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24

TOLSTOY

of perpetual fever. For a year he was completely at sea; he roamed from one system of philosophy to another. As a Stoic, he indulged in self-inflicted

physical tortures. As an Epicurean he debauched himself. Then came a faith in metempsychosis. Finally he fell into a condition of nihilism not far removed from insanity; he used to feel that if only he could turn round with sufficient rapidity he would find himself face to face with nothingness . . . He analysed himself continually:

"I no longer thought of a thing; I thought of what I thought of it."[1]

This perpetual self-analysis, this mechanism of reason turning in the void, remained to him as a dangerous habit, which was "often," in his own words, "to be detrimental to me in life"; but by which his art has profited inexpressibly.[2]

As another result of self-analysis, he had lost all his religious convictions; or such was his belief. At sixteen years of age ceased to pray; he went to church no longer;[3] but his faith was not extinguished; it was only smouldering.

"Nevertheless, I did believe—in something. But in what? I could not say. I still believed in God; or rather I did not deny Him. But in what God? I did not know. Nor did I deny Christ and his teaching; but I could not have said precisely what."[4]

  1. ↑ Youth, xix.
  2. ↑ Notably in his first volumes—in the Tales of Sebastopol.
  3. ↑ This was the time when he used to read Voltaire, and find pleasure in so doing.
  4. ↑ Confessions, vol. i.
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