a confession-第4部分

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from　which　it　all　lay　before　me；　I　stood　on　that　summit　　like　an

arch…fool　　seeing　clearly　that　there　is　nothing　in　life；　and　that

there　has　been　and　will　be　nothing。　　And　*he*　was　amused。　。。。

　　　　　But　whether　that　〃someone〃　laughing　at　me　existed　or　not；　I

was　none　the　better　off。　　I　could　give　no　reasonable　meaning　to　any

single　action　or　to　my　whole　life。　　I　was　only　surprised　that　I

could　have　avoided　understanding　this　from　the　very　beginning　　it

has　been　so　long　known　to　all。　　Today　or　tomorrow　sickness　and

death　will　come　（they　had　come　already）　to　those　I　love　or　to　me；

nothing　will　remain　but　stench　and　worms。　　Sooner　or　later　my

affairs；　whatever　they　may　be；　will　be　forgotten；　and　I　shall　not

exist。　　Then　why　go　on　making　any　effort？　。。。　How　can　man　fail　to

see　this？　　And　how　go　on　living？　　That　is　what　is　surprising！　　One

can　only　live　while　one　is　intoxicated　with　life；　as　soon　as　one　is

sober　it　is　impossible　not　to　see　that　it　is　all　a　mere　fraud　and

a　stupid　fraud！　　That　is　precisely　what　it　is：　　there　is　nothing

either　amusing　or　witty　about　it；　it　is　simply　cruel　and　stupid。

　　　　　There　is　an　Eastern　fable；　told　long　ago；　of　a　traveller

overtaken　on　a　plain　by　an　enraged　beast。　　Escaping　from　the　beast

he　gets　into　a　dry　well；　but　sees　at　the　bottom　of　the　well　a

dragon　that　has　opened　its　jaws　to　swallow　him。　　And　the

unfortunate　man；　not　daring　to　climb　out　lest　he　should　be

destroyed　by　the　enraged　beast；　and　not　daring　to　leap　to　the

bottom　of　the　well　lest　he　should　be　eaten　by　the　dragon；　seizes　s

twig　growing　in　a　crack　in　the　well　and　clings　to　it。　　His　hands

are　growing　weaker　and　he　feels　he　will　soon　have　to　resign　himself

to　the　destruction　that　awaits　him　above　or　below；　but　still　he

clings　on。　　Then　he　sees　that　two　mice；　a　black　one　and　a　white

one；　go　regularly　round　and　round　the　stem　of　the　twig　to　which　he

is　clinging　and　gnaw　at　it。　　And　soon　the　twig　itself　will　snap　and

he　will　fall　into　the　dragon's　jaws。　　The　traveller　sees　this　and

knows　that　he　will　inevitably　perish；　but　while　still　hanging　he

looks　around；　sees　some　drops　of　honey　on　the　leaves　of　the　twig；

reaches　them　with　his　tongue　and　licks　them。　　So　I　too　clung　to　the

twig　of　life；　knowing　that　the　dragon　of　death　was　inevitably

awaiting　me；　ready　to　tear　me　to　pieces；　and　I　could　not　understand

why　I　had　fallen　into　such　torment。　　I　tried　to　lick　the　honey

which　formerly　consoled　me；　but　the　honey　no　longer　gave　me

pleasure；　and　the　white　and　black　mice　of　day　and　night　gnawed　at

the　branch　by　which　I　hung。　　I　saw　the　dragon　clearly　and　the　honey

no　longer　tasted　sweet。　　I　only　saw　the　unescapable　dragon　and　the

mice；　and　I　could　not　tear　my　gaze　from　them。　　and　this　is　not　a

fable　but　the　real　unanswerable　truth　intelligible　to　all。

　　　　　The　deception　of　the　joys　of　life　which　formerly　allayed　my

terror　of　the　dragon　now　no　longer　deceived　me。　　No　matter　how

often　I　may　be　told；　〃You　cannot　understand　the　meaning　of　life　so

do　not　think　about　it；　but　live；〃　I　can　no　longer　do　it：　I　have

already　done　it　too　long。　　I　cannot　now　help　seeing　day　and　night

