War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [250]
“But they’re the same as myself, they’re not others,” said Prince Andrei, “and others, one’s ‘neighbors,’ le prochain, as you and Princess Marya call them, are the chief source of error and evil. Le prochain—that’s those Kievan peasants of yours, to whom you want to do good.”
And he gave Pierre a mockingly defiant look. He was clearly defying Pierre.
“You’re joking,” said Pierre, growing more and more animated. “What error and evil can there be in my wish (though fulfilled very little and poorly), my wish to do good, and in my doing at least something? What evil can there be if those wretched people, our peasants, people like us, who grow up and die with no other notion of God and truth than an icon and a meaningless prayer, are taught comforting beliefs about the future life, retribution, reward, comfort? What evil and error are there if people are dying of disease without any help, when it’s so easy to help them materially, and I give them a doctor, and a hospital, and a shelter for the aged? And isn’t it a palpable, unquestionable good if a peasant or a woman with a baby has no peace day or night, and I give them rest and leisure?…” said Pierre, hurrying and lisping. “And I’ve done that, though poorly, though very little, but I’ve done something to that end, and you not only won’t convince me that what I’ve done was not good, but you also won’t convince me that you don’t think so yourself. And above all,” Pierre went on, “this I know and know for certain, that the pleasure of doing good is the only certain happiness in life.”
“Yes, if you put the question that way, it’s another matter,” said Prince Andrei. “I build a house and cultivate a garden, and you build hospitals. Both can serve to pass the time. But what’s right, what’s good—that is for the one who knows all to judge, not for us. Well, you want to argue,” he added, “so let’s argue.” They left the table and sat on the porch, which took the place of a balcony.
“Well, let’s argue, then,” said Prince Andrei. “Schools, you say,” he went on, raising a finger, “instruction, and so on—that is, you want to lead him out of his animal condition,” he said, pointing to a muzhik who took off his hat as he passed by, “and give him moral needs. But it seems to me that the only possible happiness is animal happiness, and you want to deprive him of it. I envy him and you want to make him into me, but without giving him my intelligence, or my feelings, or my means. Second, you say lighten his work. But in my opinion physical labor is as much a necessity for him, as much a condition of his existence, as mental labor is for you and me. You cannot not think. I go to bed past two o’clock, I have thoughts and can’t sleep, I toss about, I don’t fall asleep until morning, because I’m thinking and cannot not think, as he cannot not plow or mow—otherwise he’ll go to the pot-house or fall ill. Just as I could not stand his terrible physical labor and would die in a week, so he could not stand my physical idleness, he’d grow fat and die. Third—what was it you said?”
Prince Andrei raised a third finger.
“Ah, yes. Hospitals, medicines. He has a stroke, he’s dying, but you let his blood, you cure him, and he’ll go around crippled for another ten years, a burden on everyone. It’s far more simple and easy for him to die. Others will be born, there are lots of them as it is. You might be sorry to lose an extra worker—that’s how I look at him—but no, you want to cure him out of love for him. And he doesn’t need that. Besides, what is this fantasy that medicine has ever cured anybody…Killed, yes!” he said, frowning spitefully and turning away from Pierre.
Prince Andrei spoke his mind so clearly and distinctly that it was evident he had thought about it more than once, and he spoke eagerly and quickly, like a man who has not spoken for a long time. His gaze became the more animated, the more hopeless his opinions were.
“Ah, that’s terrible, terrible!” said Pierre. “Only I don’t understand how one