Lev Tolstoy and The Concept of Brotherhood: Proceedings of a Conference Held at the University of Ottawa, 22-24 February 1996

LEV TOLSTOY AND THE CONCEPT OF BROTHERHOOD Proceedings of a conference held at the University of Ottawa 22-24 Februar...

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LEV TOLSTOY AND

THE CONCEPT OF BROTHERHOOD

Proceedings of a conference held at the University of Ottawa 22-24 February 1996

Edited by

Andrew Donskov and John Woodsworth

AC CI PE

ET

LE GE

L E G A S

York

Ottawa

Toronto

© 1996 LEGAS No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, microfiche, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher.

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Main entry under title: Lev Tolstoy and the concept of brotherhood Papers and presentations from a conference held at the University of Ottawa, 22-24 February 1996 Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 0-921252-52-8 1. Tolstoy, Leo, 1828-1910 — Political and social views. 2. Tolstoy, Leo, 1828-1910 — Criticism and interpretation. 3. Brotherliness. 4. Brotherliness in literature. I. Donskov, Andrew, 1939- n. Woodsworth, John, 1944PG3385.L49 1996

891.73'3

C96-900187-8

For further information and for orders: LEGAS P. O. Box 040328 Brooklyn, New York USA 11204

68 Kamloops Ave. Ottawa, Ontario K1V 7C9 iv

2908 Dufferin St. Toronto, Ontario M6B3S8

TABLE OF CONTENTS Foreword The Editors

vii

Vice-rector's welcome Bernard Philogène Summary of supplementary OPEN FORUM presentations Galina Galagan, Gary Jahn, Lidia Gromova-Opul'skaya, Donna Orwin, Galina Alekseeva

x xii

LEV TOLSTOY AND T H E CONCEPT OF BROTHERHOOD Introduction Andrew Donskov

1

Lidia Gromova-Opul'skaya The philosophy and aesthetics of brotherhood in Tolstoy's fiction

5

Galina Galgan The Idea of world renewal

23

Gary Saul Morson The Svijazhskij enigma: Tolstoy and brotherhood

38

Donna Orwin Tolstoy and patriotism

51

Gary Jahn Brother or other: Tolstoy's equivocal surrender to the concept of brotherhood Rimvydas Silbajoris The Brotherhood and solitude of death in Tolstoy

71 88

Caryl Emerson What is infection and what is expression in What is art?

102

Amy Mandelker Tolstoy's eucharistie aesthetics

116

v

C/.G. Turner Blood is thicker than champagne: The Bonds of kinship and the marriage-bond in Anna Karenina Richard

128

Gustafson

Tolstoy and the twenty-first century

142

George Gibian Tolstoy and the next century: familiarization and residual mysteries* Josef

147

Metzele

The Concept of "brotherly love" in Tolstoy's late prose Kathleen

Parthe

Village prose: from brotherhood to fratricide Alexander

152

168

Fodor

Changes in Tolstoy's views on patriotism

181

Walter Smyrniw Discovering the brotherhood of the destitute: Tolstoy's insight into the causes of urban poverty Munir Sendich War and peace in English literary criticism 1884-1994: Criticism's reaction to Tolstoy's concept of brotherhood Alexander Zweers Ivan Bunin's interpretation of Tolstoy's concepttoday Banquet address: Tolstoy and the Doukhobors of "brotherly Larry Ewashen love"

194

204 215 225

Presented at the Open Forum on "Tolstoy at the threshold of the twenty-first century". VI

FOREWORD For three days in late February 1996 scholars from Russia, the United States and Canada met at the University of Ottawa to discuss Tolstoy's concepts of brotherhood and unity of people as well as their literary expression — not only in his major works such as Vojna i mir [War and peace], Anna Karenina, Voskresenie [Resurrection], Ispoved' [A Confession], Chto takoe iskusstvo? [What is art?] and Tsarstvo Bozhie vnutri vas [The Kingdom of God is within you], b u t also in a host of his lesser-known writings — e.g. Dva starika [Two old men], O zhizni [On life], Tak chto zhe nam delat'? [What then must we do?], Khodite v svete, poka svet est' [Walk in the light while there is light]. Tolstoy specialists from sixteen cities around the world, from Minneapolis to Moscow to Vancouver, dealt with topics ranging from " T h e idea of world renewal" to "Tolstoy's eucharistic aesthetics" to "Tolstoy's insight into the causes of urban poverty". Unforeseen circumstances unfortunately prevented two of the participants (Gary Saul Morson and Munir Sendich) from being with us in person; both were, however, kind enough to send along their papers to be read at the conference and to be included in the Proceedings. And we wish to express our regret that a few Tolstoy scholars were unable to accept our invitation. In the meantime, we are most grateful to those scholars who did take the time to participate with their papers a n d / o r presence at this significant event for Tolstoy studies worldwide. We feel especially privileged to have had as our keynote speakers two outstanding Tolstoy scholars of the Russian Academy of Sciences: Lidia Dmitrievna Gromova-Opul'skaya from Moscow and Galina Yakovlevna Galagan from St Petersburg. Their addresses, originally presented in Russian, are reproduced in this volume in a full English translation, in order to reach as broad a readership as possible. On Friday evening the Ottawa area community was invited to join conference participants and delegates in an OPEN FORUM, w h i c h took the form of a panel discussion followed by questions from the floor. This lively exchange of ideas was devoted to the timely topic Tolstoy at the threshold of the twenty-first century, exploring the relevance of Tolstoy's writings on brotherhood to readers of the 1990s as well as their potential impact on generations to come. Since four of the forum panellists had already presented papers at the conference earlier in the day, it was decided not to include the full text of their remarks in the Proceedings. A brief summary, however, is provided below, along with the substance of a report on the vii

viii

Foreword

current state of affairs at Jasnaja Poljana presented by Galina Alekseeva, Head of the Research Section of the Tolstoy Museum at the writer's ancestral estate, w h o m w e were pleased to welcome to the conference as the Tolstoy Museum's official representative. The opening statements of two scholars who did not present a paper at one of the other sessions (Richard Gustafson and George Gibian) are printed in full. The conference was brought to a close by the Saturday evening banquet held at the Pushkin Russian-Canadian Cultural Centre in Ottawa. The Proceedings conclude with the banquet address given by Doukhobor writer and film-maker Larry Ewashen, whose ancestors w e r e among those Tolstoy helped emigrate to Canada at the close of the last century. A few additional explanatory comments may be helpful. • The sequence of the papers (including those presented at the OPEN FORUM) reflects the order in which they were given at the conference; no attempt at thematic grouping has been made. • English orthography throughout the volume follows the Oxford English Dictionary (except for material quoted from a published English-language source, where original orthography has been retained). • Quotations from non-English sources may appear either in their original form or in English translation (or in both), according to the manuscripts submitted by individual authors. Russian quotations are given in their original Cyrillic. However, proper names and other Russian words integrated into an English text appear in transliteration. This volume follows a modified "Library of C o n g r e s s " system (except for names already possessing a well-established English spelling — e.g., Tolstoy, Dostoevsky). • Literary titles are given in their original form throughout (Russian titles in transliteration), followed by an English translation in brackets at their first occurrence in each paper. In line with usage in a number of contemporary publications, only the first word in a title is capitalized (with the provision that if the first word is an article or a short preposition, the second word is also capitalized — e.g. The Power of darkness, On Life —with full capitalization being retained for titles of periodicals). It should also be noted that the titles of all of Tolstoy's works (including stories, treatises and articles), regardless of their status as separate publications, are shown in italics (rather than in quotation-marks) to facilitate identification. • Reference notes appear at the bottom of the page. References are cited according to the M L A Style Sheet except that punctuation marks not part of a title or quotation are placed outside the quotation-marks, following the practice adopted throughout the volume. The views expressed in the papers are not necessarily those of the Editors.

Foreword

ix

In addition to all the conference participants, the conference organizers-cum-editors of the Proceedings wish to acknowledge the financial support provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada as well as the various contributions of support from the University of Ottawa, in particular: Associate Dean of Research (Faculty of Arts) Jean-Louis Major, Vice-rector (academic) Bernard Philogene and Assistant Vice-Rector of Research Howard Alper, along with the School of Graduate Studies and Research and our o w n Department of Modern Languages and Literatures. W e are also indebted to the student assistants (graduate and undergraduate) from our department who gave freely of their time to keep our conference infrastructure running smoothly: Arkadi K l i o u t c h a n s k i , D a v i d C a s h a b a c k , Elisabeth C h a r r o n , Anabelle Mercier and Kim Meyer. A special "thank y o u " is due Donna Orwin for her wise counsel during the preparations for the conference as well as Edmund Heier of the University of Waterloo, who, though not able to attend or contribute a paper, nevertheless offered us his continuing advice and moral support. W e also wish to express our gratitude to Leonardo Sbrocchi of Legas for his invaluable help in getting these Proceedings into print as quickly as possible, and to Tarda Levesque for her editorial assistance. March 1996

THE EDITORS

VICE-RECTOR'S WELCOME It is indeed a pleasure to welcome all of you to the University of Ottawa for this conference on Tolstoy and the concept of brotherhood. In particular, I wish to extend a warm welcome to our foreign visitors and thank them for having taken the time to participate in this conference and make a substantial contribution to its success. There is probably no better time in the history of humanity to discuss the concept of brotherhood. This goes well beyond the basic idea of an association of men and women united in a common interest. As I scan the various titles of the presentations forming part of this conference I see the words "brotherly love", "patriotism", "bonds of kinship"; but I also see the word "fratricide". Obviously one must consider all aspects of human nature that contribute to the establishment and maintenance of brotherhood, or to the failure of human beings to practise it. I will, of course, let the specialists expound on the subject from Tolstoy's perspective. However I think it appropriate to emphasize that, in a world where there are so many conflicts, so much violence, it is imperative to seize every opportunity to bring people together and ensure that we resolve our differences through dialogue and compromise. Canada, at this point in its history, is very much in need of solutions that will not only keep it together as a country but will allow its different components to agree to live in harmony. It is therefore important that, through the analysis of the work of intellectual giants like Tolstoy, w e may be inspired to find a proper formula for understanding, an adequate solution that will bring about genuine brotherhood. In the current context of a world in conflict and experiencing violence through terrorism, ethnic territorial claims or simply violence as experienced daily on the television, I cannot think of a better analysis than what was said two years ago, at a Montréal conference on Violence and human coexistence, by Margaret Chatterjee from India, in her presentation entitled "Otherness and community": ...we are now perhaps in a position to identify those conditions in m o d e m society which make for silting of the channels of fraternity. First of all, in conditions of scarcity there is bound to be keen competition for available resources, especially for housing and employment. Secondly, those who are seen as "others" by the host community may well offer resistance to absorption in the mainstream in a bid to maintain their own identity. Thirdly, there is the factor of conflicting cultural traits. We may not care for the invasion of the liturgy by Carib-

Vice-rector's welcome

xi

bean rhythms, aromas of unfamiliar cooking, loud laughter, gaudy dress, traffic held up or at least diverted by exotic processions. We seem to be caught between the Scylla of insularity and the Charybdis of cultural anarchy. Once economic frictions have been tackled — and this is a task which these days goes beyond national boundaries — there still remains the task of creating a new common space in which separate identities need not feel threatened, and where each individual is capable of the imaginative excursion of seeing himself as an "other" to his neighbour. After all, coming to terms with otherness is part and parcel of the ethic of non-domination which recommends itself to us today. Understanding, innovating and sharing — these are the ways not only of preventing violence, but, more positively, of bringing into existence a new quality of social life which more nearly approaches that most neglected of social ideals — fraternity.

I wish you all a fruitful conference and hope you will fully enjoy your visit to our institution. Bernard Philogène Vice-rector, Academic University of Ottawa

SUMMARY OF SUPPLEMENTARY "OPEN FORUM" PRESENTATIONS Galina Galagan spoke about Tolstoy's connection to what she called "three lessons of history" associated with the close of three different centuries: (1) The French Revolution at the end of the eighteenth century perverted the lofty ideals of liberté, égalité and fraternité inherent in Rousseau's "Social Contract" by dragging them down in practice to a level of morality which allowed people to justify any and all departures from moral law without regard for their human consequences — Tolstoy's acute awareness of this perversion was illustrated by several pithy citations from draft variants of Vojna i mir [War and peace]. (2) Tolstoy's idea of a Christianity-based "moral revolution" to promote universal brotherhood and unity of peoples at the end of the nineteenth century was displaced shortly after his death by a revolution which ushered in the rule of a "violent concept" of brotherhood, which again justified extreme departures from any kind of moral law. (3) The end of the twentieth century is offering the world a third lesson: that any unity of people based on violence and bloodshed is doomed to failure. The idea of brotherhood, Dr Galagan pointed out, can become a reality only when each member of that brotherhood makes the sincere inner effort to free himself from the prison of temptation. Gary Jahn raised certain difficult questions that inevitably present themselves to Tolstoy readers today regarding the possibility, effectiveness and even desirability of Tolstoy's ideas on brotherhood, given the rampant evils that have transpired over the last century (the two world wars, the holocaust, the advent of nuclear arms, the reign of totalitarianism and the rise of national and religious sectarianism). Another factor is the apparent success of the "self" in subverting the collective good for its own ends at each of the four stages of mankind's progress defined by Tolstoy in Tsarstvo Bozhie vnutri vas [The Kingdom of God is within you] (from the chaos of "every man for himself" to the family to the tribe to the nation to the ultimate harmony of universal unify). And yet, noted Dr Jahn, Tolstoy's ideas are still valid at least in this respect: mankind still needs to strive for some sort of guiding and enlightening ideal — either by revelation or by construction — to make human life supportable. Tolstoy himself evidently believed that "the status of the *See pp. vii-viii above.

xii

OPENFORUM summary

xiii

ideal was less important than its capacity to inspire belief and confer meaning and thereby to make life possible". Lidia Gromova-Opul'skaya began her remarks by referring to Tolstoy's 1905 article Konets veka [The End of the century], where he wrote: The "century" and "end of the century" in Gospel terms do not mean the end and the beginning of a hundred-year period, but rather the end of one way of looking at the world, one kind of faith, one way of communicating among people, and the beginning of another world view, another faith, another means of communication.

In looking back over the past hundred years, Dr Gromova-Opul'skaya took note of evidence (the collapse of communism, for example) that in some respects this prophecy has already come to pass. But Tolstoy in the same article warned not to look for good to come from human authorities — the Russian people, she pointed out, have traditionally distrusted authorities, even while meekly obeying them. The only hope for true brotherhood, she believes, lies in the liberation of individual consciousness, the moral and spiritual freedom of every individual to progress according to their own lights — this is Tolstoy's most important legacy for the twenty-first century. Donna Orwin, the final forum panellist, also spoke about Tolstoy's distrust of authority — especially government authority — in favour of individuals' capacity to govern themselves in small groups on the basis of their own conscience and sense of moral law. She cited as a practical example of this idea the kibbutz movement in Israel, which, she said, was "partly Tolstoyan in its conception". Part of Tolstoy's legacy was his investigation in his fiction (notably in Vojna i mir and Anna Karenina) of the limits and extent of human morality, along with the interrelationship between morality and personal satisfaction (even good acts are seen as having some selfish dimension, while at the same time people cannot really be happy without feeling they are also moral). Looking back over the violent history of the past century, which suggests that the principles of brotherly love are frequently overwhelmed by crueller emotions, Dr Orwin believes that this aspect of his legacy is eminently applicable to the resulting moral situation w e now face at the close of the twentieth century. Galina Alekseeva, representing the Tolstoy Museum at Jasnaja Poljana, began by noting how Jasnaja Poljana embodied, in effect, Tolstoy's five "conditions of happiness" outlined in V chem moja vera? [What I believe] (1884) — namely: the link between man and nature, the opportunity for labour (both physical and intellectual), love, unrestrained fellowship with all, and finally, health. She then proceeded to bring us up to date on recent and planned changes at Jasnaja Poljana in this year of its seventy-fifth anniversary as an

xiv

OPEN FORUM summary

historical monument. Among the points she covered were the following: • In 1993 Jasnaja Poljana was granted special status as a museum of the "presidential c a t e g o r y " and officially included as a cultural heritage site; this was followed by the arrival of the writer's great-great grandson, Vladimir Tolstoy and the initiation of a host of conservation and restoration projects according to a comprehensive federally-supported programme. • A three-volume bibliography of the "Russian section" of Tolstoy's library has been published under the guidance of the writer's former secretary, V. F. Bulgakov. A similar bibliography is under way in respect to the library's "foreign" holdings, which will provide an exhaustive documentation of Tolstoy's literary, intellectual and spiritual ties with his contemporaries all over the world. • Special educational programmes are being developed in conjunction with the Jasnaja Poljana secondary school, the nearby Children's Home and the University of Tula. There are also plans to open an educational institution somewhere in the vicinity for the express purpose of implementing some of Tolstoy's pedagogical ideas. • The Tolstoy House alone contains approximately forty thousand original exhibits, including books, photographs, works of art and the writer's personal belongings, while other parts of the estate are in the process of being made ready for public viewing. The aim is to establish Jasnaja Poljana as a major world centre for Tolstoy studies.

