not understand it. Besides, I said to myself: the essence of every faith consists in giving to life a meaning which is not destroyed by death. Naturally, in order that faith may answer the question of a king dying in luxury, of an old slave worn out by work, of an unthinking child, of a wise old man, of a half-witted old woman, of a happy young woman, of a youth swayed by passions, of all men under all the most varied conditions of life and education,—naturally, if there is one answer which replies to the eternal question of life, “Why do I live, and what will become of my life?”—this question, though one in its essence, must be endlessly diversified in its manifestations, and, the more this answer is one, the more sincere and profound it is, the stranger and the more contorted it must, naturally, appear in its attempts at expression, according to the education and position of each individual. But these reflections, which for me justified the strangeness of the ritualistic side of faith, were none the less insufficient to permit me in what for me was the only business of life, in faith, to commit acts of which I was doubtful. I wanted with all the forces of my soul to be able to become one with the masses, by executing the ritualistic side of their faith; but I was unable to do so. I felt that I should be lying to myself and making light of what for me was holy, if I did it. But here I was aided by the new Russian theological works.
These theologians show that the fundamental dogma of faith is the infallible church. From the recognition of this dogma follows, as its necessary consequence, the truth of everything professed by the church. The church as a collection of believers united in love and, therefore, in possession of the true knowledge, became the foundation of my faith. I said to myself that divine truth could not be accessible to one person,—that it was revealed only to a totality of men united in love. In order to attain truth, we must not divide; and in order not to divide, we
