Chapter VII
On arriving in Moscow by a morning train,
Levin had put up at the house of his elder half-brother, Koznishev.
After changing his clothes he went down to his brother’s study,
intending to talk to him at once about the object of his visit, and
to ask his advice; but his brother was not alone. With him there
was a well-known professor of philosophy, who had come from Harkov
expressly to clear up a difference that had arisen between them on
a very important philosophical question. The professor was carrying
on a hot crusade against materialists. Sergey Koznishev had been
following this crusade with interest, and after reading the
professor’s last article, he had written him a letter stating his
objections. He accused the professor of making too great
concessions to the materialists. And the professor had promptly
appeared to argue the matter out. The point in discussion was the
question then in vogue: Is there a line to be drawn between
psychological and physiological phenomena in man? and if so,
where?
Sergey Ivanovitch met his brother with the smile of
chilly friendliness he always had for every one, and introducing
him to the professor, went on with the conversation.
A little man in spectacles, with a narrow forehead,
tore himself from the discussion for an instant to greet Levin, and
then went on talking without paying any further attention to him.
Levin sat down to wait till the professor should go, but he soon
began to get interested in the subject under discussion.
Levin had come across the magazine articles about
which they were disputing, and had read them, interested in them as
a development of the first principles of science, familiar to him
as a natural science student at the university. But he had never
connected these scientific deductions as to the origin of man as an
animal,1 as to
reflex action, biology, and sociology, with those questions as to
the meaning of life and death to himself, which had of late been
more and more often in his mind.
As he listened to his brother’s argument with the
professor, he noticed that they connected these scientific
questions with those spiritual problems, that at times they almost
touched on the latter; but every time they were close upon what
seemed to him the chief point, they promptly beat a hasty retreat,
and plunged again into a sea of subtle distinctions, reservations,
quotations, allusions, and appeals to authorities, and it was with
difficulty that he understood what they were talking about.
“I cannot admit it,” said Sergey Ivanovitch, with
his habitual clearness, precision of expression, and elegance of
phrase. “I cannot in any case agree with Keiss that my whole
conception of the external world has been derived from perceptions.
The most fundamental idea, the idea of existence, has not been
received by me through sensation; indeed, there is no special
sense-organ for the transmission of such an idea.”
“Yes, but they—Wurt, and Knaust, and Pripasov2—would
answer that your consciousness of existence is derived from the
conjunction of all your sensations, that that consciousness of
existence is the result of your sensations. Wurt, indeed, says
plainly that, assuming there are no sensations, it follows that
there is no idea of existence.”
“I maintain the contrary,” began Sergey
Ivanovitch.
But here it seemed to Levin that just as they were
close upon the real point of the matter, they were again
retreating, and he made up his mind to put a question to the
professor.
“According to that, if my senses are annihilated,
if my body is dead, I can have no existence of any sort?” he
queried.
The professor, in annoyance, and, as it were,
mental suffering at the interruption, looked round at the strange
inquirer, more like a bargeman than a philosopher, and turned his
eyes upon Sergey Ivanovitch, as though to ask: What’s one to say to
him? But Sergey Ivanovitch, who had been talking with far less heat
and one-sidedness than the professor, and who had sufficient
breadth of mind to answer the professor, and at the same time to
comprehend the simple and natural point of view from which the
question was put, smiled and said:
“That question we have no right to answer as
yet.”
“We have not the requisite data,” chimed in the
professor, and he went back to his argument. “No,” he said; “I
would point out the fact that if, as Pripasov directly asserts,
perception is based on sensation, then we are bound to distinguish
sharply between these two conceptions.”
Levin listened no more, and simply waited for the
professor to go.