LEV TOLSTOY AND THE CONCEPT OF BROTHERHOOD

University of Ottawa February 1996

INTRODUCTION At the threshold of a new century mankind not only glances back to sum up the events of the past hundred years but also peers intently ahead into the future. How are w e to avoid a repetition of the cataclysms that have shaken our twentieth century — two world wars, atomic explosions, a multitude of revolutions, fratricidal civil wars, violence and terrorism? How is mankind to overcome its disunity? Where can one find the life-creating principles capable of transforming the moral state of the world? One cannot help but turn to the legacy of a great Russian writer who was convinced that evil can be conquered, but only by one thing, namely good, and that violence and injustice can be eliminated only by the unity of people in brotherhood. Tolstoy fought against religious, social and class strife on the basis of his concept of brotherhood. The moral state of the world, including the causes of its destruction and means of its re-creation, is a fundamental motif in the whole legacy of Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy. The origins of this motif, which permeates his whole creative output, go back to the writer's early diaries. The essence of Tolstoy's message to the world was his belief in Love as the fundamental law of the universe. This discovery, this message, was not original: what is always interesting in Tolstoy is not the being but the becoming — witness, for example, the character of Levin in Anna Karenina, w h o is portrayed with much more emphasis on the search for a universal and eternal teaching than on the possession of one. Or take Nekhljudov in Voskresenie [Resurrection], whose repeated padenija [failings] and prosvetlenija [awakenings] take up practically his whole life — a motif that could be applied to all of Tolstoy's main characters, not to mention the writer himself. "Liberty, equality, brotherhood" — these concepts have been examined by many of the best minds in human history. The actual application of these high ideals to human life, however, has all too often resulted either in their perversion or in their substitution by something else. Moreover, attempts at their implementation have often been met by derision or amazement, expressed in queries like: W h y strive for the unattainable? W h y pursue such Utopian illusions? 1

Introduction

2

At t h e t h r e s h o l d of t h e t w e n t y - f i r s t c e n t u r y Tolstoy's i d e a s on serve as a r e m i n d e r to h u m a n i t y . Here a r e

b r o t h e r h o o d may a g a i n some prime examples:

Even if w e a r e convinced that an ideal is u n a t t a i n a b l e i n itself, w e m u s t s t i l l s t r i v e f o r it. It is in this w a y , and in this w a y only, t h a t the moral p e r f e c t i o n o f every i n d i v i d u a l and his or her unity w i t h o t h e r h u m a n b e i n g s become possible; it is o n l y in this w a y t h a t w e c a n h o p e to a c h i e v e a b e t t e r w o r l d o r d e r . Tolstoy rejected theo r i e s which s i m p l y j u s t i f i e d the s t a t u s q u o ; h e w a s c o n v i n c e d that p e o p l e m u s t , a n d e v e n t u a l l y w o u l d , l i v e by t h e laws o f brotherhood. His c o n c e p t o f b r o t h e r h o o d rested o n faith in g o o d , in t h e e t e r n a l m o r a l laws laid d o w n in t h e New Testament t w e n t y c e n t u r i e s a g o , e s p e c i a l l y t h e p r i n c i p l e s "God is love" a n d "Murder is a l w a y s m u r der".

One of t h e keynote s p e a k e r s at o u r conference, Dr Gal ina Galagan of t h e Russian Academy of Sciences in St Petersburg, reminded us t h a t a r e c u r r i n g concept i n Tolstoy's t h o u g h t a n d w r i t i n g s t h r o u g h o u t h i s w h o l e c a r e e r w a s t h e path toward world renewal — an i d e a t h a t came out in v a r i o u s w a y s in b o t h his f i c t i o n a n d h i s n o n - f i c t i o n works, b u t always in t h e s p i r i t o f a passionate search f o r t r u t h a n d o f l o v e f o r mankind. In s u r v e y i n g s u c h a legacy, o n e i n e v i t a b l y r e c a l l s c e r t a i n d i s t i n g u i s h i n g c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s o f Tolstoy, o f t e n n o t e d b u t n o t a l w a y s e l a b o r a t e d b y s c h o l a r s , as b o t h a c r e a t i v e a r t i s t a n d a u n i q u e h u m a n bei n g . He w a s , in f a c t , k n o w n as " a s e e k e r o f G o d " [ B o r o H C K a T e j i b ] e v e n b e f o r e t h e t e r m w a s i n c o r p o r a t e d i n t o Russian philosophical d i c t i o n a r i e s . • H e r a i s e d e c o l o g i c a l i s s u e s l o n g b e f o r e the p u b l i c at l a r g e b e c a m e a w a r e o f m a n ' s d i s r e g a r d f o r t h e e n v i r o n m e n t . • He s t r u g g l e d to g i v e up h u n t i n g a n d b e c o m e a v e g e t a r i a n . • At a t i m e w h e n t h e Russian Orthodox Church w a s p e r h a p s at i t s most c o n s e r v a t i v e ,

Tolstoy boldly brought t h e Gospels o u t o f their historical shrouds — he shifted the f o c u s a w a y f r o m Jesus' personal s t a t u s [ J I H I H O C T I . ] to t h e t r e m e n d o u s importance o f h i s t e a c h i n g s , e m p h a s i z i n g

their

p r a c t i c a l i t y in e v e r y d a y l i f e . • In a country w h e r e tsars r e i g n e d l a r g e l y by v i r t u e o f t h e i r m i l i t a r y muscle, Tolstoy's c a l l f o r the o u t r i g h t r e j e c t i o n o f c o n s c r i p t i o n and his e m p h a s i s o n n o n - v i o l e n t r e s i s t a n c e to e v i l [ H e n p o T H B J i e H H e 3Jiy H a c m i n e M ] — a n d t h i s at a t i m e w h e n a n y p u b l i c questioning o f a u t h o r i t y was e x t r e m e l y dangerous — flew in t h e face o f n o t o n l y m i l i t a r i s m b u t t h e w h o l e n o t i o n o f p a t r i o t i s m as w e l l . His r e j e c t i o n o f e v e n a " j u s t w a r " — " y 6 H H C T B o Bcer,na y S H H C T B o " [ m u r d e r is a l w a y s m u r d e r ] , he d e c l a r e d — s e r v e d to b l u r t h e d i s t i n c t i o n b e t w e e n a l e g i t i m a t e a n d i l l e g i t i m a t e e x e r c i s e o f t h e p o w e r o f t h e s t a t e . • In an a t m o s p h e r e p e r m e a t e d b y a cultural élite w h e r e beautiful objects, buildings, p h y s i c a l features a n d a b s t r a c t c o n c e p t s w e r e w o r s h i p p e d in t h e n a m e o f b o t h r e l i g i o n

Lev Tolstoy and the concept of

brotherhood

3

and art, here was an "artist" whose ideas on art fundamentally challenged traditional definitions. These are but a few of the radical aspects of Tolstoy's genius that singled him out from the crowd and made his pronouncements on the subject of brotherhood all the more worthy of our attention, whether we agree with them or not. They are among the topics that, together with their manifold nuances, were discussed or touched upon in the papers now presented in these Proceedings. Perhaps it is only fitting that this conference on "Lev Tolstoy and the concept of brotherhood" was held in a city geographically close to the United States of America. As our other keynote speaker, Dr Lidia Gromova-Opul'skaya (from the Russian Academy of Sciences in Moscow) pointed out, Tolstoy spoke of the strong bond he felt with America and of the high esteem he had for the American transcendentalist philosophers of the past century: Emerson, Thoreau, Channing, Whittier and Lowell. A number of Tolstoy's documents and letters exchanged with American correspondents have recently been published through the joint efforts of Russian and American Slavists — a most significant undertaking indeed! Tolstoy is known for his ties with Canada, too, and has become a focus for research on the part of a number of Canadian scholars. The University of Ottawa recently initiated a joint Russian-Canadian project on " T h e Unity of peoples in the works of Lev Tolstoy. Research and new materials." A moment of exceptional interest for Tolstoy scholars came in July 1995, when Doukhobor communities in Saskatchewan and British Columbia marked the centenary of the Doukhobors' burning of arms in the Russian Caucasus — an event which led, more or less directly, to the emigration of large numbers of Doukhobors to Canada. The move was made possible thanks to generous financial support on the part of Tolstoy, who saw in the Doukhobors a real-life embodiment of mankind's search for truth along more spiritual lines and made a special point of donating all royalties from both domestic and foreign sales of his novel Voskresenie to the Doukhobor cause. The Doukhobors take up many pages in his non-fiction writings, as well as in his diaries and letters. They also appear in a significant role in at least one of his artistic works — a play written late in his life entitled I svet vo t'me svetit [And the Light shines in the darkness], where a member of the Russian Orthodox clergy leaves the Church to join the Doukhobors and adopt their way of life. One important aspect that should be mentioned here (albeit lightly touched upon in the conference discussions) is Tolstoy's need of practical examples to illustrate his theories and ideas. In the Doukhobors' beliefs and especially their lifestyle, their honest toil and living from the land, their communal sharing and the love of God they cherished within themselves, Tolstoy saw the practical

4

Introduction

embodiment of the ideals he himself would have liked to achieve. His influence is still strongly felt among the Doukhobors today, as attested in the banquet address by Doukhobor writer Larry Ewashen included at the end of this volume. The difficulties involved in achieving these ideals are presented nowhere more forcefully than in the same play (/ svet vo t'me svetit), where as a writer he subjects to ruthless scrutiny the ideas which he himself propagated (and which were, often to the writer's displeasure, promoted by the Tolstoyans), pointing out the tragedy that can ensue when a person who has experienced religious conversion believes himself entrusted with the mission of revealing the discovered truth to others. The play brings out the complexity of the polemic, not only in the main protagonist but, by extension, one may say in this case, in the writer himself: here w e see not a struggle between two concepts of the world (there is indeed only one world-view at issue here), but rather the protagonist's own inner conflict. In looking back at our discussions, even though it is still too early for an objective evaluation and even though some lacunae are already evident, I have the overall feeling that our deliberations dealt, in some detail, with a number of extremely significant aspects of Tolstoy's legacy, raised some thought-provoking questions as well as the possibility of finding satisfactory solutions, and at the very least provided clearer definitions. I hope that the dialogue begun here on this vital topic will continue in subsequent forums. Andrew Donskov

Lidia Gromova-Opul'skaya

Russian Academy of Sciences, Moscow

THE PHILOSOPHY AND /ESTHETICS OF BROTHERHOOD IN TOLSTOY'S FICTION* Not long ago in Biatystok (Poland), the Polish writer Bazyli Bialokozowicz published the brief but extremely interesting correspondence between Lev Tolstoy and a young Slavic Department professor at the University of Krakow named Marian Zdziechowski. After reading Tolstoy's article Khristianstvo i patriotizm [Christianity and patriotism] in 1895, Zdziechowski took issue with the beloved writer, defending the concept of patriotism among weaker, oppressed peoples. Tolstoy replied that the favouring of one ethnic group over another could never be considered good or beneficial, since all mankind were brethren. There ought to b e no strife among people, either religious or ethnic. In connection with the present discussion, however, there is another issue of interest here. An ardent Catholic, Zdziechowski based his moral-philosophical outlook on the tenet that man was evil and sinful by nature, and that evil could be overcome only though religion, through faith in redemption. This was the tone of a letter he wrote to Tolstoy a little later: MeHH npHBOflHjro B HefloyMeHHe T O , T T O B M M H P H J I H flBe, no-MoeMy MHeHHio, coBepuieHHo npoTHBonojiowHwe BeujH: rjiySoKoe 3HaHHe lejioBeqecKOH flyuiH H H M C H H O MpaKa e e H Bepy B TopwecrBo C B C T J I U X C H J I B lejioBeKe... JlioflH 3Jibi no npHpojie H cueAOBaTejibHO jiHiiieHbi B03M01KHOCTH nojib30BaTbcji SjiaraMH CBo5oflbi; fljiH nopHAKa HeoSxoflHMa BJiacTb; flBe C H J I M 6opiOTC» Memny coSoii 3a oGnanaHHe MHpoM — UepKOBb H r o c y a a p c T B o ; H3 flByx 30J1 Ha,no BbiSHpaTb MeHbiuee, B a a H H O M c n y i a e — UepKOBb.

[I was astounded by your attempt to reconcile what I see as two completely opposite things: the deep Knowledge — indeed, the gloom — of the human soul and faith in the triumph of the "bright forces" in man... People are evil by nature and therefore deprived of the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of freedom; authority is required [to establish] order: two powers are locked in a struggle for control of the world — the Church and the State; and of two evils one must choose the lesser, in this case, the Church.] 1

Original Russian title: "K $ H J I O C O < P H H H acreTHKe SpaTCTBa B xyflowecTBeHHbix coqHHeHHHx JI. H. TojicToro". Bazyli, 117-18. All quotations have been translated from the Russian by John Woodsworth.

5

Lidia

6

Gromova-Opul'skaya

Later, after reading Voskresenie enquired: Kan npMMHpHTb, c

OAHOH

rjiyobiaHuiHM aHaJin3 3Jia, HecoKpyuiHMyio Bepy

B

[Resurrection],

Zdziechowski again

cTopoHH — 3HaHwe qejioBeqecKOH n p H p o j b i , K

KOTopoMy oHa c n o c o 6 H a , c apyroii w e —

CHJiy pa3yMa, aejiaiomyio

BO3MO>KHOH

M

jieraoH

noSeay H a j 3 J I O M ? 3 T O npoTHBopeqHe y T o j i c T o r o 6 p o c a e T C H B rjia3a. [How does one reconcile a knowledge of human nature and a thorough analysis of the evil it is capable of, on the one hand, with an unshakable faith in the power of the mind to make a victory over evil possible and even easy, on the other? This is a m o s t striking contradiction in Tolstoy.] 2

Zdziechowski adds that he has noticed a similar inconsistency with the Polish writer Adam Mickiewicz. But then he remarks: "He T a KHM

J I HnyTeM

npH3Baubi

reHHH

TOJiKHyTb l e j i o B e i e c T B O

Ha HOBbie

[Isn't this the way geniuses are called to p u s h mankind in new directions?] What is it, then, that underlies human nature — good or evil? The a n s w e r to this q u e s t i o n was p e r h a p s m o r e i m p o r t a n t for Tolstoy the artist and writer than for Tolstoy the moralist and philosopher. The tenet of his beloved Rousseau — that m a n comes o u t perfect from the hands of Nature — was somehow not enough. For Tolstoy, man can and m u s t be good, even in spite of his n a t u r e . For this is how the concept of brotherhood — the most important concept for human co-existence — is expressed in life. In Kazaki [The Cossacks] it is the old fellow Eroshka w h o e m bodies the thought of the natural, intrinsic unity of all living beings. His prototype, as is known was a Cossack who found Tolstoy writing Detstvo [Childhood] and advised h i m to drop such trivial pursuits, to leave people like that alone, and not write such petty nonsense [ K J I a y 3 b i ] about them. The old Cossack Epifan Sekhin could look upon writing as nothing else but "petty nonsense". In Kazaki Eroshka loves "everyone" [ B c e x ] and instructs Olenin: nyTH?"

Bee Bor onejiaji Ha pa«ocTb qejioBeKy. 3Bepn npHMep B03bMH.

H H B qeM r p e x a HeT.

Xorb c

O H H B TaTapcKOM KaMbiuie H B HauieM W H B C T .

Ky,na npHfler, TaM H HOM. MTO Bor aaji, T O H JionaeT. [God has done everything so that man can be happy. There's no sin in anything. Take the wild beasts, for example. They roam the Tatar grasses just as they do our own. Wherever they go, that's home to them, and they eat whatever God gives them.] 3

Tolstoy's character Olenin can feel this too. Out in the forest, surrounded by swarms of mosquitoes and feeling himself like a mosqui2

B a z y l i , 172.

^L. N. Tolstoj, Polnoe sobranie sochinenij (jubilee edition) (Moscow-Leningrad: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1928-58), 6:56. Subsequent references to this edition will be identified by JE in the text.

The Philosophy

and aesthetics of

Olenin (whose

to, a p h e a s a n t o r a d e e r ,

7

brotherhood

is

v e r y n a m e is s i g n i f i c a n t ) 4

o v e r c o m e b y " c T p a H H o e lyBCTBO G e c n p H i H H H o r o c i a c T b a H J I K > 6 B H K O BceMy" [a s t r a n g e s e n s e o f u n p r o v o k e d j o y a n d l o v e for e v e r y t h i n g ] ; according to a n old

childhood

thanks " t o s o m e o n e "

[KOTO-TO]

But Olenin

himself and

gives

Tolstoy's c h a r a c t e r s i f h e f e e l i n g , especially s u c h a His c o n s c i o u s n e s s , h i s mind [ p a 3 y M ] —

w o u l d not h a v e been one of

had been d r a w n w i t h just a single, natural a n d unconscious one. and here

crosses

custom he

(JE, 6:76).

Tolstoy

is n o t

only

solitary

following the convictions of eighteenth-

-century thinkers b u t also finds himself, naturally, in t u n e w i t h Russian U t o p i a n r a d i c a l s o f t h e 1 8 6 0 s

the

[yTonHCTbi-uiecTHjiecaTHHKH],

n o m a t t e r h o w m u c h a n d h o w justifiably h e d i s p u t e d their nihilism —

leads d e e p e r , a n d subjects e v e r y t h i n g to critical e x a m i n a t i o n : his

dreams

of

self-sacrifice

and

his

" s p i d e r - w e b o f l o v e " [nayTHHa piness and

desire

to

envelop

himself

the impossibility of merging with the very

world around him.

in

a

JIIO6BH], his thirst for personal h a p -

The capacity

attractive

t o c h a n g e o n e ' s life, to k e e p

on

f o r e v e r b e g i n n i n g a n d q u i t t i n g , f i n d i n g a n d g i v i n g u p , l i v i n g life a n d

constantly world —

a n a l y s i n g o n e ' s o w n s o u l a n d its r e l a t i o n s h i p w i t h

this, a c c o r d i n g to

tic o f h u m a n i t y .

