God's work

What do I do when I want to change a bristle into a

cobbler's thread ?

How do I treat these articles ?

With the greatest attention, care, tenderness, almost

love.

What does the watchmaker do as he puts together a

watch, if he is a master and indeed knows how to make

a watch ?

All his fingers are busy : some of them hold a wheel;

others place an axle in position, and others again move up

a peg

All this he does softly, tenderly. He knows that

if he rudely sticks one thing into another, and even if he

presses a little too hard on one part, forgetting another

part, the whole will go to pieces, and that he had better

not attend to this matter, if he cannot devote all his forces

to it.

I say all this for this purpose:

At first people live not knowing why ; they live only

for their enjoyment, which takes the place of their question,

" What for ? " but later there comes a time for every

rational being, when it asks " What for ? " and receives

that answer which Christ gave and which we all know,

« To do God's work."

Is it possible God's work is less important, or less complicated,

than bristles or a watch ?

Is it possible God's work may be done at haphazard,

and all come out right ?

In a watch one cannot press too hard upon a part

needed ; but the defenders of the worldly life say, " What

is the use of being finical : if a thing does not fit in, bang

it with the hammer, and it will go in." It does not matter

to them that the rest will all be flattened. They do

not see this.

It is impossible to work over a watch without giving

it full attention and, so to speak, love for all its parts. Is

it possible that one may do God's work in such a way ?

It is all very well for a man to do God's work at haphazard

(that is, not to live in love with his brothers), if he

does not believe fully that his work is God's work. But

when he comes to believe that the meaning of his life

consists in nothing but cooperating for the union of men

he cannot help but abandon himself to Him whose work

he is doing ; he can no longer without attention, care, or

love treat all men with whom he comes in contact, because

all men are wheels, pegs, and cogs of God's work.

The difference between such a man and a watchmaker

is only this, that the watchmaker knows what will result

from all the parts ; but a man, in doing God's work, does

not know, does not see the external side of the work. A

man is rather an apprentice, who hands, cleans, oils, and

partly unites the component parts of the watch, which is

unknown to him in form, but known in its essence (the

good).

I want to say that a man who believes that his life is

the fulfilment of God's work ought to labour until he

gets seriousness, attention, care in his relations with men, —such caution as will make squeaking, force, breakage impossible, and all will always be soft and loving, not

for his own pleasure, but because this is the only condition

under which God's work is possible.

When this condition is wanting, one or the other is

necessary,— to attain this condition, or to throw up God's

work and stop deceiving oneself and others.

As the watchmaker stops his work the moment there

is some grating or squeaking, so also must a believer stop

as soon as there is an inimical relation to a man, and he

must know that, no matter how little important this man

may seem to him, there is nothing more important for

him than his relation to this man, so long as there is a

squeaking between them.

And this is so, because a man is an indispensable wheel

in God's work, and so long as he does not enter amicably

where he ought to enter the whole work comes to a

stop.

The relations among men make it obligatory upon

them to find in each of them and in themselves " the son

of man," to unite with him,— to evoke in themselves and

in him a desire to approach him, that is, love.

I shall be told, " this is hard to find."

All you have to do is to act like the watchmaker:

tenderly, carefully, not for yourself, but for the work, and

it will come to you naturally.

A disunion takes place for no other reason than that

I want by force to drive an axle into the wrong wheel.

If it does not fit one way or another, mend yourself:

there is a place for it,—it is necessary and will do the

work somewhere.

As you attain your aim and get the better of the work

in making boots or watches, not by a tension of strength,

but by care, by tenderness of treatment, so it is also with

the treatment of men. And not only is it so, but as

many times more so, as a man is more complex and more

delicate than a watch.

It is not possible to work one's feelers out sufficiently

well to treat people with them. And the longer and so

the thinner these feelers are, the more powerfully do they

move people.

I wish that a man who is near to me should not lead

an idle and luxurious life.

I can, with my rudeness, take away from him the possibility

of luxury and compel him to work. If I do so, I

shall not advance God's work one hair's breadth,—I shall

not move the man's soul.

If I extend my feelers more finely and farther out, I

shall prove logically and incontestably to him that he is

a dissipated and despised man. And with this I shall

not advance God's work, but shall only live with him in

communion, seeking out and strengthening everything

which unites us, and keeping away from everything which

is foreign to me. And if I myself do God's work and

live by it, I shall more certainly than death draw this

man to God and cause him to do God's work.

We have become so accustomed in the worldly life to

attain our aims by means of the stick of power, of authority,

or even by means of the stick of logical thought, that

we want to do the same in God's work.

But one stick jumps upon another.

But God's work is done with very delicate feelers, for

which there are no obstacles.

LEO TOLSTOY