Books like A Confession and Other Religious Writings

Religion is a very personal matter and all too often a very controversial one at that. My ancestors practiced a variety of different faiths, but I was raised in the Catholic Church. I attended Catholic school from kindergarten through the 12th grade and, like many “reformed Catholics,” I swallowed what was fed me at first, without really questioning why it might be good for me or what it might do to me spiritually or psychologically. But with knowledge of the hard and social sciences and evident contradictions in the formal church, I strayed further and further from organized religion.I know I’ve not addressed Tolstoy’s work yet specifically, but I’m getting to it in a roundabout way, with an introduction to my review that is structurally very similar to the way that Tolstoy opens “A Confession” (the introductory lines of which I include later on). It is perhaps because of my own experiences with organized religion in my youth that I found the work so intriguing. And although I have since distanced myself from Catholicism as an organized religion, it is not something I can really escape from entirely. I can no more escape from Catholic guilt, which was instilled in me from my childhood into my early adult years, than I can from accepting the mathematical truth that 2 + 2 = 4, similar to points made by some of my favorite Catholics in the world of cinema, Federico Fellini, Martin Scorsese and Roger Ebert. Though I was born in a different era, having been raised in a Catholic family and sent to a Catholic school, the rituals and dogmas of the Church are part of the mold in which I was shaped and although I can try to bury them, renounce them or ignore them, I can never erase them, for they were such an essential (if contradictory) part of my life growing up. For me, one of my earliest disillusionments with organized religion that I can recall occurred at the age of nine. Here’s the background, in brevity: When I was two-years (too young to remember), the priest of our church was embroiled in a sexual abuse scandal involving teenage altar boys in the parish. This was a few decades before sexual abuse in the Catholic Church gained prominence in the national and world headlines, and (as was often the case in those days) the diocese simply swept the matter under the rug and moved the priest to a new parish, where his impulses led him soon enough back to his old ways, only to be once again hushed up by the church hierarchy. The priest who came in after him was not only a reformer and a new thinker, but he was very critical of the hypocrisy within the church. He often used the pulpit to speak about these injustices, fully aware that the church was giving pedophile priests the opportunity to act again. He wrote letters, met with officials and otherwise caused a good deal of trouble for those higher up. And with his vocal opposition to what the church was doing, he soon began receiving threats on his safety and life in the form of letters and phone calls, some of them originating from those higher up in the church hierarchy. Rather than backing down, this priest informed the parishioners of these threats, which continued to increase. I didn’t realize much of what he spoke of in his sermons as a child, but I recognized that there was a contradiction between what the church preached and what the church, as an organized body, did. When I was nine-years old I attended the church with my mother (this was a rare occasion, as it was usually my grandmother who took me church) and my mother and many others in the pews wept as the priest delivered his final homily. In it he summed up, with wet eyes, the history of abusive acts committed by the former priest, the actions taken by the church to hide the priest’s crimes and sins, the actions he took as a pastor to bring the actions of the former priest and of the church itself to light and the threats on his life that he had been receiving. In response to the growing threats on his life he announced that he was stepping down from the priesthood. This was a rattling moment for me. Why was a priest who was trying to do something right being threatened by those within the church organization? Isn’t the church supposed to be a voice of moral goodness? It didn’t make sense. A couple of years later one of the staff members at our school was dismissed for her refusal to stop referring to God as “She.” And this was followed through the years by a number of other contradictions: a progressive nun (who taught us sexual education because she believed that abstinence only policies were nonsensical!) who was fired for her progressive views because her teachings were opposed to Church doctrine, a theology teacher who introduced us to the teachings of Marx and the liberation theologians (things that would never be mentioned from the priest’s pulpit), a theology teacher who organized student protests and a female teacher who was fired for her refusal to condemn homosexuality and later threatened for becoming ordained as a priest, challenging the Catholic Church’s stance that only men can be ordained. People were openly challenging the dogma and hierarchy of the Church, while still embracing faith and what they saw as the essential principles of Christianity (much like Tolstoy). These events, combined with insights gained through studies of history, anthropology, sociology and the “hard sciences” drew me further and further away from any sort of organized religion. So, with that lengthy, personal, and perhaps roundabout introduction to this review, how does this relate back to Tolstoy? In this book, A Confession and Other Religious Writings Tolstoy discusses many religious and social ideas – some which I agree with to some extent, and others which I find a bit questionable – ranging from the perversion of Christianity