Tolstoy,

is t h e f u n d a m e n t a l

the

characteris-

It u n d e r g i r d s a l l h o p e s f o r t h e b r o t h e r h o o d o f p e o -

p l e , f a i t h i n g o o d , i n l o v e , as w e l l a s t h e r e j e c t i o n o f e v i l a n d e n m i t y .

Here

t o o is t h e e x p l a n a t i o n f o r h i s d e n i a l o f " p u r e r e a s o n " in f a v o u r

of " t h e reason of the h e a r t " . One

c a n see a s t r o n g fusion h e r e o f p h i l o s o p h y a n d aesthetics.

From Tolstoy's

p o i n t o f v i e w , m a n b y n a t u r e is n e i t h e r g o o d

evil, b u t r e p r e s e n t s all possibilities — [TeKymee BemecTBo].

Tolstoy

nor

substance"

[People a r e l i k e r i v e r s ] i s This t h o u g h t as f o r m u l a t -

" J l i o f l H — KaK p e K H "

the celebrated a p h o r i s m of ed by

a kind of "fluid

Voskresenie.

r e m a i n s c o n s t a n t f r o m his earliest y e a r s right to

the

e n d o f h i s life, a n d c o u l d b e r e g a r d e d a s h i s l e a d i n g c o n v i c t i o n in life.

1851:

Note

the following quotations, for e x a m p l e .

From

his diary of

ToBopHTb npo qejioBeKa: O H i c n o B e K opHrHHajibHbiH, noSpbiH, yMHHH, rjiynbiH, nocne,noBaTe.iibHbiH H T.fl. ... cjioBa, KOTopue He aaiOT HHKaKoro noHHTHH o qejioBeKe, a HMe»T npeTeH3Hio o6pHCOBaTb qenoBeKa, Tor.na KaK qacTO c6HBai0T c TOjiKy.

[To say that man is original, kind, clever, stupid, consistent and so on — words like these do not give any idea of man at all. They claim to define man, but are so often way off the mark.] (JE, 46:67) And

a l m o s t fifty y e a r s

KaK

6u

later:

6bi xopouio HCHO

HarwcaTb xyaowecrBeHHoe npoH3BefleHHe, BUKa3aTb TeKyiecTb icnoBeKa, T O , I T O O H O S H H H

^ h e name is derived from the Russian word olen' [deer] —

B

KOTOPOM

TOT

me,

TRANSLATOR'S

TO

NOTE.

Lidia

8

3ôjtefi, T O aHreji, cymecTBO.

TO

Myapeu,

Gromova-Ovul'skaya

TO HAHOT, TO

CHJiai,

TO

6eccHJibHeHuiee

[How g o o d it w o u l d b e t o w r i t e a w o r k o f f i c t i o n t h a t w o u l d c l e a r l y show m a n ' s fluidity, that o n e a n d the s a m e person c a n b e a n evil-doer a n d a n angel, a s a g e a n d a n idiot, a t o w e r o f strength a n d the w e a k e s t o f all c r e a t u r e s . ] 5

Ever since Nikolaj Chernyshevskij's time there has been a lot of talk about the "dialectics of the soul" [ j t H a j i e K T H K a a y u i H ] and the "purity of moral character" [iMCTOTa HpaBCTBeHHoro l y B C T B a ] as the

two distinguishing characteristics of Tolstoy's talent. The truth of the matter is that these are not two different traits, but a single quality which defines his approach to mankind and therefore to the purpose of art. Through the microscope of psychological analysis Tolstoy w a s able to split the nucleus of the soul into its component atoms and determine which of those infinitesimal particles were promotive of moral growth and development. Dmitrij Likhachev is correct in tracing the root of the Russian word " n o j i B H r " [heroic deed] to the noun " f l B H w e H H e " [movement]. Indeed, " n o ^ B H r " may be defined first of all as the movement of the soul [ j t B H w e H H e ayum]. Tolstoy's characters strive for harmony in a common brotherly existence. But this can be attained only from within, by the "movement of the soul". Hence Tolstoy's intense interest in the inner world, especially in its " n e w " and unexpected manifestations at moments of crisis and upheaval. Even Dostoevsky, the great expert on the depths of the human soul, was struck by the closing chapters of Book IV which comprise the heart of the novel Anna Karenina. Here it is Karenin and Anna w h o are front and centre. And another thing to note: for the author it w a s clear right from the beginning that Anna, unlike Vronskij (according to Tolstoy, the thought of his attempt at suicide did not come right away), was to bare her whole soul, while the hero Karenin, on his way from Moscow to St Petersburg, carefully rehearsing his plan of action in the event of either deception or death, was to discover hiding at the very bottom of his soul the seeds of forgiveness and love. The following passage is from the first completed draft of the novel: 6

7

— flofloaaH,

T M He 3Haeuib. — M r j i a 3 a c TaKofi T H X O H rjiyobnoH HOKHOCTbio cMOTpejiH Ha Hero; HHiero He 6 H J I O n o x o w e r o Ha T O T BecejibiH H 3JioBemnM CjiecK. 3 T O 6 M J I <J>OHAPB, H O coBceM c a p y r o f i

^/E, 53:187. The printed text contains an evident typographical error: "BbicKa3aTb" [to express] instead of "BbiKa3aTb" [to show].

6

T h e essence of Tolstoy's "dialectics of the soul" is clearly explained in Sergej Bocharov's article "Tolstoj i novoe ponimanie cheloveka. "Dialektika dushi", in Literatura i novyj chelovek (Moscow: Akademija Nauk, 1963): 224-308.

^Dmitrij S. Likhachev, Zametki o russkom (Moscow: Sovetskaja Rossija, 1981): 9-10.

The Philosophy and aesthetics of brotherhood

9

cTopoHM. — fl juo6HJia Te6a, H J U O 6 J I B Te6a, H O B O M H C ecTb apyraa, H e e 6 o » c b . Ctaa nojuo6HJia T o r o , H » x o i e j i a B03HeHaBH«eTb

Te6n, H O H Jirajia.

["Wait, [there's something] you don't know." And her eyes looked at him with such deep tenderness; there was nothing that could compare with that cheerful and yet sinister glow. It was a lantern, but from the opposite side. "I loved you, I still do, but inside me there is another. She loved him, and I wanted to hate you, but I lied."] So m u c h for A n n a . A n d h e r e is K a r e n i n : Ho O H ywe puaaji, C T O H Ha KOJieHHX H I I O J I W K H B roJioBy Ha e e p y n y . Pyna mma e r o orneM qepe3 Ko<J>Ty. Ona, O 6 H H B e r o rojioBy, I I O A B H H yjiacb K HeMy H C ropaocrbio Bbi3biBa»meH noflH*Jia KBepxy rjia3a.

[But he was already weeping, standing on his knees and resting his head on her arm. He could feel the fire from her arm burning through her sleeve. She took his head in her hands, moved closer to him, and haughtily raised her eyes to the ceiling.] Karenin then experiences " t h e joy of forgiveness" [ c i a c T H e n p o m e H H H ] . H e tearfully tells U d a s h e v ( a s V r o n s k i j w a s t h e n c a l l e d ) : " B H M o w e T e 3 a T o n T a T b M e n a B rpn3b, cnejiaTb n o c M e u i H U i e M C B e T a , fl He noKHHy e e H HHKor.ua c j i o B a y n p e n a He C K a w y B a M " [ E v e n if y o u

t r a m p l e m e in t h e m u d a n d m a k e m e t h e l a u g h i n g s t o c k of t h e w o r l d , I will n o t f o r s a k e h e r a n d I will n e v e r offer y o u a single w o r d of r e p r o a c h ] . ^ A n d t h a t is f r o m t h e v e r y first d r a f t ! K a r e n i n ' s a c t , h o w e v e r , will n o t s a v e h i m a n d c a n n o t s a v e A n n a . H e r p a s s i o n is b e y o n d r e s t r a i n i n g ; f o r h e r a n o t h e r , a d i v i n e , r e c k o n ing is i n w a i t i n g — o n e t h a t c o m e s f r o m herself, a n d t h r o u g h herself. In o n e o f his l a s t w o r k s , Na kazhdyj den' [Daily readings], Tolstoy a g a i n cites t h e biblical v e r s e h e c h o s e as a n e p i g r a p h for t h e n o v e l :

mow aejiaioT caMH ce6e

H jipyr apyry TOJibKo oTToro, Ha ce6a npaBO HaKa3biBaTb apyrHX JiiofleH. «Mne OTMUieHHe, H A3 B03flaM». HaKa3biBaeT TOJibKo Bor, H T O TOJibKo qepe3 caMoro qejioBeKa. MHOTO ITO

xyaoro

cjia6bie, rpeuiHbie

JHOAH

B3HJIH

[People do themselves and others a lot of harm just because weak and sinful people have taken upon themselves the right to punish other people. "Vengeance is mine; I will repay". Only God can punish, and only through the person himself.] (JE, 44:95) 9

D i s c u s s i n g Anna

Karenina

in h i s Dnevnik

pisatelja

[Diary of a

writer], D o s t o e v s k y c a m e t o his o w n c o n c l u s i o n s — n a m e l y , that t h e evil in h u m a n n a t u r e lies m u c h d e e p e r t h a n " t h e socialist g e n t l e m e n " [ r o c n o f l a - c o q H a j i H C T b i ] s u p p o s e d . T o l s t o y d e c i d e d o t h e r w i s e , in f a v o u r o f g o o d , o r r a t h e r , in f a v o u r of a n inevitable m o v e m e n t t o w a r d g o o d , t o w a r d t h e benefits o f a c o - e x i s t e n c e subject to m o r a l l a w . L. N. Tolstoj, Anna Karenina (Literaturnye pamjatniki edition) (Moscow: Nauka, 1970): 762-64. R o m a n s 12:19.

Lidia

10

Gromova-Opul'skaya

While Anna could not find it, this "faith" was discovered by Levin and saved him from despair. By the time he completed his "family" novel, Tolstoy already knew that man is not saved by a family, even a " h a p p y " family. The same eternal truths are historically expressed b y the capacity to live in accord with the natural, universal laws of being established b y Providence and b y the right of individual man to free moral agency. This was the creative principle or aesthetics underlying Vojna i mir [War and peace] and Khadzhi-Murat [Hadji Murat]. Another ontological-philosophical issue — birth-life-death — is brought to an epic (rather than a tragic) ultimate resolution by Tolstoy. The acceptance of life and man's passionate love for life are linked to faith in the immortality of the spirit of love. Many times Tolstoy formulated the dictum: " E o r e c T b J i i o o b B b " [God is l o v e ] . In a conversation in 1896 with the composer Sergej Taneev about Kant, Tolstoy postulated that there were two "selfs" [««»] existent in man: 10

...oflHO HH3iuee, CBS3biBaiomee e r o c MHpoM HBJieHHH, a p y r o e Bbicuiee. B T o p o e « H » cBH3biBaeT Jiio,neH Memay C O 6 O H H ecTb T O , I T O qejioBeK MoiKeT Ha3BaTb BoroM.

[one lower, linking him with the world of phenomena, the other higher. The second "self" connects people with each other and is what people can call God.] 11

That which unites people in brotherly feelings can be called religion or faith. In the following pages of his diary Taneev noted that Tolstoy placed physical beauty low on the scale, spiritual qualities significantly higher: " . . . n o c j i e H C T H H , CKa3aHHbix X P H C T O M , Hejib3fl y w e 3aHHMaTbCH

KpacMBbiMH

n p e f l M e T a M H " [after the truths taught by

Christ, one should no longer get involved with beautiful o b j e c t s ] . Here w e see illustrated the basic principles of aesthetics, where good takes precedence over beauty, and "infectiousness" [ 3 a p a 3 H T e j i b HocTb] — the transmission of good feelings or even just of a good mood to simply bring people together: folk songs for example, or a painting which touches the heart — becomes the goal of art. Kant's thought o f the starry heavens overhead and the moral law inside us is often repeated in Tolstoy's books. According to Tolstoy, man is simply one who lives with the knowledge of heaven [TOT, K T O mmer, 3Haa o H e 6 e ] . In Anna Karenina this is given only to Levin. It is interesting that in Tolstoy's first drafts Anna's last moments of life were accompanied by stars: " B 3 T O BpeMu 3 a T p a c j i a c b 12

10

n

SeeIJohn4:16.

S e r g e j Taneev, Dnevniki, Vol. 1 : 1 8 9 4 - 1 8 9 8 (Moscow, 1981): 154.

12

T a n e e v , 157.

The Philosophy

and aesthetics of

3eMJifl, noflxoflMJi TOBapHbiti n o e 3 j i .

brotherhood

11

3 B e 3 a w T p e n e m a BMXOUHJIH Haa

[At this time the ground began to shake, the freight train was approaching. The twinkling stars came out over the horiz o n . ] ^ By contrast, in the printed version only two images remained: a peasant-fellow muttering something about iron objects in his bag, and the dying flame of a candle. Even more striking in this regard is Tolstoy's so-called "swan song" — the narrative Khadzhi-Murat. T w o images — the stars and a child's smile — are repeated here as a symbol and faithful token of the author's sympathy. The path through life and death of both the recalcitrant mountain warrior and the meek Russian soldier Petrukha Avdeev is accompanied b y stars. This theme begins in Chapter 2: ropH30HTOM"

HpKHe 3Be3Abi, KOTopwe KaK 6 w 6 e i « a ^ H n o MaKyuiKaM aepeB, nona cojijaTbi U I J I H JiecoM, Tenepb ocTaHOBHJiHCb, Hpno 6jiecT>i Meway oroJieHHbix BeTBefi aepeB. [The b r i g h t s t a r s t h a t s e e m e d t o r u n a c r o s s t h e t r e e t o p s w h i l e t h e s o l d i e r s w a l k e d t h r o u g h the f o r e s t n o w c a m e t o a s t a n d s t i l l , s h i n i n g b r i g h t l y t h r o u g h the b a r e b r a n c h e s of the trees.] (JE, 35:12) OnflTb Bee 3aTHXJio, TOJibKo BeTep uieBejiHJi cyqbH aepeB, T O OTKpuBaa, T O 3aKpbiBaii 3Be3aM.

[Again e v e r y t h i n g fell silent, o n l y t h e w i n d r u s t l e d t h e b o u g h s o f t h e trees, n o w r e v e a l i n g a n d then h i d i n g t h e stars.] (JE, 35:14) — J\&, yw 3Be3aoqKH noTyxaTb crajiH, — CKa3aji ABaeeB, ycawHBaacb.

["Yes, t h e s t a r s have already b e g u n t o f a d e " , s a i d Avdeev, sitting

d o w n . ] (JE, 35:16)

That very night Hadji Murat goes up to the Russians (Chapter 4 ) : Mecaua He 6 M J I O , H O 3Be3aw Hpno C B C T H J I H B qepHOM He6e... [There w a s n o m o o n out, b u t t h e s t a r s b r i g h t l y s h o n e in t h e b l a c k sky.] (JE, 35:21) K o e r e p 6 M J I noTymen, H a e c He Ka3ajicn y w e T S K H M qepHWM, KaK n p e w a e , H Ha ne6e, X O T H H cjiaSo, H O cBeTHJiHcb 3Be3aw. [The fire h a d g o n e o u t , a n d t h e f o r e s t s e e m e d less b l a c k t h a n b e f o r e , w h i l e in t h e sky, if o n l y faintly, the s t a r s w e r e shining.] (JE, 35:23)

IloKa qHCTHJiH opywHe, cea-na, c6pyio

H K O H C H , 3Be3abi noMepKJiH, coBceM cBeTao, H noTflHyn npeapaccBeTHbifl BeTepoK. [While t h e y w e r e c l e a n i n g their w e a p o n s , t h e s a d d l e s a n d h a r n e s s e s , and t a k i n g c a r e o f t h e h o r s e s , t h e stars g r a d u a l l y f a d e d , it b e c a m e quite light, a n d a b r e e z e b e g a n t o b l o w , h e r a l d i n g the d a w n . ] (JE, 35:25) CTUIO

It would be unthinkable for the author to start talking about stars in the chapters devoted to Nicholas I, Shamil' or the Vorontsovs. W e 'L. N. Tolstoj, Anna Karenina, 799.