going　round　and　bringing　me　to　death。　　That　is　all　I　see；　for　that

alone　is　true。　　All　else　is　false。

　　　　　The　two　drops　of　honey　which　diverted　my　eyes　from　the　cruel

truth　longer　than　the　rest：　my　love　of　family；　and　of　writing　

art　as　I　called　it　　were　no　longer　sweet　to　me。

　　　　　〃Family〃。。。said　I　to　myself。　　But　my　family　　wife　and

children　　are　also　human。　　They　are　placed　just　as　I　am：　they

must　either　live　in　a　lie　or　see　the　terrible　truth。　　Why　should

they　live？　　Why　should　I　love　them；　guard　them；　bring　them　up；　or

watch　them？　　That　they　may　come　to　the　despair　that　I　feel；　or　else

be　stupid？　　Loving　them；　I　cannot　hide　the　truth　from　them：　each

step　in　knowledge　leads　them　to　the　truth。　　And　the　truth　is　death。

　　　　　〃Art；　poetry？〃。。。Under　the　influence　of　success　and　the　praise

of　men；　I　had　long　assured　myself　that　this　was　a　thing　one　could

do　though　death　was　drawing　near　　death　which　destroys　all

things；　including　my　work　and　its　remembrance；　but　soon　I　saw　that

that　too　was　a　fraud。　　It　was　plain　to　me　that　art　is　an　adornment

of　life；　an　allurement　to　life。　　But　life　had　lost　its　attraction

for　me；　so　how　could　I　attract　others？　　As　long　as　I　was　not　living

my　own　life　but　was　borne　on　the　waves　of　some　other　life　　as

long　as　I　believed　that　life　had　a　meaning；　though　one　I　could　not

express　　the　reflection　of　life　in　poetry　and　art　of　all　kinds

afforded　me　pleasure：　　it　was　pleasant　to　look　at　life　in　the

mirror　of　art。　　But　when　I　began　to　seek　the　meaning　of　life　and

felt　the　necessity　of　living　my　own　life；　that　mirror　became　for　me

unnecessary；　superfluous；　ridiculous；　or　painful。　　I　could　no

longer　soothe　myself　with　what　I　now　saw　in　the　mirror；　namely；

that　my　position　was　stupid　and　desperate。　　It　was　all　very　well　to

enjoy　the　sight　when　in　the　depth　of　my　soul　I　believed　that　my

life　had　a　meaning。　　Then　the　play　of　lights　　comic；　tragic；

touching；　beautiful；　and　terrible　　in　life　amused　me。　　No

sweetness　of　honey　could　be　sweet　to　me　when　I　saw　the　dragon　and

saw　the　mice　gnawing　away　my　support。

　　　　　Nor　was　that　all。　　Had　I　simply　understood　that　life　had　no

meaning　I　could　have　borne　it　quietly；　knowing　that　that　was　my

lot。　　But　I　could　not　satisfy　myself　with　that。　　Had　I　been　like　a

man　living　in　a　wood　from　which　he　knows　there　is　no　exit；　I　could

have　lived；　but　I　was　like　one　lost　in　a　wood　who；　horrified　at

having　lost　his　way；　rushes　about　wishing　to　find　the　road。　　He

knows　that　each　step　he　takes　confuses　him　more　and　more；　but　still

he　cannot　help　rushing　about。

　　　　　It　was　indeed　terrible。　　And　to　rid　myself　of　the　terror　I

wished　to　kill　myself。　　I　experienced　terror　at　what　awaited　me　

knew　that　that　terror　was　even　worse　than　the　position　I　was　in；

but　still　I　could　not　patiently　await　the　end。　　However　convincing

the　argument　might　be　that　in　any　case　some　vessel　in　my　heart

would　give　way；　or　something　would　burst　and　all　would　be　over；　I

could　not　patiently　await　that　end。　　The　horror　of　darkness　was　too

great；　and　I　wished　to　free　myself　from　it　as　quickly　as　possible

by　noose　or　bullet。　　that　was　the　feeling　which　drew　me　most

strongly　towards　suicide。

　　　　　





