to conceal from oneself that in the last few years intellectual stimulation under the influence of the work of Tolstoy has greatly strengthened and threatens to spread perverted notions about faith, the Church, government and society. The direction is entirely negative, alien not only to the Church, but to nationality. A kind of insanity that is epidemic has taken possession of people’s minds.5
Tolstoy’s popularity was not confined to Russia. Converted and potential followers were writing to him from all over the world asking questions about the new revelation and seeking advice about ways to live in accordance with it. Hardly any religious prophet ever managed to gather such a flock within a decade from the day of his first sermon.
Tolstoy owed the speed of his success to the very advance of modernity that he loathed so much. Due to new cheaper printing technology and standardized primary education, the works published by ‘Intermediary’ could be sold in millions of copies. Chertkov’s managerial skills and English connections were also instrumental in ensuring that Tolstoy’s essays started to appear in Europe at roughly the time his international fame as a novelist had reached its zenith. Still, by far the most important factors were the magic of Tolstoy’s voice, the existential seriousness of his rhetoric, his charisma and, no less importantly, perfect timing.
By the end of the 1880s Tolstoy had become the most famous living novelist in the world. Both in Russia and outside of it, the reputation of the author of War and Peace and Anna Karenina drew the attention of the reading public towards his stance on religious, moral and political questions. Moreover, the fact that Tolstoy was revered among the rich and the powerful was, in itself, highly significant for the masses that could not read long novels and philosophical treatises. The peasants were more inclined to listen to a repentant count than to ‘one of their own’. The whole northern hemisphere was in the throes of changes of incredible magnitude, but nowhere else were the political system, social structures and governing elites less able to cope with the challenge than in Russia. The decisive moment for Tolstoy to test the appeal and limitations of his teachings arrived in the second half of 1891.
By the summer of that year it had already become clear that a severe drought, following on from two poor harvests in 1889 and 1890, was leading Russia to face one of the most terrible famines of the nineteenth century. In August the government banned grain exports and belatedly started to take preventive measures. At the same time, public discussion of the approaching catastrophe was censored. This prohibition only increased panic. Nationwide the lack of grain was not that drastic, but the worst-hit regions were experiencing major shortages. Many peasants, who barely survived in the good years, were driven to extreme misery made worse by the epidemics that followed in the wake of the famine. The response to the disaster was bungled. Traditional distrust between central and local authorities and the government’s suspicion of public philanthropic initiatives impeded successful cooperation.
Tolstoy was slow to get involved in the relief operation. He mistrusted philanthropy, believing money brought nothing but evil. When he realized the dimensions of the problem, however, he started acting with the fervour and efficiency of a true visionary. Soon he had become the centre of all private efforts. In spite of his aversion to questions of finance, he appealed to the Russian and global public for help and, capitalizing on the universal trust in his moral integrity, presided over the distribution of funds and regularly submitted reports to the press.
Within several months he had managed to collect more than a million roubles from different sources in Russia and abroad. Many donations came from the United States and Britain. Quakers were especially generous in both countries. This assistance helped him to organize and administer around 250 field kitchens providing free meals to 14,000 people. In addition to this, a further 120 kitchens were able to feed 3,000 children. Tolstoy not only coordinated these activities, but was constantly engaged in personally delivering necessary help to the needy. He also wrote a number of articles and essays raising public awareness of the situation, breaking the official taboo against discussion of the famine. The government tried to ban these publications but was forced to react when they appeared abroad. When a Russian newspaper published Tolstoy’s article ‘The Terrible Question’, accusing the authorities of hindering relief by not providing reliable information about regional supplies of grain, an official warning from the Minister of Internal Affairs was followed within a week by the launch of a statistical initiative to deal with the problem.
Tolstoy in 1891 in the village of Rusanovo taking part in hunger relief.
The famine brought Tolstoy’s glory to its summit. Newspapers all over the world were writing about him, while in Russia the government, which believed that his articles ‘must be considered tantamount to a most shocking revolutionary proclamation’,6 was unable to stop him. In Begichevka, the village that Tolstoy turned into his headquarters, the peasants were about to riot at the rumours, most likely false, that the police were planning to remove Tolstoy by force. The educated public was even more excited. Chekhov, not at all prone to elevated rhetoric, described him in one of his letters as ‘a giant and a Jupiter’ (Ch-Ls, IV, pp. 322–3).
These tragic events brought a temporary truce to Tolstoy’s family. His adult children joined him in his efforts and worked in temporary kitchens in villages around the region. Sofia, who had to stay in Moscow with the younger ones, was assisting with financial transfers, record-keeping and correspondence with publishers. At last, she could sympathize with what her husband was doing and understand her own place in these activities. Tolstoy wrote in his diary on 19 December 1891, ‘Joy. Relations with Sonya have never been so cordial. I thank Thee, Father, This is what I asked for’ (Ds, p. 266), but unfortunately this idyll was not to last.
Predictably, Tolstoy himself was among the least satisfied with the results of his philanthropic work, describing his activities in Begichevka as ‘stupid’ in a letter to Strakhov, who was appalled (SAT-ML, II, p. 324). He knew those he managed to help were a tiny part of the several hundred thousand people who died during two years of hunger, along with the millions who barely survived. Moreover, he was aware that his efforts could not tackle the roots of the problem. The abundant harvest of 1893 did not mean that hunger, poverty and misery would end. He aspired to change the world and the soul of man, not merely to alleviate the consequences of hunger. In the midst of the relief operation, he was writing, rewriting and correcting his new book The Kingdom of God Is Within Us, in which he concentrated on the problem of non-violence, which he believed was the most important of the five commandments of Jesus.
Since Tolstoy first began to develop his particular Gospel, he found that he was not a voice calling in the wilderness. Many thinkers, sects and communes had been preaching and practising non-violence long before he was converted to the idea. Tolstoy sought to acknowledge the contribution of this disparate community of spiritual brothers and followers for whom he had become a natural leader. He set out to refute the objections of those who thought violence was compatible with Christianity or an engine of progress and necessary condition of human life. He would uproot an unjust and corrupt social order by attacking it at what he considered its most vulnerable point.
For Tolstoy, the power of rulers, government officials, generals and judges depended on the voluntary consent of millions of ordinary people to follow their orders. Thus the most effective way to undermine this was universal rejection of military service in any form. Tolstoy filled the pages of his book with the personal stories of people who had chosen to suffer persecution rather than take up arms or swear oaths that ran counter to their consciences.