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do not see a description of a moonlit night or a nightingale's song until Chapter 13, which tells about Hadji Murat's flight, and then again in the last chapter, where he perishes. In any case, according to Tolstoy, man is not meant to look to the " s k y " (nefJo) alone. Note the penetrating comment by Sergej Bocharov in his critical work on Vojna i mir: Prince Andrej Bolkonskij looks up at the sky over Austerlitz, immeasurably high and infinite ( " B e e n y c T O , B e e o€maH,

KpoMe 3Toro SecnoHeiHoro He6a; H H i e r o , HHiero

n e T KpoMe H e r o " [everything is empty, everything is a delusion except for this infinite sky; there is nothing — n o , nothing — apart from it] — JE, 9:344), and knows that this sky is not just over Napoleon, his ostentatious "Excellency", but over all people of the earth, that is, over life itself. And life soon teaches h i m to love life: through his experience of guilt in regard to his dying wife, his love for Natasha, " H O B M M , 3aBHCTJiHBbiM B3rjifl.noM Ha T p a B y , Ha n o j i b i H b H na CTpyiiKy

jibma,

Bbiouiyiooi

O T BepTjuHerocfl

HepHoro M f l i H K a " [a

new and envious glance at the grass, the absinth and the stream of smoke swirling up from the spinning black ball] (JE, 11:254) which causes his fatal wound, and finally his own premature death at the very time that love is coming back into his life. Tolstoy hoped his book would teach others "nojiioSjiflTb >KH3Hb" [to fall in love with life]. For us (Russians), the moral absolute is to be found not on high, but in the distance, in the movement toward perfection, toward unity with others. 14

In all the historical reference sources (which number one hundred and seventy-two, according to one specialist ^) there is not even one discussion of Hadji Murat's childlike smile. Granted, there is a hint of it in Prince Aleksandr Barjatinskij's letter to the district governor Mikhail Vorontsov, which says that Hadji Murat "npoH3Bo,nHT 1

o b j i b u i o e BJiHHHHe BaTbcfl

CBOHM

n a OKpymaiomHX...

O H MomeT J i e r K O

Bocno;ib3o-

oSaflHHeM" [produces a strong impression on those

around him... It is easy for him to exploit his natural c h a r m ] . Tolstoy endows his favourite character with a childlike smile, referring to it over and over again, even at the end, describing Hadji Murat's lifeless face: "HecMOTpa Ha Bee paHbi rojioBbi, B CKJiaae n o C H H e B i u H X r y 6 6 M J I O a e T C K o e ao6poe B b i p a w e H H e " [In spite of all his head wounds, the bluish lips had still arranged themselves into the kindly expression of a child] (JE, 35:109). Neither the historical authenticity of the descriptions nor the attention to details on which Tolstoy insisted (the vast majority of which have been confirmed by reliable sources) overshadowed the 16

14

L e t t e r to Peter D. Boborykin, 1865 (JE, 61:100).

^ S e e Aleksej P. Sergeenko, *Khadzhi-Murat» L'va Tolstogo (Moscow: Sovremennik, 1983): 123-34. 16

Sergeenko, 152.

The Philosophy and aesthetics of brotherhood

13

writer's creative freedom in his psychological portrayal of the h u man soul. And here the artist allowed himself to embellish and sometimes even transform his source. Vladimir Poltoratskij, who appeared as himself in the narrative, wrote about Hadji Murat: " Y M H o e H 3HeprHiecKoe J I H U O e r o , c S j i e c n u u H M H lepHMMH ma3aMH, B b i p a w a J i o n o j i H o e c n o K O H C T B H e H c a M O H a j i e f l H H o c T b " [His intelligent-looking and energetic face with its sparkling black eyes expressed an air of complete calm and self-confidence].*^ In an early d r a f t Tolstoy drew a similar portrait: Ben (fiHrypa aToro MOJio,nueBaToro, c KopoTKOH, oocTpHweHHOH 6opoaK O H H SjiecTHiqHMH, He GeraiomHMH, a BHHMaTejibHo H yflHBHTejibHo jiacKOBO cMOTpeBUiHMH rjia3aMH, HeBOJibHO npHBJieKajia H noflooupjuia.

[The whole demeanour of this youngish-looking [warrior] with his short, neatly-trimmed beard and sparkling eyes which never wandered as they looked at you straight on with surprising tenderness, was compellingly attractive and encouraging.] (JE, 35:329)

In the final text variant w e read: XaflWH-MypaT O T B C T H J I yjibi6KOH na

yjibiSKy, H yjiu6Ka 3Ta nopa3HJia floSpoayuiMeM. nojnopauKHH HHKaK He OKHflaji BHfleTb TaKMM a T o r o CTpauiHoro ropqa. O H W K H ^ a j i MpaqHoro, cyxoro, qyatnoro qejioBena, a nepea H H M 6 W J I caMMH npocTOM qejioBen, yjibi6aBuiHHca TaKoH floSpoK yjiu6KOH, qTO O H Ka3ajicH He

IlojiTopauKoro

CBOHM ^CTCKHM

qyiKMM, a AaBHO 3HaK0MbiM npHHTejieM.

[Hadji Murat returned his smile with one of his own, and this smile overwhelmed Poltoratskij with its childlike sincerity. Poltoratskij never expected the fearsome warrior to look like this. He had expected a sombre, cold, foreign-looking person, and here before him stood this simplest of all men, with a smile so kind he didn't seem at all like a stranger, but rather like an old friend.] (Chapter 5; JE, 35:28)

All his life the idea of childhood and childlikeness h a d a special meaning for Tolstoy. And it certainly was not by mere chance t h a t he made his writer's debut with Detstvo, where this time of life is described in words t h a t have become so dear and memorable to so many: CqacTjiHBaa, cqacTJiHBaH, HeB03BpaTHMas nopa aeTCTBa!.. BepHyica J I H Koraa-HH6yflb Ta c B e w e e r b , 6e33a6oTHOCTb, noTpeSHOdb J I I O S B H H CHJia Bepu, KOTopbiMM oSjiaflaeuib B aeTCTBe?

[ O happy, happy, irretrievable time of childhood!.. Can it ever return — that freshness, that carefreeness, that need for love and that strong faith that one experiences in childhood?] (Chapter 15; JE, 1:43, 45)

"iloTpe6HOCTb J I K > 6 B H " [the need f o r love] — a f t e r all, is not this what the concept of brotherhood is all about? Hadji Murat's childlike smile is charming and appealing to all — including little Bul'ka (the Vorontsovs' son), and Mar'ja DmitriSergeenko, 193.

14

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evna, and the officer Butler. Speaking of Avdeev's murids, Panov tells Avdeev: " C M O T P H , ocTopowHeii, Bnepejw c e 6 a B C J I H H A T H . A T O B e jib 3 T H r o j i o j i o 6 b i e — j i o B K a i H " [Watch out, be more careful, order them to go ahead of you. After all, these bareheads can be pretty tricky], and Avdeev confidently points to his bayoneted rifle. But after returning from escorting them to the regimental commander, he confesses: " A KaKHe 3 T H , 6paTeu, T M M O H , rojiojio6bie peoVra xopouiHe. Eft-Eory! fl c H H M H KaK p a 3 r o B o p H J i c a " [You know, brother,

these bareheaded chaps are really good! By Jove, they are! I really got talking with them] (/£, 35:15-16). The action takes place in Chechnya, and it is not long afterward that Avdeev is to die at the hands of these "bareheaded chaps" — or rather, because some irrational rulers have decided to go to war. At the end two of the murids also perish: one of them is Eldar, " c Bbijiaiomeiocfl, KaK y nerei\, BepxHefl rySoH" [with a protruding upper lip, like a child] (JE, 35:116), the other — Hadji Murat himself. "BoHHa! KaK a n BoifHa? )KHBope3M, B O T H B e e " ["War, what war? Bandits, that's all they are"] (JE, 35:110) cries Mar'ja Dmitrievna after seeing Hadji Murat's lifeless head. There is no doubt whatsoever that her feelings are completely shared by the creator of the narrative. And that they have a lesson to teach us. The death-experience is one of Tolstoy's favourite themes, beginning with the death of maman in Detstvo. In Tolstoy's philosophy, most clearly formulated in his treatise O zhizni [On Life] and at the same time in his narrative Smert' Ivana ll'icha [The Death of Ivan Il'ich], there is no death, it is not something to be feared, if there is any meaning in life. And the meaning of life lies in the growth of love and unity among people. The eternal evangelical polemic between Martha and Mary was resolved, of course, in favour of Mary, that is, in favour of the spiritual principle. This involved the renouncing of asceticism (along with a contempt for luxury and idleness), and any artificial giving up of the " c h a r m s " [ n p e j i e c T H ] of being (remember Otets Sergij [Father Sergius]), as well as a recognition of just how difficult would be the victory over fleshly inclinations (as in D'javol [The Devil] or Voskresenie). The spiritual victory itself signified the advent of "the kingdom of God on earth" [ q a p c T B O BomHe Ha 3eMjie] — right on earth, and provided a reliable basis for changing one's whole life-structure — not just material "progress", not just another change of government, or reform, or revolution. Tolstoy's philosophy of life was born not in the solitude of his Khamovniki or Jasnaja Poljana studies but in the torturous contradictions of his own existence and his constant intense observations of everything around him. In 1871 he encouraged his friend Nikolaj Strakhov to get involved in philosophical pursuits and turn away from a career in

The Philosophy and aesthetics of

brotherhood

15

"yellow journalism", Tolstoy remarked that philosophy " I H C T O y M cTBeHHaa e c T b y p o f l J i H B o e 3anajjHoe n p o H 3 B e , n e H H e " [of a purely academic n a t u r e is a perverted Western concoction], and neither the Greeks (e.g. Plato), Schopenhauer nor the Russian thinkers looked at it that way. How did they look at it? They saw it as a union of philosophy with a "poetical, religious explanation of things" [c «noaT H i e c K H M , p e j w r H 0 3 H b i M ofJiflCHeHHeM B e r n e » » ] (JE, 61:262). In other words, philosophy, ethics and aesthetics exist as a unified whole. It is significant that Tolstoy did not lump America in with the West in this respect. And he had an extremely high regard for American transcendentalist writers and philosophers, such as Emerson, Thoreau, Charming, Whittier, Lowell and Whitman. In Tolstoy's opinion, the Americans had broken away from the Europeans and had become more like the Russians. It is interesting that a modern researcher, David Bowers, has come to exactly the same conclusion, noting that while European interests in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries lay mainly in the intellectual and aesthetic spheres, American interests, by contrast, tended more toward moral issues; whereas Europeans, he declared, were inclined to stress the role of hierarchy and stability of the establishment in the affairs of society, Americans gave priority to the ideas of equality and the independence of the individual from the state.*® Tolstoy's thoughts on life and death take shape in a great variety of his fictional scenarios: from tales of the "Arzamas h o r r o r " to stories about the forces of life sounding happiness throughout the land, in scenes of horrible dying and in the experience of brightening enlightenment at the moment of death, but also in the wondering admiration for those who cling onto life until the very end, like the stubborn burdock and the equally non-submissive hero of Khadzi-Murat. Tolstoy's philosophy and aesthetics could be summed up in the glorification of life and its joyful acceptance. He never glorified "cTpajiaHHe" [suffering], even t h o u g h he devoted many splendid pages of his works to scenes of suffering. But he was forever a teacher of "cocmpagauue" [compassion] as a feeling which unites t h e most diverse people. Against self-love, against personal, social, religious o r national egotism the Russian writer put forward the c o n cept of people's brotherhood, love and pity f o r o n e another [SpaTCTBo 19

Jnoaefi, jnoooBb H wajiocTb Jtpyr K flpyry]. It is no m e r e coincidence

that in both popular and literary Russian the word " w a j i e T b " [lit., to pity", " t o feel compassion f o r " ] is also the equivalent of " J I I O 6 H T b " [to love].

See Devid Bauers [David Bowers], Demokraticheskie dali. Literaturnaja istorija Soedinennykh Shtatov Ameriki, ed. R. Spiller, U. Torp [W. Thorpe], T. N. Dzhonson [Johnson] and G. S. Kenbi [Canby], Vol. 1 (M oscow, 1977): 424. % e e L. N. Tolstoj, Zapiski sumasshedshego [Notes of a madman].

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Anna Karenina rebukes Vronskij for merely " n o t having p i t y " on her [jiHuib B T O M , I T O O H « H e i K a j i e e T » e e ] . The novel's creator has pity on his heroine (remember, at the very beginning, h e calls her "noTepflBuiaji Kaa

H

ce6a J K e n u t H H a " [a "fallen w o m a n " ] and "TOJibKO

HUJI-

He BHHOBaTafl" [not guilty, just p i t i f u l ] ) , just as he loves H a d -

ji Murat ( " 3 T O

20

M o e y B J i e i e H H e " [this is my passion], Tolstoy admit-

ted). In a diary entry for 1894 w e find a remarkable description of a summer sunset CMOTpeji, noflxofla K O B C H H H H K O B V , Ha npenecTHbiH cojiHeiHUH 3aKaT. B HarpoMoiKfleHHbix o6jiaKax n p o c B e T , H TaM, KaK KpacHbiH HenpaBHJibHUH y r o j i b , C O J I H U C Bee S T O Haa JiecoM, powbio. PaaocTHO. M noayMaji: H e T , S T O T MHp He uiyTKa, He loaojib HcnbiTaHHii TOJibKO H nepexojia B MHp JiyquiHH, BeqHbifi, a 3T0 O U H H H3 s e i H U x MHpoB, KOTopwH npeKpaceH, pajJOCTeH H KOTOpblH MM He TOJibKO MOiKeM, H O flOJDKHbi cflejiaTb npeKpacHee H paaocTHee J I J I H 5KHBym.Hx c HaMH H fljia Tex, K T O nocjie Hac SyaeT »ui HHKor,na e r o B3rjiHfl0B, H O A TaK noHflji H X , qTO qyBCTByio ce6« B CHjiax 3amHTHTb 3TH B3rjiHflbi nepea B C A K H M iipyrHM BepoBaHHeM, HMeioiuHM BHeuiHioio uejib.) Bo-BTopux H maBHoe, 6jiaroaapH 3T0My BepoBaHHio O H no >KH3HH caMbiH iHCTbiH xpHCTHaHHH... Eiwy 60 JieT, OH H H I U H H H Bee oTflaeT, B c e r a a Beceji H K P O T O K . [He h a s d r a w n up a plan for the common cause o f all mankind involving t h e resurrecting of all p e o p l e to life in t h e flesh. First, this is not as c r a z y a s it sounds. (Don't worry, I do n o t and never have s h a r e d his views, b u t t h e w a y I u n d e r s t a n d t h e m , I feel I a m in a p o s i t i o n to d e f e n d t h e s e views o v e r any o t h e r belief expressed in e x t e r n a l t r a p p i n g s . ) Seco n d l y a n d m o s t importantly, it is thanks to this belief that h e lives the purest Christian life o f all... He is s i x t y y e a r s o l d , he's p o o r a n d g i v e s everything he h a s a w a y , [yet] h e ' s a l w a y s cheerful a n d meek.] 2 3

Literaturnoe nasledstvo, Vol. 84, No 1 (Moscow, 1973): 670. 3

]E, 63:80-81. Fedorov was actually the same age as Tolstoy; in 1881 he was 53 years old.

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Several years later another teacher, Ivan M . Ivakin, recorded the following comment by Tolstoy: HHKOJiaH OejiopoBHi roBopHT, I T O Mewfly juoAbMH 6paTCTBa noTOMy H C T , wo Her o è u j e r o aejia; 6y«b O H O , 6biJio 6bi H GpaTCTBo; aejioM 3THM OH CIHTaeT BOCKpeUieHHC A ÎKe rOBOp», qTO épaTCTBO MOJKeT 6biTb H 6e3 o6mero j j e j i a , nowajiyfi, n p o c T o BcnejicTBHe T o r o y w a c a H a m e r o nojiojKeHWi, KOTopwii ecTb np«MOH pe3yjibTaT oTcyTCTBHa SpaTCTBa. [Nikolaj Fedorovich says that there is no brotherhood among p e o p l e be-

cause there is no common cause; if there were, there would be brotherhood as w e l l ; he thinks the c o m m o n cause is the raising of the dead. But I say that there can be brotherhood e v e n without a c o m m o n cause, you k n o w , simply because of the horror of our situation, which is the direct result of lack of brotherhood.] 24

According to Tolstoy, the resurrection of the soul in each individual will make people — all people — brothers and sisters. For the resurrection of the soul is the awakening of love. Translating Guy de Maupassant's remarkable story " L e Port", Tolstoy added, following the words of the sailor who recognized the prostitute to be his own blood sister Françoise: " B e e O H H KOMy-HH6y,nb aa cecrpbi!" [They're all sisters to somebody!] (JE, 27:258). There is simply nobody to raise from the dead, since one's soul is immortal, and does not die, but dissolves in the world universality. Here Tolstoy was in agreement with Buddhists and other sages. A passionate bibliophile, Fedorov saw in books something that approached the remains of their authors — a sign of raising from the dead, as it were. It was Fedorov w h o promoted the idea of an international book exchange. As early as 1887, at his suggestion, Tolstoy's manuscripts were being sent to the permanent collection of the Rumjantsev Museum, and it was just a few years later that Tolstoy himself, partly under Fedorov's influence, renounced his personal copyright on his works published or reprinted after 1881. Fedorov gave away his wages to the poor; Tolstoy didn't accept any royalties at all (except, of course, for his novel Voskresenie, the proceeds from which went to help the Doukhobors emigrate to Canada), and lived more or less as a guest in his own home. In 1894, when a Dutch medical student asked in a letter whether what he had read in the paper was true, that Tolstoy spent only 18 centimes a day on food, the writer replied that y e s , it was indeed true, along with the story about the hot oatmeal and the wheat Graham-flour bread.

