple cause, deep-rooted in myself. So the pamphlet was not finished at the commencement of the present year (1884–1885).
In the matter of moral law we witness a strange phenomenon to which men pay too little attention. If I speak to an unlearned man about geology, astronomy, history, natural philosophy, or mathematics, he receives the information as quite new to him, and never says to me, “There is nothing new in what you tell me; every one knows it, and I have known it for a long time.” But tell a man one of the highest moral truths in the simplest manner, in such a way as it has never been before formulated27, and every ordinary man, particularly one who does not take any interest in moral questions, and, above all, one who dislikes them, is sure to say, “Who does not know that? It has been always known and expressed.” And he really believes this. Only those who can appreciate moral truths know how to value their elucidation28 and simplification by a long and laborious29 process, or can prize the transition from a proposition or desire at first
vaguely30 understood to a firm and determined31 expression calling for a corresponding change of conduct.
We are all accustomed to consider moral doctrine32 to be a very insipid33 and dull affair in which there can be nothing new or interesting; whereas, in reality, human life, with all its complicated and varied34 actions which seem to have no connection with morals,—political activity, activity in the sciences, in the arts, and in commerce,—has no other object than to elucidate35 moral truths more and more, and to confirm, simplify, and make them accessible to all.
I recollect36 once while walking in a street in Moscow I saw a man come out and examine the flag-stones attentively37; then, choosing one of them, he sat down by it and began to scrape and rub it vigorously.
“What is he doing with the pavement?” I wondered; and, having come up close to him, I discovered he was a young man from a butcher's shop, and was sharpening his knife on the flag-stone. He was not thinking about the stones when examining them, and still less while doing his work; he was merely sharpening his knife. It was necessary for him to do so in order to cut the meat, but to me it seemed that he was doing something to the pavement.
In the same way mankind seems to be occupied with commerce, treaties, wars, sciences, arts; and yet for them one thing only is important, and they do only that,—they are elucidating38 those moral laws by which they live.
Moral laws are already in existence, and mankind has been and is merely re-discovering them: this elucidation appears to be unimportant and imperceptible to one who has no need of moral law, and who does not desire to live by it. Yet this is not only the chief but is the sole business of all men. The elucidation is imperceptible in the same way as the difference between a sharp knife and a blunt one is imperceptible. A knife remains39 a knife; and one who has not to cut anything with it will not notice its edge: but for one who understands that all his life depends more or less upon whether his knife is blunt or sharp, every improvement in sharpening it is important; and such a man knows that there must be no limit to this improvement, and that the knife is only really a knife when it is sharp, and when it cuts what it has to cut.
The conviction of this truth flashed upon me when I began to write my pamphlet. Previously40 it seemed to me that I knew everything about my subject, that I had a
thorough understanding of everything connected with those questions which had been awakened41 in me by the impressions made in Liapin's house and during the census; but when I tried to sum them up, and to put them on paper, it turned out that the knife would not cut, and had to be sharpened: so it is only now after three years that I feel my knife is sharp enough for me to cut out what I want. It is not that I have learned new things: my thoughts are still the same; but they were blunt formerly42; they kept diverging43 in every direction; there was no edge to them; nor was anything brought, as it is now, to one central point, to one most simple and plain conclusion.
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1
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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3
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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monstrously
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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8
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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9
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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11
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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12
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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14
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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15
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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16
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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17
importuning
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的现在分词 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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18
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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19
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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20
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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21
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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census
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| n.(官方的)人口调查，人口普查 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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24
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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27
formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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elucidation
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| n.说明，阐明 | |
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29
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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30
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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31
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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32
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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33
insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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34
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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35
elucidate
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| v.阐明，说明 | |
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36
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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38
elucidating
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| v.阐明，解释( elucidate的现在分词 ) | |
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39
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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40
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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41
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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42
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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43
diverging
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| 分开( diverge的现在分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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