in the hands of the Church (i.e., organized religion is not representative of ‘true religion’); his own path away from religion and back to it; the need to abolish governments, all of which are based on violence; realizing the kingdom of God on earth (very similar to the liberation theologians who would follow); and, most importantly, his search for an answer to the question of the meaning of life. Tolstoy was undoubtedly very polarizing at this time and caused concern particularly for the Russian government, which wanted to censor him but feared that doing so could incite an unwanted response from his many followers. In works like War & Peace and Anna Karenina characters such as Pierre and Levin sought answers to questions similar to those that Tolstoy posed in many of his religious works and these fictional characters are widely believed to be representative of the author and the struggles that were already beginning in his troubled soul. By the time that his religious writings came around, Tolstoy had renounced many of the literary masterpieces that we have come to know and love him for, seeing them as a shallow attempt to deliver some truth (that he didn’t even know) to the public. Before his great literary achievements were translated in English, Tolstoy was already known for his controversial religious views in much of the Western world. Today, as society seems to be moving further away from religion, it is Tolstoy’s great works of fiction that he is remembered for, and his religious and philosophical works – which first established his reputation in the West – have in many ways become obscured. Though it was existential and religious questions that Tolstoy was mostly concerned with even in his fictional works, at least as much time and effort (probably more) is spent discussing Tolstoy’s art (his writing style and use of repetition and very short sentences), his character development, and so on. And when we do discuss his philosophy, it is often as it is represented by his rich characters and their existential struggles (like Levin, Pierre or Prince Andrei) or his views on free will and determinism, as laid out in War & Peace. But it was his views on religion that Tolstoy wanted most to be remembered for (hence when he thought he was close to death he took up a pen and wrote down his last thoughts on religion, which he felt he very much needed to share with the world, as represented by the last essay in this collection, “The Law of Love and the Law of Violence,” which he concludes succinctly with the words, “This is what I wanted to say to my fellow men before I die”). This collection of essays contains several pieces of a religious nature. They include (in order): “A Confession”; “What is Religion and of What Does Its Essence Consist?”; “Religion and Morality”; and “The Law of Love and the Law of Violence.” The essays are followed with helpful endnotes courtesy of the translator, Jane Kentish. “A Confession” begins: “I was baptized and brought up in the Orthodox Christian faith. I was instructed in it both as a child and throughout my boyhood and youth. But when at the age of eighteen I left university in my second year, I no longer believed in any of the things I had been taught. . . . Judging from various memories, I had never believed very seriously but had merely trusted in what I was taught and in what was professed by my elders; but this trust was very unstable.” Perhaps I was hooked from the beginning because I could very much relate – but whereas Tolstoy has made his way back to religion (though rejecting the Church), I continue to struggle with questions about the meaning of life, though less resolutely than Tolstoy. As the piece unfolded, it felt to me very personal. Tolstoy shared his doubts about the merits of his artistic works and even admitted that suicide was an idea that often presented itself to him in moments of grave existential uncertainty. Reading this piece was like having a very personal conversation with a close friend. At times I disagreed with his reasoning – as I have in my readings of others like Freud and Hegel, who have also presented me with ideas that I have questioned but have nonetheless caused me to reevaluate my own philosophical positions – and other times I agreed wholeheartedly (as was the case with passages such as: “Nowadays, as before, the public declaration and confession of Orthodoxy is usually encountered among dull-witted, cruel and immoral people who tend to consider themselves very important. Whereas intelligence, honesty, straightforwardness, good-naturedness and morality are qualities usually found among people who claim to be non-believers” or “[I]n much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow”).Tolstoy concludes in this piece:“I had come to faith because apart from it I had found nothing, absolutely nothing, other than destruction; it was therefore impossible to give up faith, and so I submitted. . . .” For him, faith in God was necessary to live. But, I do not think this is the case for all and I think it is possible to find meaning in life outside of religion. The second piece, “What is Religion and of What Does Its Essence Consist?” was also a very fascinating essay, and I again found myself nodding in agreement at times and other times arguing with the author in my mind, just as before. Namely I felt that some of his points about religion – such as the claim that it has been around from the beginning of humankind – run contrary to today’s anthropological consensus. But his arguments were very interesting even if not always entirely agreeable. In this essay he presents a definition of religion: “a relationship established between man, everlasting life, and God in conformity with reason and contemporary knowledge, and which alone pushed humanity forwards to its destined aim.” He also raises many points