^Literaturnoe

nasledstvo, Vol. 69, No 2 (Moscow, 1961): 51.


brotherhood

19

Like Fedorov, Tolstoy was a staunch defender of books as a vehicle for the communication of religious ideas and the unifying of people (cf., for example, his correspondence with Peter Vasil'evich Ver i g i n ) . Once, however, when visiting his librarian-friend's sacred shrine, the book depository, he exclaimed: " 3 x , jtHHaMHTity 6bi c i o j i a ! " [Hey, let's bring some dynamite in here!]. Fedorov was horrified. Fedorov believed the brotherhood of people was necessary to pacify the elemental forces of nature, for the transformation of the universe and for victory over death. It was in this connection that the remarkable ideas of Konstantin Tsiolkovsky were born — namely, to the end of resettling resurrected earthlings o n other planets. Fedorov believed it was inevitable to involve the government and the church in the overcoming of social strife and chaos, something Tolstoy vehemently denied. This bone of contention led to an open quarrel and even a schism. In January 1892, w h e n the English newspaper The Daily Telegraph published — in Emile J . Dillon's translation — excerpts of Tolstoy's article O golode [On hunger] which caused something of a general scandal, Fedorov flatly refused to talk to Tolstoy or even shake his hand. Here is how the then head of the manuscript division of the Rumjantsev M u s e u m Georgij P. Georgievskij described their meeting: 25

YBHfleB cneuiHBiuero K neiviy TojicToro, Oe«opoB pe3KO cnpocHJi e r o : — HTO BaM yroflHO? — oTBeqaji T O J I C T O H , — jjaBaiiTe CHaiajia no3flopoBaeMc«. A TaK aaBHo He BHjieji Bac. — 11 He Mory noaaTb BaM pyKH, — B03pa;tM,'i OeaopoB. — Me«ay HaMH Bee KOHqeHO. HHKOJUH tfcejiopoBHq HepBHO aepwaji pyKH 3a C I I H H O H H , He nepexojiH c O J I H O H C T O D O H M KopHjjopa Ha jipyryio, CTapajica 6biTb noflajibuie O T CBoero co6ecejjHHKa. — O&bacHHTe, HHKonaH OeflopoBHq, qTO Bee S T O 3HaqHT? — c n p a uiHBaji T O J I C T O H , H B r o j i o c e e r o Towe nocjibimajiHCb HepBHbie H O T K H .

— noflOHmme,

— 3 T O Bauie nHCbMo HaneqaTaHO B «Daily Telegraph*?

— fla, Moe. — HeywejiH Bbi He co3HaeTe, KaKHMH qyBCTBaMH npojjHKTOBaHO O H O H K qeMy npH3biBaeT? HeT, c BaMH y M C H H HeT HHqero oSmero, H MoiKeTe yxoflHTb. — HHKOjiaH eaopoBHq, M M CTapHKH, aaBaHTe X O T H npocTHMca... Ho HHKojiaH OeaopoBHq o c r a j i c a HenpeKJiOHHbiM, H T O J I C T O H C BHflHMbiM pa3flpa>«eHHeM noBepHyjica H nouieji.

25

See: A. A. Donskov, ed., L. N. Tolstoj i P. V. Verigin: Perepiska, prepared and with an introduction by L. D. Gromova-Opul'skaja (St Petersburg: Izdatel'stvo «Dmitrij Bulanin», 1995): 13-14.

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[Upon seeing Tolstoy hurrying over to him, Fedorov asked him sharply: "What do you want?" "Wait," replied Tolstoy, "let's shake hands first. I haven't seen you in a long time time." "I cannot offer my hand to you", objected Fedorov. "It's all over between us." Nikolaj Fedorovich nervously held his hands behind his back, and, without crossing over to the other side of the corridor, tried to keep his distance from his interlocutor. "Tell me, Nikolaj Fedorovich, what does all this mean?" asked Tolstoy, with a nervous quaver in his voice. "Is that your letter that was printed in The Daily Telegraph?" "It was." "Don't you realize what feelings prompted it and what it's going to lead to? No, I have nothing in common with you. And you can leave." "Nikolaj Fedorovich, we're old, you and me. Let's at least say good-bye properly..." But Nikolaj Fedorovich remained adamant, and Tolstoy with obvious irritation turned and walked away.] 26

This was Fedorov's last meeting with Tolstoy, although he lived another ten years beyond that (until 1903). Apart from that they in fact had much in common. In the Jasnaja Poljana library there is a copy of Volume I of Fedorov's Filosofija obshchego dela [Philosophy of the common cause], published in 1906, with Tolstoy's marginal notes, often sympathetic. ^ Tolstoy well understood — and completely accepted — the meaning contained in the title of the first part of Fedorov's book: "Bonpoc o S p a T C T B e , H J I H p o f l C T B e , o npHiHHax ne6paTCKoro, H e p o j j c T B e H H o r o , 2

T.

e. ueMHpHoro,

COCTOHHHH

MHpa,

H

o cpejicTBax

K

BoccraHOBJieHHio

[The Question of brotherhood, or kinship, of the causes underlying the lack of brotherhood and kinship, i.e., the lack of peace, in the state of the world, and of the means of restoring kinship]. A true sign of Tolstoy's sympathy for the very idea of the "common cause" — i.e., brotherhood — is found in his novel Voskresenie. In his portrayal of Simonson, the same Simonson Katjusha stayed with at the settlement in Siberia after bidding farewell to Nekhljudov, Tolstoy writes about this kind man ("kind" in a childlike way): exiled to Arkhangelsk province, " O H J K H J I O H H H , n H T a a c b O J I H H M 3epHOM, H c o c T a B H J i ce6e ( p H J i o c o ( p c K y j o T e o p H i o o H e o ( 5 x o , H H M O C T H MaTepbfljibHO B o c K p e c H T b B c e x yMepuiHx" [he lived alone, eating only grain, and formulated for himself a philosophical theory about the necessity of raising to material life all those who have died] (JE, 33:291). pojicTBa"

P u b l i s h e d by V. Nikitin in the article: "Bogoiskatel'stvo i bogoborstvo Tolstogo", Prometej, Vol. 12 (Moscow: Molodaja gvardija, 1980): 128-29. ^ S e e : Biblioteka L. N. Tolstogo v Jasnoj Poljane. Bibliograficheskoe opisanie. Vol. 1 (Books in Russian), Part 2 (Moscow: Kniga, 1975): 392-93.

26

2


brotherhood

21

Nikolaj K. Gudzij, who wrote the commentary on Voskresenie for the 90-volume Jubilee edition of Tolstoy's works, rightly saw these lines as an echo of Fedorov's religious-philosophical theory: B O 3 M O ) K H O , P O B , O J I H O Bp6MX TaKwe y6e)KJieHHbiH B T O M , mo 3a«aqa qejioBeiecTBa C O C T O H T B flocTHiKeHHH SeccMepTHH H BOCKpeceHHH yMepmHX.

[It is possible that in this respect the character of Simonson was based on N[ikolaj] P. Peterson, a disciple of Fedorov whom Tolstoy knew well, and who at the time was teaching not far from Jasnaja Poljana, as well as another close acquaintance, the revolutionary narodnik L[ev] P. Nikiforov, who had earlier been similarly convinced that mankind's task lay in achieving immortality and raising the dead.] (JE, 33:389)

In the final printed version of the text Tolstoy changed the character of Simonson somewhat, but maintained his sympathy for this kind of "revolutionary": O H Bee noBepiui, peuiaji pa3yMOM, a m o pemaji, T O H aejiaji... Ero cocjiajiH B ApxaHrejibCKyio ry6epHHK>. TaM O H coeraBHJi c e 6 e p e j w rao3Hoe yqeHHe, onpe,nejifliomee BCK> e r o .neHTejibHOCTb. PejiHrH03Hoe y q e n n e 3 T O C O C T O A J I O B T O M , mo Bee B MMpe WHBoe, iro MepTBoro HeT, qTO Bee npeflMeTbi, KOTopbie M M cqHTaeM MepTBMMH, HeopraHHqecKHMH, cyTb TOJibKo qacTH orpoMHoro opraHHqecKoro Tena, K O Topoe M M He MomeM o6HaTb, H qTO noaTOMy 3 a « a q a qejioBena, KaK qacTHiibi oojibuioro opraHH3Ma, C O C T O H T B nojjflepwaHHH > K H 3 H H S T O T O opraHH3Ma H Bcex J K H B M X qacTeii e r o . M noTOMy O H c q m a j i npecTynjieHHeM yHHqToiKaTb WHBoe: 6 M J I npoTHB B O H H M , Ka3HeH H BcaKoro ySHHCTBa He TOJlbKO JIlOfleH, H O H I K H B O T H M X .

[He examined everything, made a rational decision, and acted upon his decision... He was exiled to Arkhangelsk province. There he formulated for himself a religious doctrine which would determine all his actions. According to this doctrine everything in the world is alive, there is nothing dead, and any objects considered to be dead or inorganic are but a part of an enormous organic body which we cannot fathom [in its entirety], and that therefore the task of man as a particle of this grand organism is to support its life and the life of all its living parts. And thus it was that he considered it a crime to destroy anything living: he was against war, executions and any kind of killing — not just of people but of animals as well. ] (Part 3, Chapter 4, JE, 32:369-70)

Katjusha Maslova's regeneration to a new life in Voskresenie takes place, in the final analysis, not through Nekhljudov's influence but from his contact with Mar'ja Pavlovna Shchetinina, a person with an infinitely kind and pure heart, and through Simonson's love, and the childlike goodness [ j i e T C K a j i .noSpoTa] which he too expressed. As in Khadzhi'-Murat, this word " J J C T C K H H " is repeated over and over again. Even Nekhljudov grasps the truth about "chil-

Lidia

22

Gromova-Opul'skaya

d r e n " through reading the gospels, where Jesus says (Matthew's 18:3): " Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven" [McTHHHO

roBopio B3M, e c j i H He o 6 p a T H T e c b

H

He SyjieTe KaK jieTH, He

BOHjieTe B UapcTBo HeSecHoe]. Tolstoy devotes the last sentence of his novel to Nekhljudov, even though the outcome it speaks about is still unknown: "HeM K O H H H T C H 3 T O T H O B M H n e p H o n e r o > K H 3 H M , n o K a >KeT C y a y m e e " [How this new period of his life will end is something the future will tell] (JE, 32:445). The "resurrection" has already come to Maslova, because Simonson treated her as if he were her brother, and Shchetinina as if she were her sister. At the close of Voskresenie, which was destined to become the novel to sum up and conclude the whole classical nineteenth century, Tolstoy wrote of evil [ 3 J I O ] : " ( O H O ) TopjKecTBOBa.no, q a p c T B O B a j i o , H He B H a e j i o c b HHKaKOH B03M0JKH0CTH He TOJibKO n o S e f l H T b e r o , H O a a w e

noHHTb, KaK n o 6 e f l H T b e r o " [it has triumphed, reigned, and left no room for the possibility of conquering it, or even of understanding h o w to conquer it] (JE, 32:439). These are the thoughts running through Nekhljudov's head in the final chapter, as he stands at the threshold of a new life, apparently finding answers in the Gospel truths. The circle is closed: the reader involuntarily thinks back to the beginning, the epigraphs from the Scriptures and the description of spring. The spring in the city, the spring ice-flow the night of Katjusha's seduction, the spring nighttime thunderstorm in Kuzminskoe (Part 2, Chapter 8), the cloudburst at the end of Part 2 (Chapter 40) — all these are symbolic pictures which define the tonality, sense and aesthetics of Voskresenie. Later, in the twentieth century, Tolstoy included in his Krug chtenija [Cycle of readings] — one of his very last books — a thought from his beloved Ralph Waldo Emerson: IlpHfleT BpeMH H JUOOOBb CTaHCT 06lUHM 3aKOHOM JKH3HH JUOfleH, H HCie3HyT Bee Te SeflCTBHfl, O T KOTopbix Tenepb crpaflaioT m o a n , p a c r a K>T B O BceoGmeM cBeTe cojiHu,a.

[The time will come when love will become the universal law of people's life, and all those ills from which people now suffer will disappear, dissolved in the all-embracing light of the sun.] (JE, 42:350)

Tolstoy himself wrote about this in a calmer and simpler vein, but with no less confidence and conviction. (Translated from the Russian by John Woodsworth)

Galina Galagan Russian Academy of Sciences, St Petersburg

THE IDEA OF WORLD RENEWAL* The idea of world renewal was given to the world in the commandments of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. The past nineteen centuries of its history have not altered the world's moral image. They have shown, however, the fruitlessness of any attempts to transform it by any other method. Tolstoy's whole legacy is permeated with the theme of the two worlds — the world as it is (with its disorder, vanity, enmity and violence) and the world as it ought to be (a world of righteousness, goodness and unselfed love). His concept of life was formulated on the basis of his many years of reflection on this theme. It was made available to readers in its most developed form in the treatise Tsarstvo Bozhie vnutri vas [The Kingdom of God is within you] (1893), although certain aspects were subsequently amplified by Tolstoy in Religija i nravstvennost' [Religion and morality] (1893) and Khristianstvo i patriotizm [Christianity and patriotism] ( 1 8 9 3 - 9 4 ) and later in Khristianskoe uchenie [Christian teachings] (1894-96). I should like to touch upon some basic problems which were not only raised but largely solved long before the concept was actually formulated by Tolstoy. First: the establishing of moral self-perfection as the principal life-creating element of the universe. Second: the establishing of the concept of individual progression [nojiBHJKH o c T b J I H I H O C T H ] in relation to truth. Third: recognizing a synthesized knowledge of the rational [pa3yMHoe] and the heartfelt [ c e p J t e i H o e ] as the principal means of attaining the highest degree of morality. Fourth: confirming, through a series of metaphorically symbolic themes (including those taken from the New Testament), the semiotic functions signifying the transition from what is to what ought to b e . One of the central polemic channels of Tolstoy's treatise Tsarstvo Bozhie vnutri vas is his analysis of the societal or pagan concept of life which considers all existence to be intelligent and perfect, and 1

Original Russian title: "MaeH

OSHOBJICHHH

MHpa"

^See Galina Galagan, L. N. Tolstoj. Khudozhestvenno-eticheskie ningrad: Nauka, 1981).

23

iskanija (Le-

24

Galina Galagan

which sees the purpose of life as satisfying the desires of a select group of people. The societal concept of life is a powerful foe, one highly skilled in defending itself. To its theological and philosophical justifications the French positivist Auguste Comte (1798-1857), who saw mankind essentially as an undying organism to be studied, added a third: a scientific justification. The growing strength of this particular pillar of the societal concept of life attracted Tolstoy's attention in the years 1882-86 when he was writing Tak chto zhe nam Mail [What then must we do?], where h e wrote: C T O H T TOJibKO paccMaTpHBaTb nejioBeiecKoe oSuiecTBo KaK npejjMeT HaSjuojxeHHH, H M O I K H O I I O K O H H O noawpaTb Tpyflbi apyrnx rH6HymHX juofleii, yTemafl ce6a Mbicjibio, T T O MOM ijeirrejibHOCTb, KaK an 6 u OHa HM 6biJia, ecTb (pyHKUHOHajibHaH jjeirrejibHOCTb opraHH3Ma qejioBeqecTBa. ... Haianocb S T O BepoyqeHHe HejtaBHo — J I C T 5 0 . TjiaBHbiM o c HOBaTejieM e r o 6biJi HTHoe cuenneHHe C O 6 M T H Í Í H Mbicjieñ H cosepmeHHo HenoerHWHMoe. HeJioBeqecTBO ecTb O « H O H3 Tex noHHTHH ... BJiajjeTb KOTopwM Mbi He MoiKeM; qejioBeqecTBO ecTb HHqTo, H noTOMy, KaK cKopo B H a m u x MbicjieHHbix <J>opMVJiax M M BBeiieM noHHTHe qejioBeqecTBa, M M ... nojiyqaeM npoH3BojibHbie H jiowHMe B M B O A M .

