s of our present progress could justify this deed; and that though everybody from the creation of the world had held it to be necessary, on whatever theory, I knew it to be unnecessary and bad; and therefore the arbiter of what is good and evil is not what people say and do, nor is it progress, but it is my heart and I. Another instance of a realization that the superstitious belief in progress is insufficient as a guide to life, was my brother's death. Wise, good, serious, he fell ill while still a young man, suffered for more than a year, and died painfully, not understanding why he had lived and still less why he had to die. No theories could give me, or him, any reply to these questions during his slow and painful dying. But these were only rare instances of doubt, and I actually continued to live professing a faith only in progress. "Everything evolves and I evolve with it: and why it is that I evolve with all things will be known some day." So I ought to have formulated my faith at that time.
Praise God an intellectual and seasoned man such as Tolstoy found true meaning for his life during his life instead of dying in meaninglessness. It\\\'s a shame so called \\\"intellectuals\\\" who had once revered him as great author and thinker quickly dismiss him once he stands for something outside of what they consider \\\"acceptable thinking.\\\"
Choose well my fellow humans and I praise our Father on e again that I will have the privilege of hanging with Leo in eternity!
Did not expect any other review from a goofless and empty soul, (in regards to the comment of previous reviewer)
Tolstoy in search of the meaning of life..
After he looked for it in science and philosophy (both fail him) he turns to religion... Here the book turns from a rational search, into an irrational (although he tries to rationalize the move, which he does poorly) surrender to the irrational and simple believe of everyman..
At the end Tolstoy discovers problems within theology and the book closes at him hoping to discriminate truth and falsehood in "the teachings".. which he, then still regards as containing indubitable truth..
I think the great Tolstoy fails here.. By that I mean that I am disappointed by the poor thinking not the writing..
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