that were then and continue to be provocative, points raised before him by many of the Deists (notably Jefferson and Paine), about such things as St. Paul’s perversion and misrepresentation of Christ’s teachings, and the illogical/nonsensical teachings of the Church (including, but not limited to “the creation of light before the sun, the creation of the world six thousand years ago, the housing of all of the animals in the ark . . . the various immoral atrocities [of the Old Testament] . . . . the absurdity of the sacrament of . . . eating your own God” and so on). In the very short piece, “Religion and Morality,” written in 1893, Tolstoy attempts to provide answers to questions put to him by a German ethical cultural society about his understanding of the word ‘religion’ (a definition provided in the previous essay and reiterated here) and whether or not he feels that morality can exist outside of religion – he does not. On this matter I again disagreed with many of the points used in his argument, but appreciated the fact that he got my mental processes set in motion at full speed. For a great writer (like a great filmmaker for that matter) needs not write something that one agrees with, but need only make a compelling or moving case. I am troubled by the racist elements of many of the films of John Ford and by D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation as much as I am by some of Freud’s racist and sexist views and by Hegel’s conclusions in Reason in History but these are works with great artistic and/or philosophic merit. They may be “unenlightened,” as film critic Roger Ebert writes of Ford’s films, but they are still great works of art. And great works of art and philosophy are not “perfect,” but they do what they do well, using imagery, poetry or arguments that make a compelling case or make an impact on one’s life and outlook. Tolstoy’s views in this particular piece, and elsewhere, are a bit troubling for me, but his arguments are well-constructed and well-supported and he challenges me – as just one of his many readers – to see the world in a different way. I found myself underlining passages, making notes in the margins and dog-earring pages as much, if not more, when I disagreed with something as when I found myself approving of Tolstoy’s line of reasoning. The final essay in this collection, “The Law of Love and the Law of Violence,” was written near the end of Tolstoy’s life, in 1908, and its critique of organized religion (namely Christianity) is as damning as, if not more so than his earlier religious essays. Again, there is much here that challenges my own worldviews and religious outlook, but the work is in many ways prophetic and Tolstoy’s well-supported and incendiary arguments against the Church are spot on. Tolstoy’s arguments against slavery and capitalism in this essay are very similar to those made by Marx, another great nineteenth century thinker. But whereas Marx is a materialist, Tolstoy’s approach is, as Jane Kentish writes in the introduction: “spiritual, anti-materialist, based on universal truths of love, non-violence and moral perfection.” In this essay Tolstoy takes aim at class oppression, the exploitation of the poor and working classes at the hands of the rich and very notably against the hypocrisy of so-called Christian nations and their embrace of things such as war and militarism, police brutality and capital punishment. At the heart of all these essays are questions of religion and life purpose and an embrace of Christian principles—the necessity of creating the kingdom of God on earth and the importance of the Golden Rule and Christ’s ‘Sermon on the Mount’ more than any other teaching(s), i.e., the necessity of non-violence in all cases. In many ways, as can be evidenced from these essays, Tolstoy’s ideas were shaped by thinkers before him, including Blaise Pascal, Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, the Deists and others. Many of his ideas were not new in the world, but he revived and refined them and brought these controversial issues to the forefront in late 19th century and early 20th century Russia and also to places like India, where Tolstoy and the non-violent civil disobedience of Henry David Thoreau, would shape the philosophies of the young M.K. Gandhi (whose life was captured wonderfully in film by director Richard Attenborough, who just yesterday passed). And they would also find expression in some of the liberation theologians (though some have been more willing to embrace violence in self-defense than Tolstoy ever would have permitted) and the teachings of Martin Luther King. War & Peace might be considered Leo Tolstoy’s magnum opus. Anna Karenina is up there, too (undoubtedly among the greatest novels of the 19th century, and likely of all time). But these were not the works for which Tolstoy wanted to be remembered. Not only as a service to him, but to ourselves, Tolstoy’s philosophical and religious works deserve to be read at least once if not repeatedly. And perhaps my own experiences with religion and the contradictions of the church and my general interests in matters of philosophy, ethics and religion make me more interested than others would be. Yet even if not for the merits of the ideas themselves, from a literary perspective these essays deserve to be read as a key to the torments experienced by characters like Levin and Pierre on their paths of spiritual development. It is unlikely that many readers today will agree with all or even most of what Tolstoy preaches in these works. But, I think it can be agreed that, as in his works of fiction, Tolstoy here proves his thoroughness, craft and skill as a writer and thinker capable of not only setting the workings of the mind in motion, but also the inner-workings of the soul, which can but needn’t have solely a religious connotation.