[Mankind ... is a w o r d d e s i g n e d to hint a t an u n f a t h o m a b l e c h a i n of t h o u g h t s a n d e v e n t s , a n d is c o m p l e t e l y i n c o m p r e h e n s i b l e . Mankind is o n e of t h o s e c o n c e p t s . . . w e c a n n o t g r a s p h o l d of; m a n k i n d is n o t h i n g , and t h u s a s s o o n a s w e i n t r o d u c e t h e c o n c e p t o f m a n k i n d into o u r m e n tal f o r m u l a s w e . . . c o m e t o a r b i t r a r y a n d false c o n c l u s i o n s . ] (JE, 7:126)

It was in one of Tolstoy's major fictional works of the 1860s that the phrase "love for mankind" [juoSoBb K qejioBeiecTBy] (JE, 10:77) quietly took on a different formulation in the thoughts of Pierre Bezukhov, namely "love for one's neighbour" [ j n o 6 o B b K SjiHHiHeMy] (JE,

10:104). In Ispoved' [A Confession] (1879-82) Tolstoy referred to the concept of "mankind" as "mysterious" (JE, 23:19). Such a definition 4

^Compare Tolstoy's d e f i n i t i o n w i t h Aleksandr Gertsen's d e c l a r a t i o n s in t h e chapter e n t i t l e d "Robert Ouén" [Robert Owen] in Part 6 o f Byloe i dumy [My post and thoughts] (Tolstoy r e a d this c h a p t e r in 1861) a n d in h i s book S togo berega [From the far shore] ( w h i c h h e c i t e s in h i s treatise Tsarstvo Bozhie vnu«" vas). From "Robert Ouén": C J I O B O «qejioBeqecTBO» npenpoTHBHoe: O H O He BbipaHiaeT HHqero o n p e JiejieHHoro, a TOJibKO K C M V T H O C T H Bcex ocTaJibHbix I I O H H T H H noflSaB«»eT eiqe KaKoro-TO n e r o r o n o n y o o r a . Kanoe C I J H H C T B O pa3yMeeTC« noa C J I O B O M «qejioBeqecTBO»? Pa3Be T O , KOTopoe M M noHHMaeM noji BCHKHM CyMMOBMM Ha3BaHHeM, BpOfle HKpbl H T. II. [The w o r d mankind is m o s t o f f e n s i v e : it e x p r e s s e s n o t h i n g definite, but °nly a d d s s o m e kind of p i e b a l d d e m i g o d t o the v a g u e n e s s o f all t h e o t h e r c o n c e p t s . What k i n d o f u n i t y d o e s t h e w o r d mankind i m p l y ? Possibly

Galina Calagan

26

ironically links m a n ' s inability to answer questions as to the meaning of his o w n existence ("Who a m I? W h y am I alive? W h a t will happen to m e after d e a t h ? " ) with his self-assured conviction that he is able to understand and explain the existence of an enormous number of peopled In the 1860s Tolstoy commented on another concept, "the common g o o d " [o6mee 6jiaro], in the fictional framework of Vojna i mir [War and peace]: C Tex n o p , KaK cyuiecTByeT MHp H J U O A H yGHBaioT jipyr apyra, H H K O I aa H H O J I H H "lejioBeK He coBepuiHJi npecTynjieHHa najt ce6e noaoCH H M , He ycnoKaHBaa ce6a ... Mbicjibio ... l e b i e n p u b l i q u e , nojiaraeMoe Sjiaro apyrnx JiiojieH.

npeji-

[Ever s i n c e t h e w o r l d b e g a n a n d p e o p l e s t a r t e d killing e a c h o t h e r , n e v e r h a s o n e p e r s o n c o m m i t t e d a c r i m i n a l a c t a g a i n s t h i s p e e r s w i t h o u t taking c o m f o r t i n t h e t h o u g h t o f le bien publique — t h e s u p p o s e d g o o d o f o t h e r s ] (JE, 1 1 : 3 4 8 )

Tolstoy's elaboration of Levin's thoughts on the common good following his conversion in Anna Karenina also comes to mind here: O H ... He 3Haji, He Mor 3HaTb T o r o , B qeM C O C T O H T o6m.ee Sjiaro, H O TBepao 3Haji, I T O floerHweHHe 3Toro oGmero Sjiara B O 3 M O > K H O TOJibKo

npH CTporOM HCnOJIHeHHH TOTO 3aKOHa fl06pa, KOTOpblH OTKpbIT Ka>KflOMy qejioBeKy. [He . . . d i d n o t k n o w , h e c o u l d n o t k n o w , w h a t t h e c o m m o n g o o d c o n s i s t e d in, b u t h e c e r t a i n l y k n e w t h a t t h e a c h i e v e m e n t o f this c o m m o n

one no different f r o m our understanding o f any generic name, like caviar, etc.] — A. I. Gertsen, Sobranie sochinenij (Moscow: Akademija Nauk, 1955-57):

11:251

And from S togo berega: J\nn T o r o , i T o S b i aefrrejibHo yiacTBOBaTb B MHpe, n a c OKpywaiomeM, a noBTopaio BaM, Mano wejiaHHH H J U O C B H K lejioBeiecTBy. B e e 3T0 KaKHe-TO HeonpejiejieHHbie, Mepuaiomwe noHflTHa — I T O TaKoe Jiio6HTb qejioBeiecTBo? HTO Tanoe caMoe lejioBeqecTBo? ... fi He Mory B T O J I K B3aTb ... qTO-TO CJ1HUIK0M UIHpOKO.

[To participate actively in the world around us, I say again, desire and love for mankind are not enough. They are just so many vague, flickering concepts... What does it mean to "love mankind"? What is "mankind", anyway? ... That is simply too broad for me to grasp.] (Gertsen, 6 : 8 4 ) Compare also Dostoevsky's pronouncement in Zapisnaja tetrad' [A Notebook] ( 1 8 7 2 - 7 5 ) : " K T O C J I H U I K O M J I I O S H T qejioBeqecTBO BOo6me, T O T , Cojibiueio qacTHio, MaJio c n o c o S e H Jiio6HTb qejioBeKa B qacTHOCTH" [People w h o have

too much love for mankind in general are, for the most part, hardly capable of loving any individual in particular] — F. M. Dostoevskij, Polnoe sobranie sochinenij (Leningrad: Nauka, 1 9 7 2 - 9 0 ) : 2 1 : 2 6 4 . 5

S e e also Galina Galagan, "Put' Tolstogo k «Ispovedi»", in G. Ja. Galagan & N. I. Prutskov, eds., L. Tolstoj i russkaja literaturno-obshchestvennaja mysl' (Leningrad: Nauka, 1 9 7 9 ) .

The Idea of world

27

renewal

good was possible only through strict obedience to the law of good as revealed to each individual.] (JE, 19:394). Tolstoy l a t e r r e p e a t e d t h i s e x p l a n a t i o n , a l m o s t w o r d h i s 1910 w o r k Put' zhizni

for word, in

[The Path of life] (see JE, 45:238).

I f e e l i t is i m p o r t a n t t o p o i n t o u t t h a t the appeal o n the p a r t of t h e s o c i e t a l c o n c e p t o f l i f e t o " t h e c o m m o n g o o d " ( a l o n g w i t h its i n v o c a t i o n o f t h e c o n c e p t o f " m a n k i n d " ) i s d e s c r i b e d b y Tolstoy i n h i s t r e a t i s e Khristianskoe

uchenie

a s a t e m p t a t i o n , o r a t r a p , w h i c h al-

l u r e s people b y o f f e r i n g a s i m i l i t u d e o f g o o d , b u t o n c e t h e y f a l l i n t o the trap, they perish.

He w r i t e s :

ri03T0My TO H CKa3aHO B EBaHTeJIHH, 1TO Co6jia3HbI AOJDKHbl BOHTH B MHp, HO r o p e MHpy O T co6jia3HOB H r o p e TOMy, qepe3 n o r o O H H B X O am. ... Co6jia3H o6mero Sjiara C O C T O H T B T O M , qTO J I I O A H onpaBflbiBa»T coBepuiaeMbie H M H rpexH SjiaroM MHornx juofleii, Hapofla, qejioBeqecTBa. 3 T O T O T c o 6 j i a 3 H , KOTopbm BbipaweH KaHa<J>oH, TpeooBaBU I H M y6HHCTBa XpHCTa B O H M H 6jiara MHornx. [This is why the Gospel says that temptations must come into the world, but woe unto the world because of temptations and woe unto that man by whom they c o m e . . . . The temptation of the common good is that people tend to justify the sins they commit in the name of the good of the many, the good of the race, the good of mankind. This is the temptation expressed by Caiaphas in demanding the murder of Christ for the good of the many.] (JE, 39:143,145) 6

Thus the a p p e a l o f t h e s o c i e t a l c o n c e p t o f life to the n o t i o n s o f " m a n k i n d " a n d " t h e c o m m o n g o o d " is o n e o f those traps. Another t r a p , Tolstoy b e l i e v e d , w a s the o b s c u r i n g o f J e s u s ' c o m m a n d m e n t s i n h i s Sermon o n t h e M o u n t /

The m a n i f e s t a t i o n s o f t h e

i d e a l w h i c h Christ Jesus g a v e u s a r e i n t e r p r e t e d b y t h e t h e o r e t i c i a n s o f t h e " w o r l d - w i d e non-Christian b r o t h e r h o o d " a s r u l e s a n d l a w s r e q u i r i n g full a n d e x a c t o b e d i e n c e a n d h e n c e u n a t t a i n a b l e i n real life.

This m e a n s t h e i n d i v i d u a l i s s p a r e d f r o m m a k i n g t h e m e n -

tal e f f o r t r e q u i r e d t o m o v e f r o m e v i l t o g o o d , w h i l e t h e a c h i e v i n g o f h u m a n b r o t h e r h o o d is t i e d t o i m p r o v i n g o u t w a r d f o r m s o f life ( p o l i t i c a l , social a n d e c o n o m i c ) . What h a s a l l o w e d s u c h t e m p t a t i o n s t o p r e v a i l f o r s o l o n g a t i m e ? Tolstoy places t h e responsibility s q u a r e l y o n w h a t he t e r m s metaphysics

of hypocrisy

t r a c e s to t h e g o s p e l s .

[MeTaH3HKa

jmueMepHa],

8

Drawing h i s r e a d e r s ' a t t e n t i o n to the r o l e of

hypocrisy a s a f o r c e f o r e v i l , Tolstoy d e c l a r e d i n Tsarstvo vnutri

vas: " H e j i a p o M

the

a concept h e

ejiHHCTBeHHaa

He K p o T K a a ,

a

Bozhie

oSjiHqHTejibHaa

^ e e Matth. 18:7. In the English Authorized Version the Greek word oicavSa* ° v [ l i t . "snare"] is rendered "offence", in contrast to the more accurate Russian translation "co6jia3H" [temptation] — TRANSLATOR'S NOTE. 7

See Matthew, Chapters 5 - 7 .

8

See, for example: JE, 2 8 : 2 6 6 - 6 9 .

Galina Galagan

28 H wecTOKaa

peib

XpHCTa SbiJia oSpameHa

K JiHueMepaM H npoTHB

[It is no coincidence that Christ's only intolerant, even accusing and cruel words were aimed at hypocrites and against hypocrisy] (JE, 28:271). The reference is to the seven " W o e unto y o u " injunctions in St Matthew (23:13-29). I should like to draw attention to verses 13 and 25 in particular: jiHueMepHfl"

Tope BaM, K H H J K H H K H H (papHceH, JiHueMepbi, qTO 3aTBopaeTe UapcTBo He6ecHoe qejioBeKaM; H 6 O caMH He BXOflHTe H X O T J H U H M B O H T H He ROnycKaeTe. ... Tope BaM, K H M W H H K H H (papHceH, JiHueMepbi, qTo OKH3HH cocToajra B T O M , qTO a no3BOJiHJi yMy cTaHOBHTbca Ha MecTO qyBCTBa, H T O , qTO coBecTb Ha3HBajia aypHbiM, T H S K H M yMOM nepeBoiiHTb Ha T O , qTO coBecTb Ha3biBajia xopouiHM. [My c h i e f m i s t a k e in life w a s t h a t I a l l o w e d r e a s o n t o t a k e t h e p l a c e o f feeling and to p a s s o f f w h a t c o n s c i e n c e c a l l e d a vile a n d t i m e - s e r v i n g mind a s o n e that c o n s c i e n c e called g o o d . ] (JE, 47:68)

30

Galina Galagan

And again w e turn to Tolstoy's diary, mis time from the begirining of the 1860s: YM TOJibKO noflflejibiBaeT nojj Ka>KHbiH n o c i y n o K C B O H MHHMbie npHqnHbi, KOTopwe fljiji ojiHoro qejioBeKa Ha3biBaeT y6e>KfleHHH ... H una HapOflOB K H 3 H H , a jKH3Hb O T Hee. ... YM Hani ecTb cnoco6nocTb OTKJioHJiTbcH O T H H CTHHKTa H COo6pa>KaTb 3TH OTKJIOHeHHH.

[For every act the mind only counterfeits its imaginary reasons, which in the case of a single individual it calls convictions ... while in the case of nations (in history) it calls ideas. This is one of the oldest and most harmful mistakes. The mind's chess game goes on independently of life, and life independently of it. ... Our faculty of reason is the capacity to get away from instinct and understand w h y ] (JE, 48:52-53,60)

In Vojna i mir and Anna Karenina this problem is handled on the aesthetic level: progress toward a new concept of life on the part of Bezukhov, Bolkonskij and Levin is linked to a critical analysis of the "path of thought" and the concomitant exposure of the "pride", "stupidity", "trickery" and "dishonesty" [ r o p j i o c T b , r j i y n o c T b , n j i y TOBCTBO, M o u i e H H H i e c T B o ] of the mind (JE, 19:379). This is how the mind is defined b y Levin as he summarizes the possibilities of the path of thought. As far as progress toward a new understanding of life on the part of Tolstoy himself is concerned, the temptation to indulge in vain philosophizing [npa3jjHoe yMcreoBaHHe] is pitilessly discredited in Ispoved". The power of these temptations determines the nature of people's notions of truth, and the sum total of these notions is what constitutes public opinion. In Tolstoy's ideas on historical philosophy public opinion takes on a leading role. It is in Tsarstvo Bozhie vnutri vas that the writer answers the question he asked back in Vojna i mir: "KaKaa c H J i a J I B H J K C T H a p o n a M H ? " [What is the motive power of peoples?]: PeuiHTejieM B c e r o , O C H O B H O I O C H J I O K ) , «BHraBUieio H flBHraiomeio jnoiibM H H HapoaaMH B c e r a a SbiJia H ecTb TOJibKO o/iHa HeBHflHMaii, neocH3aeMaa CHJia — paBHOfleficTBywmaH Bcex ayxoBHbix C H J I H 3 B 6 C T H O H COBOKyilHOCTM JUOfleH..., BbipaWaBmaHOI B 06meCTBeHH0M MHeHHH.

[The overall determiner, the basic force that has driven and is driving people and peoples is, and has always been, a single invisible, intangible force, resulting from all the spiritual forces of a certain aggregate of people..., which expresses itself in public opinion.] (JE, 26:204)

Prevailing public opinion, as generated by the metaphysics of hypocrisy, was described by Tolstoy as being thoroughly perverted. He believed the regeneration of the world's moral image to be directly dependent on a qualitative change in the motive power of human history. Hence the problem of individual mental effort, which

The Idea of world renewal

31

must initiate the movement from the existing to the ideal world, becomes an object of specific focus in Tsarstvo Bozhie vnutri vas. The question of freedom versus necessity (in relation to the individual) had already been decided by Tolstoy — in favour of freedom in Vojna i mir. In continuing his investigation of this question in his treatise, the writer focused on the causes underlying any human act. This is where man's freedom is most evident, since the choice between truth and the similitude of truth is completely within man's own power. Tolstoy viewed liberation from error and recognition of the different stages of truth in a three-step relationship: (a) truths that are just being discovered; (b) truths that have been discovered but not assimilated; (c) truths that have been assimilated and have become unconscious causes of human acts. One of the paths to assimilation of these truths Tolstoy defined as " B H y T p e H H H i i " [internal, i.e., " m e n t a l " ] . The other, "external" [BHeuiHHH] path he d i d not associate with any kind of prophetic feeling or life experience, b u t rather with accepting these truths " o n trust" [ n o flOBepmo] (JE, 28:198) — trust i n those who assimilate i t i n ternally. In maintaining the self-sufficiency of the actual movement of both the individual and collective consciousness from the existing t o the ideal, h e declared: ...qeM S o j i b i u e juoaeH ycBaHBaeT HOByio HCTHHy..., TeM 6ojiee B 0 3 6 y > K JiaeTCfl aoBepHe B ocraJibHbix. ... M Tan uneT flBHweHHe, Bee y6wcTpaflcb H yobiCTpnflCb, pacuiHpHHCb H pacuiHpHHCb, Kax K O M CHera, RO T e x n o p , noKa He 3aponm.HMH, KH3HH ocymecTBHTb HCTHHy, Kan 6bi Te6e xoTenocb, H O Moweiub ... n o Mepe C H J I C B O H X , nepen BoroM o c y meCTBJIJITb HCTHHy, TO eCTb HCnOJIHHTb ErO BOJI10... CTyneHH 3TH, MHe Ka«<eTca, npoxo^HT Kawflbifl qejioBeK, B03po>KJiaflCb K >KH3HH. [ H a v i n g a l r e a d y t r a v e r s e d t h e path y o u a r e u n d e r t a k i n g , I feel I s h o u l d warn y o u of t h e d a n g e r s y o u will m e e t along this path. I for one, in being bom t o t h e t r u e life, w e n t t h r o u g h t h e following steps: 1) e c s t a s y a t d i s c o v e r i n g t h e t r u t h ; 2) d e s i r e a n d h o p e o f b r i n g i n g it a b o u t right a w a y ; 3) d i s c o u r a g e m e n t at n o t b e i n g able to q u i ck l y b r i n g t r u t h t o t h e e x ternal w o r l d , a l o n g with t h e h o p e of realizing a t l e a s t in o n e ' s o w n life; 4) d i s c o u r a g e m e n t at n o t b e i n g able to r e a l i z e it e v e n in o n e ' s o w n life; 5) a t t e m p t s t o reconcile truth w i t h t h e w o r l d l y life, c o m p r o m i s e s ; 6) d i s g u s t w i t h c o m p r o m i s e s a n d d e s p a i r o r a t least d o u b t a s t o t h e truthfulness o f t h e t e a c h i n g s , a n d finally,

The Idea of world renewal

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7) the realization that you haven't been called to change the world in the name of truth, that you can't bring truth to pass even in your own life, no matter how much you wanted to, but that you can ... according to the level of your ability, realize the truth before God, that is, to do His will... These stages, it seems to me, are traversed by any person who is being regenerated to life.] (JE, 73:345)

It is only by following this path that the discrepancy between the moral ideal and people's practical ethics — a discrepancy which is destroying the moral image of the world — can be eliminated. It is only this path, taken not only by individual but also collective consciousness, that can prevent the ideal from being deformed in its application to daily l i f e and protect the ideals of liberty, equality and brotherhood from the scaffold, the guillotine, civil war, bloody terror or mass executions, or any kind of interethnic or international conflict. This is the legacy Tolstoy left to the world. 23

(Translated from the Russian by John Woodsworth)

See also Galina Galagan, "Tolstoj i Robesp'er (Problema obshchestvennogo mnenija)", Revue des Etudes Slaves, Vol. 41, Nos 1-2 (1989): 113-21.

