A CONFESSION [34]
that is done by men who profess Christianity, and I was horrified.
XVI
And I ceased to doubt, and became fully convinced that not all
was true in the religion I had joined. Formerly I should have said
that it was all false, but I could not say so now. The whole of
the people possessed a knowledge of the truth, for otherwise they
could not have lived. Moreover, that knowledge was accessible to
me, for I had felt it and had lived by it. But I no longer doubted
that there was also falsehood in it. And all that had previously
repelled me now presented itself vividly before me. And though I
saw that among the peasants there was a smaller admixture of the
lies that repelled me than among the representatives of the
Church, I still saw that in the people's belief also falsehood was
mingled with the truth.
But where did the truth and where did the falsehood come from?
Both the falsehood and the truth were contained in the so-called
holy tradition and in the Scriptures. Both the falsehood and the
truth had been handed down by what is called the Church.
And whether I liked or not, I was brought to the study and
investigation of these writings and traditions -- which till now I
had been so afraid to investigate.
And I turned to the examination of that same theology which I
had once rejected with such contempt as unnecessary. Formerly it
seemed to me a series of unnecessary absurdities, when on all sides
I was surrounded by manifestations of life which seemed to me clear
and full of sense; now I should have been glad to throw away what
would not enter a health head, but I had nowhere to turn to. On
this teaching religious doctrine rests, or at least with it the
only knowledge of the meaning of life that I have found is
inseparably connected. However wild it may seem too my firm old
mind, it was the only hope of salvation. It had to be carefully,
attentively examined in order to understand it, and not even to
understand it as I understand the propositions of science: I do
not seek that, nor can I seek it, knowing the special character of
religious knowledge. I shall not seek the explanation of
everything. I know that the explanation of everything, like the
commencement of everything, must be concealed in infinity. But I
wish to understand in a way which will bring me to what is
inevitably inexplicable. I wish to recognize anything that is
inexplicable as being so not because the demands of my reason are
wrong (they are right, and apart from them I can understand
nothing), but because I recognize the limits of my intellect. I
wish to understand in such a way that everything that is
inexplicable shall present itself to me as being necessarily
inexplicable, and not as being something I am under an arbitrary
obligation to believe.
That there is truth in the teaching is to me indubitable, but
it is also certain that there is falsehood in it, and I must find
what is true and what is false, and must disentangle the one from
the other. I am setting to work upon this task. What of falsehood
I have found in the teaching and what I have found of truth, and to
what conclusions I came, will form the following parts of this
work, which if it be worth it and if anyone wants it, will probably
some day be printed somewhere.
1879.
The foregoing was written by me some three years ago, and will
be printed.
Now a few days ago, when revising it and returning to the line
of thought and to the feelings I had when I was living through it
all, I had a dream. This dream expressed in condensed form all
that I had experienced and described, and I think therefore that,
for those who have understood me, a description of this dream will
refresh and elucidate and unify what has been set forth at such
length in the foregoing pages. The dream was this:
I saw that I was lying on a bed. I was neither comfortable
nor uncomfortable: I was lying on my back. But I began to consider
how, and on what, I