It's the kindness of God that leads to repentance. You can work with Him or against Him. Your choice.
Much love!
As I mentioned earlier, the Church anathematized Tolstoy for these ideas. In response to Tolstoyan non-resistance, an entire movement arose against this heresy. In particular, I used to enjoy reading Vladimir Solovyov, the Russian philosopher. I recommend his work Three Conversations, where these questions are brilliantly dissected. In this book, there is a story about a man who decided never to refuse anyone anything and soon "burned out," unable to sustain such a position.There is also a satirical excerpt in Three Conversations that illustrates the absurdity of non-resistance to evil:
The impious assassin plunged his dagger deep—
Into Delarue's chest,
Who, doffing his hat, said politely and sweet:
"Thank you, my best."
Then into his left side the horrid blade flew—
The villain drove it in,
And Delarue remarked: "What a fine dagger, too!
You've got there, my kin!"
The villain then circled, approaching from right,
And pierced him once more,
But Delarue, with a sly smile so light,
Just wagged his finger, no more.
The villain stabbed wildly, piercing him through—
His body all torn,
And Delarue said: "Do come for tea, do—
At our place, at three, not before."
The villain fell flat, shedding tears in a flood,
Trembling like a leaf in the breeze,
And Delarue cried: "Ah, rise up, for God's good!
The floor here's unclean—up, please!"
But the villain sobbed on at his feet in despair,
His heart in deep throes,
And Delarue, arms wide, declared with a flair:
"I never supposed!
Is it possible? How? Such tears with such might?
Over trifles so small?!
I'll secure you a lease, my dear, out of sight—
A lease for you all! They'll grant you St. Stanislaus o'er the shoulder,
As example to one and to all.
I can counsel the powers—that's my right, you see:
For I am a chamberlain grand!
Want to wed my dear daughter, my Dunya, to thee?
For that, I'll slip you a hundred grand
In credit notes crisp.
And here's my own portrait, a keepsake so fine,
As friendship's true token.
I haven't yet framed it—it's yours, if you'll mind,
Accept it unbroken!"
Here the villain turned sour, more bitter than spice—
His heart, spoiled by good for his ill,
Ah! won't forgive such kindness twice.
High spirits disturb the mediocre's will—
That's why the world's fearsome and dread.
The killer might pardon the portrait, it's said,
But the lease? Not a chance in his head.
Envy's poison flared hot in the villain's dark soul,
Burning fierce and so wild,
That once the rogue donned St. Stanislaus whole
O'er his shoulder, defiled,
He dipped his blade deep in a godless venom brew,
And crept up to Delarue, sly and askew,
Then struck his dear friend—in the rear, straight and true!
Delarue hit the floor, in agonies dire,
Too pained to sit in a chair.
Meanwhile, the villain, on the mezzanine higher,
Stole Dunya's honor there.
He fled to Tambov, where as governor grand,
He was loved by the crowd,
Then to Moscow, a senator zealous and planned,
Honored by all, proud and loud.
Soon he joined the high council, in no time at all—
What an example for us, what a call!
What a lesson it shows, one and all!
This excerpt from Solovyov mocks the idea of boundless love that ignores justice and indulges evil.