Gary Saul Morson Northwestern University

THE SVIJAZHSKIJ ENIGMA: TOLSTOY AND BROTHERHOOD The confusions which occupy us arise when language is like an engine idling, not when it is doing work... The real discovery is the one that makes me capable of stopping doing philosophy when I want to... Problems are solved... not a single problem. — Ludwig Wittgenstein

1

In Anna Karenina, Tolstoy considers the problem of brotherhood in society. This question is closely related to three others, the pursuit of a meaningful life, the role of theory in achieving brotherhood and individual meaningfulness, and the nature of reform, both individual and social. As if to signal his interest in brotherhood, Tolstoy creates three brothers — Konstantin Levin, Nikolaj Levin, and their half-brother Sergej Ivanovich Koznyshev — who hold contrasting views on the relation of social classes to each other. Nikolaj Levin preaches a form of Marxism suffused with ressentiment; it leads him to absurd suggestions like locksmiths' cooperatives among the peasants, the rough equivalent of cooperatives bringing coals to Newcastle. Remote from experience, his ideas represent an infinite faith in theory, derived, perhaps, from self-contempt, anger, and envy. By contrast, Sergej Ivanovich exudes an annoying self-confidence. But he is just as addicted to theory. Like his brothers, Konstantin Levin sees the world through theoretical eyes, but he is also open to experience, which, he increasingly realizes, disconfirms his theories and perhaps calls into question the very activity of theorizing. For most of the book, he looks for a theory that will withstand the test of experience. He learns eventually 1

Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical investigations, 3rd edition, trans. G. E. MAnscombe (New York: Macmillan, 1968): 51e.

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The Sviazhskij enigma

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that neither social cohesion, nor individual meaningfulness, nor reforms that will take, can ever be based on abstractions applied to reality. That is what his work on his agriculture book teaches him. A man of ideas who discovers their limitations, he constantly tries to work out the proper relation of theories to experience. Konstantin Levin knows intuitively that Sergej Ivanovich's way of thinking is wrong. He at first sees the mistake simply in relation to their most frequent topic of conversation, how to help the peasants; later, he broadens his critique to theorizing per se. Nikolaj and Sergej Ivanovich view brotherhood and other social reforms as achievements to be dictated by the right theory — one reasons down from theory to practice. By contrast, Konstantin Levin (and Tolstoy) regard theories about society with suspicion. In their view, theory is, at best, a series of tentative generalizations from practice, a kind of mnemonic device for things mat have worked. But its proper role is never to dictate to practice. Tolstoy makes the contrast between these two views of theory quite clear in a number of passages in which Levin and others discuss the problem of the peasants and of society's responsibility to them. At the beginning of Part 3, for instance, Tolstoy contrasts Sergej Ivanovich's way of thinking with Levin's. What is important here is not their different conclusions but their different processes of arriving at them. "Sergej Ivanovich used to say that he knew and liked the peasantry ... and from every such conversation [with them] he would deduce general conclusions in favour of the peasantry and in confirmation of his knowing them":^ that is, this sort of theoretical approach can find only evidence justifying it. By contrast, Levin, who works with the peasants, would have been absolutely at a loss to say whether he liked or knew "the peasants", just as he would be at a loss if asked whether he liked or knew people in general. He was continually watching and getting to know people of all sorts, and among them peasants/whom he regarded as good and interesting people, and he was continually discovering new traits, altering his former views of them. (AK, 252)

That never happens with Sergej Ivanovich because, for reasons all of us know, it is always possible for a theoretician to explain away any inconvenient fact presented by experience, or, still better, not to see the fact in the first place. What theory provides is method, specifically a method for not seeing. In his [Sergej Ivanovich's] methodical brain there were distinctly formulated certain aspects of peasant life, deduced partly from that life itself, but chiefly from contrast with other modes of life. He never Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, trans. Constance Garnett, ed. Leonard J. Kent and Nina Berberova (New York: Modern Library, 1965): 251. Subsequent references to this edition will be identified by AK in the text.

Gary Saul Morsen

changed his opinion of the peasantry and his sympathetic attitude toward them.. (AK, 252)

As a result, Levin always loses his arguments with Sergej Ivanovich because he has no definite views, which, in a theoretical discussion, puts one at a major disadvantage. He is readily convicted of contradicting himself, and Sergej Ivanovich observes, with his characteristic condescension, that Konstantin has a mind "which, though fairly quick, was too much influenced by the impressions of the mom e n t " (AK, 252-53). Tolstoy's irony here is palpable because what Sergej Ivanovich really means is that Levin's mind is too receptive to experience, which does not fit any easy pattern, and too receptive to the present as opposed to timeless principles. For Tolstoy, receptivity to the moment is a supreme virtue — that is what makes Nikolaj Rostov a good soldier in Vojna i mir [War and peace] — because Tolstoy utterly rejects the notion that philosophy properly deals with the absolute and timeless. It should rather be closer to what Aristotle calls phronesis, or practical wisdom, which typically asks about the right thing to do on a particular occasion, not for all time. If a form of argument puts one at a disadvantage because one is receptive to the moment, then there is something wrong with that form of argument. 3

Here, as elsewhere in the novel, Tolstoy is less concerned with what we think than with how w e think. He never ceases to offer contrasting cases, in which a given set of conclusions about life proves wrong when one person draws it but right when someone else does. Kitty correctly realizes that the life of "doing g o o d " she imitates from Madame Stahl and Varenka is all fake for her, but, she also comes to recognize, it is not fake for Varenka. When Levin condemns Dolly for forcing her children to use French as a form of "teaching insincerity", Tolstoy adds that he is right as a general rule but wrong in this case, and presumably other cases. General rules don't take one very far, because no one lives a generalized life. They are best understood as one factor to consider among others, which Dolly has done. But here Levin, evidently disappointed about Kitty, behaves like his brothers and indulges the family trait of generalizing instead of looking at the particular situation. In his wiser moments, Levin, as he speaks with people about the condition of the peasantry, pays special attention to what led a person to a particular opinion. He hopes not to endorse or refute someone's views, or to score debating points as an intellectual is trained to do, but to understand the experiences of a sensitive observer and then reflect upon them in light of his own. For Levin, views are a window to a complex of experiences, and Levin at his best wants to set experi3

O n these two views of philosophy, see Stephen Toulmin, Cosmopolis: The Hidden agenda of modernity (New York: Free Press, 1990).

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ences into dialogue. W e always catch him trying to think through a problem in this way. I should like to focus on one scene in the novel, Levin's visit to Svijazhskij's. In terms of the plot, virtually nothing is accomplished in this scene; it is one of those sections, like the catalogue of household goods packed up by the Rostovs in Vojna i mir, or the account of Levin's missing shirt before his wedding, that so bothered the critics. In a loose and baggy monster, the Svijazhskij scene is one of the larger bags. And yet, though it has insufficient plot or structural importance to bear its weight in pages, the scene is quite important for Tolstoy's themes of helping the peasants and understanding me very process of thinking through such questions. On the way to Svijazhskij's, Levin has stopped at a prosperous peasant's farmstead, and has seen how a farm can work properly. The family works efficiently, and they have even been able to introduce some of the modern methods that Levin has tried, and failed, to implement. The scene haunts him — he feels there is a secret here he needs to discover — and he concludes that it has something to do with working in accordance with one's long acquired habits. This family's innovations grow out of their daily efforts. They were not introduced in order to be up-to-date, or because that is how things are done in England, or even because they are in some abstract sense better. Rather, the innovations each met a particular need that came up in the course of solving problems on this farm at a given time. They were apparently piecemeal. By contrast, Levin, like all landowners, has tried to force the innovations on the peasants according to a model, contrary to their habits. Seeing this family, Levin is well on his way to what one of my friends calls his "trickle-up" model of social change. Levin also has a second reason for wanting to see Svijazhskij. Feeling deeply that his life without Kitty lacks something, whereas Svijazhskij's life is a model of happiness, contentment and decency, Levin wants to know what Svijazhskij's secret of living is. He imagines that Svijazhskij must know something about happiness, if only he could get him to say what it is. So Levin goes to Svijazhskij with two sorts of questions on his mind, how to live and how to farm: as in Hesiod's Works and days, a work that seems to lie behind the whole Levin story, these two questions merge into one. Thus, when Levin converses with the Svijazhskijs and their guests, Tolstoy repeatedly interweaves remarks about the tone of the conversation and the general well-being of the household with reports of the comments about agriculture. Really, two conversations e going on, one conducted in terms of arguments and one by family 4

a r

1 owe the phrase to Sherry Kujala, who used it in a somewhat different sense, to refer to morality the élite gets from below.

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habits and rituals. W e watch Levin the riddle-solver trying to discover "secrets" and enigmas — various synonyms are repeated — but not doing so. In large part, that is because he still imagines that Svijazhskij lives well, and behaves decently, because he is applying some theoretical insight about life. He treats Svijazhskij as if he were a Levin, but that is far from the case. Most readers take the portrait of Svijazhskij as entirely satiric, and it is true that Svijazhskij's way of thinking about social and economic questions reflects all the superficial nonsense that typically distorts the ideas of intellectuals and their hangers-on. What Svijazhskij says is almost worthless, even as a key to experience, because it comes not from experience but from the repetition of modish contemporary truisms (or presentisms, as one might call them). Or, more accurately, it does come from experience — not the experience of agriculture, but of pleasant arguments over dinner. But if all one sees is the satire, one misses a central aspect of this scene, the significance of how Svijazhskij lives. And here Svijazhskij is far from foolish. The first riddle that perplexes Levin is Svijazhskij himself. In some respects, Svijazhskij resembles Sergej Ivanovich. Both reason about the peasants from abstract theoretical premises and from fashionable books they have read. And so Levin is given a catalogue of things he simply must acquaint himself with — the Schultze-Delitzsch movement, the Malhausen system, the ideas of Herbert Spencer etc. The list recalls his brother's reference to Wurst and Knaust and Pripasov. W e catch here Tolstoy's impatience with the intellectual habit of argument by bibliography. When one raises a simple logical objection to a theory, or points out that the plain facts refute it, one is told to go back and study a long bibliography for ten years, but one is unable to obtain a simple, coherent answer to one's question from the person who has recommended the list of readings. Thus, when Levin asks "What conclusion have they come to?", he is not told (AK, 354). Footnotes are their own reward and become a sort of biblio-shield. Just as Karenin's bureaucratic reports function in a world utterly divorced from what they ostensibly describe, so intellectual discussion becomes a machinery that grinds on its own. But Levin is dissatisfied with the process of reasoning on its own, which is one of many reasons he is not an intellectual, in either the Russian or contemporary American senses of the word. He rapidly concludes that what is wrong here is the process. Svijazhskij differs from Sergej Ivanovich in that he does not even think of governing his life according to his principles, much less of forcing others to. What fascinates Levin, in fact, is the complete separation between Svijazhskij's opinions and his way of living. Svijazhskij holds quite liberal views on all questions of the day, but Levin sees that his life proceeds in a very traditional manner, no


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matter what he believes. Svijazhskij despises the nobility, but is their marshal; " h e believed in neither God nor the devil" but applies himself assiduously to the welfare of the local clergy; he listens with respect to the peasants even though, as a good Westernizer, he regards them as somewhere between ape and man (AK, 346). Though an extreme feminist, and a believer in women's right to labour, he lives a traditional married life "and he arranged his wife's life so that she did nothing and could do nothing but share her husband's efforts to make her time pass as happily and agreeably as possible" (346). And she, and he, and all around them seem the happier for it. Tolstoy anticipates our reaction to these contradictions by telling us that a superficial person would simply have pronounced Svijazhskij a fool and a hypocrite, but it was apparent to Levin that this explanation would be too easy and clearly false. Svijazhskij is unmistakably intelligent and thoroughly decent. Despite the shallowness of his ideas, he may even be wise. How then, is it possible, to explain the contradiction in his life? If the accusation is hypocrisy, Tolstoy suggests, would one have Svijazhskij change his convictions or his life? Should we suggest that because he is a feminist he should re-arrange his life in a progressive manner that would make his wife and himself unhappy? Should he persecute the village clergy or (like Mjusov in Karamazov) file meaningless lawsuits against them over fishing rights? Or should he, instead, advocate keeping women in semi-seclusion because he lives a traditional life? I think it is obvious that these alternatives are all unsatisfactory, and would bespeak a theoretical approach demanding a meaningless consistency. Taken seriously, such a view would lead all of us to hold only those views that place the highest value on our own behaviour, else one would be accused of hypocrisy. The demand for consistency may easily turn into a demand for rationalization of one's own vices. The "Svijazhskij problem", in short, shows how complex are the moral dimensions by which we choose our views. Levin imagines that there is a secret here, some hidden, deep set of principles or concerns that explain Svijazhskij's way of thinking, but that he cannot get at them. Whenever he does go beyond the antechambers" of Svijazhskij's mind, he detects a faint sign of alarm, which he interprets as fear that the hidden secret will be discovered. But Levin is entirely mistaken in this judgement. There is no such secret at all. There are habits, but no underlying knot tying everything together. Svijazhskij turns out to be fascinated by a recent article showing that Frederick's role in the partition of Poland was not what had k l ' and Levin wants to know why Svijazhskij cares about fre partitions at all. " W h a t ' s there inside of h i m ? " , Levin asks n

a s s u m e (

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Gary Scad Morsoti

himself; what's Poland to him, or he to Poland? (AK, 355). But it turns out that "it was simply interesting that it had been proved to be so and s o . . . Svijazhskij did not explain, and saw no need to explain why it was interesting to h i m " (356). Ideas and opinions do not fulfil the same functions for Levin and Svijazhskij; they occupy different places in their mental economies. Levin's mistake has been to assume that Svijazhskij tries, or thinks he should try, to live according to his ideas, that ideas define a person and his life. But for Svijazhskij, ideas are a form of mental exercise, an entertainment, like the strawberries he serves. And is this really a less healthy way to look at them? Svijazhskij is not a liberal out of self-justification, as Stiva is; if anything, such a motive would lead him to conservatism. No, Svijazhskij is a liberal for the same reason he lives conservatively with his wife, and takes care of the clergy, that is, he is a liberal out of the goodness of his heart. But he doesn't take his views seriously, he takes his guests seriously, which is why he enjoys a good argument. On the one hand, Levin could use a little of this ability. On the other, Svijazhskij's ideas are utterly worthless as ideas because they involve no reflection on what he talks about, grow out of no deeply considered problems, and relate to nothing but the pleasure of arguing them. Levin has much more in common with one of Svijazhskij's guests, the reactionary landowner. Tolstoy pays this landowner a truly remarkable compliment: The landowner unmistakably spoke his own individual thought — a thing that rarely happens — and a thought to which he had been brought not by a desire of finding some exercise for an idle brain, but a thought which had grown up out of the conditions of his life, which he had brooked over in the solitude of his village and had considered in every aspect. (AK, 350)

Encountering this man's views, Levin understands what specific experiences with the peasants have led to them, and he knows that these experiences must be taken into account. He also knows that even if the landowner has reached the wrong conclusions, his way of thinking is right. Levin, Svijazhskij and the landowner agree that Russian agriculture is declining. The landowner describes, in a way that Levin's own experience vindicates, the deep reluctance of the peasants even to keep the recent innovations introduced in the last years of serfdom, much less adopt new ones, and he outlines how production has consequently fallen. He concludes that only force ever works with Russian peasants — even the potato had been introduced by force — and therefore thinks the emancipation was a mistake, if Russia is to progress economically. Svijazhskij concedes the facts of decline and peasant behaviour, but advocates instead still more reforms. If _their

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attempts at improvement have in fact proven worse than useless, landowners should mortgage their estates to pay for still more innovations, Svijazhskij concludes. W e recognize this reasoning as the sort of thinking that no experience could ever refute, because no matter how much reforms fail, it is always possible to say failure resulted only because the reforms did not go far enough. This sort of thinking, Tolstoy suggests, is the occupational hazard of liberal reformers, in almost any era. Levin has tried these innovations and knows they won't take because the peasants won't accept them. Svijazhskij replies that we have to educate the peasants to like what the educated want for them. "But how are we to educate the people?" Levin asks (AK, 356). Svijazhskij replies: " T o educate the people three things are needed: schools, schools, and schools" (356). Even at more than a century's distance, w e sense that this witticism must have been repeated a thousand times, like our own real estate comment about "location, location, and location". What is evident here is that the word "schools" serves as a sort of "magic word", which one intones as if it were an answer and required no further thinking. Who could be against schools? It is an argument especially convincing to teachers and university graduates. But Levin asks the very question Andrej Bolkonskij asks in Vojna i mir, when Pierre describes the schools he proposes to build: how precisely do schools help the peasants? Can you provide the intermediate steps between building schools and actually helping the peasants to improve their material condition? Has anyone asked the peasants what they want? Levin's point is that the peasants do not want the schools, even beg to have their children released from them, because they do not see any such connection between what the schools teach and what peasants need to do. Of course, the intellectual is likely to reply that they only argue this way because they are ignorant, but such an argument, in addition to presuming what it wants to prove, utterly deprives the peasants of any voice whatsoever, and leaves only intellectuals with a say. Perhaps that is why it seems to carry so much weight with them. The schools, as Svijazhskij says, "give the peasant fresh needs", but Levin (and Andrej) point out that those needs cannot be satisfied in the peasant's current way of life (AK, 356). What the schools modelled on those for the Europeanized aristocracy teach will not help the peasants, and will only make them less fit for the work they will have to do anyway. No one has thought of providing work for peasants who have gone through such an education. So in pur time, we have the phenomenon of third-world countries producg university graduates who cannot find jobs in the local economy, m