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　V



　　　　　〃But　perhaps　I　have　overlooked　something；　or　misunderstood

something？〃　said　to　myself　several　times。　　〃It　cannot　be　that　this

condition　of　despair　is　natural　to　man！〃　　And　I　sought　for　an

explanation　of　these　problems　in　all　the　branches　of　knowledge

acquired　by　men。　　I　sought　painfully　and　long；　not　from　idle

curiosity　or　listlessly；　but　painfully　and　persistently　day　and

night　　sought　as　a　perishing　man　seeks　for　safety　　and　I　found

nothing。

　　　　　I　sought　in　all　the　sciences；　but　far　from　finding　what　I

wanted；　became　convinced　that　all　who　like　myself　had　sought　in

knowledge　for　the　meaning　of　life　had　found　nothing。　　And　not　only

had　they　found　nothing；　but　they　had　plainly　acknowledged　that　the

very　thing　which　made　me　despair　　namely　the　senselessness　of

life　　is　the　one　indubitable　thing　man　can　know。

　　　　　I　sought　everywhere；　and　thanks　to　a　life　spent　in　learning；

and　thanks　also　to　my　relations　with　the　scholarly　world；　I　had

access　to　scientists　and　scholars　in　all　branches　of　knowledge；　and

they　readily　showed　me　all　their　knowledge；　not　only　in　books　but

also　in　conversation；　so　that　I　had　at　my　disposal　all　that　science

has　to　say　on　this　question　of　life。

　　　　　I　was　long　unable　to　believe　that　it　gives　no　other　reply　to

life's　questions　than　that　which　it　actually　does　give。　　It　long

seemed　to　me；　when　I　saw　the　important　and　serious　air　with　which

science　announces　its　conclusions　which　have　nothing　in　common　with

the　real　questions　of　human　life；　that　there　was　something　I　had

not　understood。　　I　long　was　timid　before　science；　and　it　seemed　to

me　that　the　lack　of　conformity　between　the　answers　and　my　questions

arose　not　by　the　fault　of　science　but　from　my　ignorance；　but　the

matter　was　for　me　not　a　game　or　an　amusement　but　one　of　life　and

death；　and　I　was　involuntarily　brought　to　the　conviction　that　my

questions　were　the　only　legitimate　ones；　forming　the　basis　of　all

knowledge；　and　that　I　with　my　questions　was　not　to　blame；　but

science　if　it　pretends　to　reply　to　those　questions。

　　　　　My　question　　that　which　at　the　age　of　fifty　brought　me　to

the　verge　of　suicide　　was　the　simplest　of　questions；　lying　in　the

soul　of　every　man　from　the　foolish　child　to　the　wisest　elder：　it

was　a　question　without　an　answer　to　which　one　cannot　live；　as　I　had

found　by　experience。　　It　was：　〃What　will　come　of　what　I　am　doing

today　or　shall　do　tomorrow？　　What　will　come　of　my　whole　life？〃

　　　　　Differently　expressed；　the　question　is：　　〃Why　should　I　live；

why　wish　for　anything；　or　do　anything？〃　　It　can　also　be　expressed

thus：　　〃Is　there　any　meaning　in　my　life　that　the　inevitable　death

awaiting　me　does　not　destroy？〃

　　　　　To　this　one　question；　variously　expressed；　I　sought　an　answer

in　science。　　And　I　found　that　in　relation　to　that　question　all

human　knowledge　is　divided　as　it　were　into　tow　opposite　hemispheres

at　the　ends　of　which　are　two　poles：　　the　one　a　negative　and　the

other　a　positive；　but　that　neither　at　the　one　nor　the　other　pole　is

there　an　answer　to　life's　questions。

　　　　　The　one　series　of　sciences　seems　not　to　recognize　the

question；　but　replies　clearly　and　exactly　to　its　own　independent

questions：　that　is　the　series　of　experimental　sciences；　and　at　the

extreme　end　of　it　stands　mathematics。　　The　other　series　of　sciences

recognizes　the　question；　but　does　not　answer　it；　that　is　the　series

of　abstract　sciences；　and　at　the　extreme　end　of　it　stands

metaphysics。

　　　　　From　early　youth　I　had　been　interested　in　the　abstract

sciences；　but　later　the　mathematical　and　natural　sciences　attra