Page:Tolstoy - Pamphlets.djvu/147

6 do so;—in that is my life; but such drawing nearer in no way increases, and cannot increase, my knowledge.

Every endeavour of the imagination to know Him more definitely (for in stance, as my Creator, or as a Merciful Being) removes me farther from Him, and prevents me drawing nearer to Him.

Stranger still, I can love truly—that is, more than myself or than anything else—Him alone. This love alone knows no check, no decrease (on the contrary, all is increase), no sensuality, no insincerity, no subserviency, no fear, no self-satisfaction. Only through this love does one love all that is good; so that one loves and lives only through Him and by Him.

Well, this is how I think, or rather feel. I have only to add that the pronoun "He" somewhat destroys my idea of God: the word "He" somewhat diminishes Him.

It is astonishing how I could for merly fail to see the indubitable truth, that behind this world and our life in it, is someone, something, that knows why this world exists and why we, in it, like bubbles in boiling water, rise, burst, and disappear.

It is certain that something is being done in this world, and that by all