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and then wondering why so many of them become Trotskyites or fanatic nationalists. Levin makes his point with his "screaming fit" story, which, I think, is one of the key passages for understanding Tolstoy's views on reform: The day before yesterday I met a peasant woman in the evening with a little baby, and asked her where she was going. She said she was going to the village sorceress; her boy had screaming fits, so she was taking him to be doctored. I asked, "Why, how does the wise woman cure screaming fits?" "She puts the child on the hen roost and repeats some charm..." (AK 357) At this point, Svijazhskij interrupts with an intellectual's automatic comment on such an incident but his objection shows he misses Levin's point. All w e need is schools, Svijazhskij suggests, and then peasant women won't believe in the obscure utterings of sorceresses. But Levin's point is that intellectuals do the same thing: they just listen to obscure magic words from a different lexicon and no more than peasant women do they comprehend the connection between these words and the desired results. "Oh, no!" said Levin with annoyance; "that method of doctoring I merely meant as a simile for doctoring the people with schools. The people are poor and ignorant — that we see as surely as the peasant woman sees the baby is ill because it screams. But in what was this trouble of poverty and ignorance is to be cured by schools is as incomprehensible as how the hen roots affects the screaming. What has to be cured is what makes him poor...." (AK, 357) That is, we need to create the conditions in which schools will be of some use, and felt to be of some use by the peasants who are improving their lives. But simply mechanically repeating the word schools, or wasting effort building them and forcing peasants to attend them, is as senseless as Vronskij's hospitals, which are constructed with no thought of the people they are supposed to serve. This is what intellectuals repeatedly do, because their thinking goes from theory to practice, rather than the reverse; because they favour trickle-down rather than trickle-up thinking. In Part 6, when Svijazhskij visits Vronskij and Anna, he praises the hospital, but then, just to show he is not trying to ingratiate himself with Vronskij, offers a criticism: "I wonder, though, C o u n t . . . that while you do so much for the health of the peasants, you take so little interest in the schools." Vronskij replies: "C'est devenu tellement commun les ecoles" [Schools have become so common] (AK, 650-51). It is hard to see why that would be an objection if the purpose of schools were to help the peasants rather than demonstrate the progressiveness of their builders. Tolstoy clearly equates "hospitals" and "schools" as so many mantras of the educated. I find it interesting that university professors are usually able to comprehend


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what is wrong with Vronskij's hospital more easily than they see the difficulty with recommending more money for schools. All of Vojna i mir and Anna Karenina validates Levin's views about the sort of thinking likely to prove useful. Svijazhskij, Sergej Ivanovich, Nikolaj Levin, Stiva, Katavasov: they are all so many types of intellectuals, or people borrowing fashionable current views, who think badly because they underestimate experience, contingency and diversity, and overestimate the power of abstract theory in its most current form. And yet, Levin misses the opportunity to learn a different sort of lesson from Svijazhskij. The warmth of Svijazhskij's life, which is in such contrast to his own sense of emptiness, is itself a riddle, to which we get the answer only in Part 8. As with Svijazhskij, Levin's thinking goes in one direction and his life in the opposite one, and he does not seem to notice the discrepancy. The problem is mat, unlike Svijazhskij, he lets himself be governed by the ideas, which lead him to the brink of suicide, whereas Svijazhskij trusts wisely in the habits of living, regardless of what the ideas suggest. Levin is living well, but when he thinks philosophically about the meaning of life, he can find no answer and is reduced to an obsessive despair. When Levin thought about what he was and what he was living for, he could find no answer to the questions and was reduced to despair, but when he ceased questioning himself about it, it seemed as though he knew both what he was and why he was living, for he acted resolutely and without hesitation. (AK 822)

He knows what he works for on his estate — not for the good of Russia, but for his family, his siblings and his neighbours, the peasant labourers. He justifies it by no appeal to "general principles", but simply because it is "incontestably necessary ... as necessary as eating when one was hungry.... It was impossible not to look after the affairs of Sergej Ivanovich, of his sister, of the peasants who came to him for advice and were accustomed to do so — as impossible as to fling down a child one is carrying in one's a r m s " (AK, 823). If some philosophy were to tell Levin he should neglect his family, or fling down a baby, it would simply refute itself, no matter what the reasoning, which suggests (as Aristotle wrote long ago) the real limitations of theoretical reasoning. What is incontestably necessary is much more certain than what is theoretically flawless. When Levin tries to justify life intellectually, he does appeal to general principles, and finds they all reduce to the absurdity of finite existence in infinite time and space. "In infinite time, in infinite matter, in infinite space, is formed a bubble-organism, and that bubble lasts a while and bursts, and that bubble is I " (AK, 822). What he eventually learns is that the reasoning is sound, but that it is, as he says, "incommensurable with my question. The answer has been given me by life itself", not by any reasoning about it (830). Levin

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Gary Saul Morsoti

finds meaning by giving up the idea that it is a matter of theory, instead of daily, prosaic practice. Or as that great reader of Tolstoy, Wittgenstein, wrote, " T h e solution of the problem of life is seen in the vanishing of the problem. (Is this not the reason why those who have found after a long period of doubt that the sense of life became clear to them have been unable to say what constituted that sense?) There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest." What Levin learns is to trust his habits of living over his habits of thinking. His despair came from theory, and from the trust in theoretical arguments over the practice of living. "It meant that he had been living rightly but thinking wrongly" (AK, 830). The answer he has been seeking was always before his eyes: "I have discovered nothing, I have found out only what I [already] knew" (829). That is, Levin had been led to despair by imagining theory was everything and practice nothing, the very error he had detected in Svijazhskij's thinking. But Levin, who had been careful to avoid this error in his thinking, committed it in the role he allotted to thinking itself. Thinking is for solving problems, not the Problem. In this way, Levin recognizes, he had been led astray by "the pride of intellect" and still more by "the stupidity of intellect. And most of all, the deceitfulness; yes, the deceitfulness of intellect" (831). In this respect, Svijazhskij was more right than Levin all along: because he placed life above all his silly theories. He misunderstood how to think, but he understood correctly the relation of thinking to practice. Svijazhskij never tried to integrate all of life and all of thought into a whole,but Levin had made the impossible demand for unity. For all his loathsomeness, Stiva is entirely correct when he tells Levin he is wrong to want everything to be "of a piece" (AK, 46). The narrator of Otrochestvo [Boyhood] offers a daring paradox: "in m y opinion the incongruity between a man's situation and his mental activity is the surest sign of his sincerity". Of course, w e normally think the reverse, and impugn a person's ideas by pointing out that his life is not in accord with them. But that is to think atemporally. The incongruity may testify to a willingness to explore ideas even if they do not justify one's own behaviour, to a mind in motion, constantly exploring possibilities wherever they may lead. If one sees a person whose ideas perfectly fit his life, that is likely to be because he has chosen his ideas with self-justification and freedom from guilt in mind. That is why Stiva is perfectly consistent: 6

^Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus logico-philosophicus, trans. D. F. Pears and B. F. McGuinness (London: Routledge, 1976): 73. 6

L e v Tolstoy, Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth, trans. Alexandra and Sverre Lyngstad (New York: Washington Square, 1968): 167.


49

The liberal party said that marriage is an institution quite out of date and family life certainly afforded Stepan Arkadyevich very little gratification... The liberal party said ... that religion is only as curb to keep in check the barbarous classes of people; and Stepan Arkadyevich could not get through even a short service without his legs aching from standing up, [etc.] (AK 9-10).

Levin not only finds faith by trusting his daily experiences, he also learns that his daily experiences do not dictate how he should see everything. Even with prosaics at one's disposal, things are not all of a piece. Levin adopts, rather, a form of double vision, which allows him to accept a scientific picture of the world and yet maintain the values that daily experience teaches him. Looking at a beetle in the grass, he realizes that, while it is true as he used to say that "a transformation of matter was going on in accordance with physical, chemical, and physiological l a w s " (AK, 829), no meaning can be derived from that observation; and yet, the physical statement is true nonetheless. Different questions and different demands of life demand different perspectives: Lying on his back, he gazed up now into the high, cloudless sky. "Do I not know that it is infinite space, and that it is not a rounded vault? But however I screw up my eyes and strain my sight, I cannot see it but as round and finite, and in spite of my knowing about infinite space, I am incontestably right when I see a firm blue vault, far more right than when I strain my eyes to see beyond it." (AK 833)

Levin does not become a geocentrist or reject Copernicus because he wants to make his local life the centre of meaningfulness for him. He recognizes the need for multiple views on the world. This is the only "secret" Svijazhskij's life could have taught him: not a formula for tying everything together, but a willingness to live with distinctness; not a magic unity but a tolerance for immense diversity. Let me summarize what Levin learns about the relation of ideas to life: (1) Theory and abstractions perform their role properly when they are seen as tentative generalizations from practice. Their proper role is never to dictate to practice. (2) The real content of a theory lies in the experiences it compactly suggests. The reason Svijazhskij's ideas are empty is that the only experiences they express are the experiences of arguing about theories. (3) Experiences are enormously varied, as are we ourselves; and there is no possibility of making them into a whole without forcing. (4) Therefore we may expect our ideas about different experiences to differ, and our thought will not form a whole. But there is not necessarily any contradiction here, because the ideas themselves are simply shorthand reminders of experiences.

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(5) Different people are bound to have different experiences, their ideas will differ. Thus, Levin finds Christian faith, does not feel that Buddhism, Islam, or Judaism contradicts lief. For dogma is not what constitutes a faith, it is simply pression of it.

and so but he his bethe ex-

(6) Morality is inevitably local, because it becomes terribly simplistic when extended far from one's experiences. It works by concentric circles: we owe our greatest obligations to our families, then to our friends and neighbours, and very little to humanity at large. Theoretically, there may be no reason to value one's child over a child on the other side of the world, but such a monstrous conclusion only indicates the moral shallowness of theory. (7) Brotherhood, to the extent it can be achieved at all, depends on the right ordering of lives close to home. Of course, the theoretical discourse of fraternity tells us the opposite, that brotherhood must encompass all of humanity equally. When one reflects on the actual effects of such thinking in our time, we may come to appreciate that Levin had a point. W e must love our neighbours, not the suffering Slavs or whomever; we must work on our daily habits and those around us if our lives, and theirs, are to be meaningful.

Donna Orwin University of Toronto

TOLSTOY AND PATRIOTISM Ho puu

o6pa30M mozga amom cmatejioeeK [Kymy3oe] ogun, e npomueHocmb MHCHUM ecex, MOZ yzagamb, maK eepno yeagcui mozga 3Haienue KOKUM

napognozo CMuana coGbimiut, imo HU pa3y eo ecm ceoto genmejibHocmb He u3Menuji eMy? HcmoiHUK

amou

HeoGbriaunou

CUJIU

npo3peHun e CMUCJI coeepuiatomuicn /isjieHuu Jiexcaji e moM napognoM tyectnee, Komopoe OH HOCUJI e ce6e eo eceu. tucmome

u cujie ezo.

« B o H H a H MHp», T. 4 , KH. 4, TJ1. 5

Zapiski blokadnogo cheloveka [Blockade diary] Lidija G i n z burg's fictionalized memoirs of life during the siege of Leningrad, opens with a tribute to Vojna i mir [War and peace]. According to Ginzburg, people trapped i n the city read the novel, not to check its reality against theirs, but their own reality against its. "M i H T a i o IUHH r o B o p H J i ce6e: T a K , 3 H a i H T , 3TO a n y B C T B y i o n p a B H J i b H o " [And the reader would say to himself: uh-huh, that's i t , I've got the right feeling about that]. Even i n those extreme conditions, Vojna i mir turned out to be the ultimate word " o M y w e c T B e , o l e j i o B e K e , j i e j i a KHUHM o6mee j i e j i o HapoflHoii BOHHH" [on courage, on man engaged i n the common endeavour of a people's w a r ] . Ginzburg's memoirs appeared i n print only i n 1984 ( i n the journal Neva), but a scholarly 1

[But how did it happen that this old man [Kutuzov], alone, in opposition to the opinion of everyone else, could discern, how could he so truly discern the national meaning of the event that not once in all his activity was he untrue to it? 1 The source of this extraordinary power of penetration into the meaning of what was happening lay in that national feeling which he carried within himself in all its purity and strength.] — War and peace, Vol. 4, Bk 4, Ch. 5. h L. Ja. Ginzburg, Chelovek za pis'mennym stolom (Leningrad, 1989): 517. Unless otherwise indicated, all translations in this essay are mine.

51

Donna Orwin

52

and patriotic companion piece was publis issue of the Red Army journal Zvezda [Star]. " O romane L'va Tolstogo «Vojna i m i r » " [On Tolstoy's novel War and peace] ends with both a call to arms and a direct reference to the special viewpoint of contemporary Soviet readers of Vojna i mir. BbiTb MOHieT, y BftJiHKoro poMaHa He SWJIO H He 6yjj.eT JiyiniHX "WTaTejieH, tew coBeTCKHe JHOAH anoxH OreqecTBeHHOH BOHHW, qeM JHOJIH, KOTopwe nyTeM neHMOBepHoro repoH3Ma, HeHMOBepHOH caMooTBepweHHOCTH npuuiJiH K noHHMaHHio Hfleft: BceHapoflHaa BOJia K n o 6 e a e , BceHapoflHaa HeHaBHCTb K B p a r y , yTBeprnjieHHe H 3amHTa o 6 m e i i

3KH3HH.

[Perhaps there have never been and will never be better readers o f the great novel than Soviet people from the epoch o f the war o f the fatherland, people w h o , by way o f unbelievable heroism, unbelievable self-sacrifice, came to understand the ideas o f the will o f all for victory, the hatred of all f o r the enemy, the confirmation and defence o f life in general.] 2

The soldier w h o sacrifices himself for his country, according to Tolstoy, does so "He n o T O M y , I T O B HeM HeT cefjflJiio6iifl, HO B o n p e K H c B o e M y ce6fljuo6Hio" [not because he lacks self-love, but in spite of his self-love], in the name of what Ginzburg called "oGuiaji >KH3Hb" [life in general]. This "o6m,aji )KH3Hb", first discovered by Tolstoy, unites individuals in a common humanity without denying their individuality. The mature Tolstoy depicted " S e c K O H e i H o MHoroo6pa3Hbie n e j i o B e i e c K H e c o 3 H a H n n KaK H o c m e j i H o 6 u i e r o 6biTHfl" [infinitely varied human consciousnesses as carriers of a common existence] He was therefore especially important for Soviet literature, which had to portray " o r p o M H b i e MaccoBbie ABHweHHfl ... n c i i x o j i o r m o HaponHoii 3

4

BOHHbi H co3HaHHe HOBoro, n p e o n o j i e B U i e r o

HHHHBHnyaJiH3M s e j i o B e -

K a " [enormous mass movements ... the psychology of a people's war and the consciousness of the new man, who has overcome individuali s m ] . Soviet culture, according to Ginzburg, represented the realization of " o 6 u j a i i >KH3Hb", which she equated with Russian national life, the "napojiHafl » < H 3 H b " depicted in Vojna i mir. In " O romane Tolstogo «Vojna i m i r » " , she embraced it all, even the mystical nationalism expressed in Natasha's instinctive ability to perform peasant dances that she had not been taught. 6

^Ginzburg, "O romane L'va Tolstogo «Vojna i mir»", Zvezda, Vol. 1, No 1 (1944): 138. ^Ginzburg, "O romane «Vojna i mir», 137. 4

I am using Judson Rosengrant's translation of this phrase from On Psychological prose (Princeton, New Jersey, USA, 1991).

^Ginzburg, "O romane «Vojna i mir», 126, ^Ginzburg, "O romane «Vojna i mir», 128.

Tolstoy and patriotism

53

Like Ginzburg in 1944, the Tolstoy of Vojna i mir wore his love of country on his sleeve. H e would not always find it so easy, however, to justify such patriotism. In the epilogue to Anna Karenina (Book 8), at the apiary, Levin criticizes Russian involvement in the Serbo-Turkish W a r . «JX& MOH Teopna Ta: BoiiHa, c OAHOH cropoHM, ecn> Tanoe JKHBOTHOC, wecTOKoe H y w a c H o e ae.no, ITO HH OAHH qejioBeK, ne roBopio ywe XpHCTHaHHH, He MOKCT JIH1HO B3«Tb Ha CBOK) OTBeTCTBeH HOCTb HaiaJIO BOHHW, a MoweT TOJibKO npaBHTejibCTBO, KOTopoe npH3BaHO K aTOMy H npHBOflHTca K BOHHe HeH36e>KHO. C apyroft cTopoHbi, H no Hayne H no 3JipaBOMy cMbicjiy, B rocyaapcTBeHHbix a&nax, B OCOSCHHOCTH B aejie BoiiHbi, rpawaaHe OTpeKaiOTCH OT CBoeH JIHIHOH BOJIH». [Well, my t h e o r y is this: war, on the o n e hand, is such a bestial, cruel and h o r r i b l e b u s i n e s s that not one p e r s o n , let a l o n e a Christian, could p e r s o n a l l y t a k e on the responsibility for s t a r t i n g a war. Only the g o v e r n m e n t , w h i c h is c a l l e d into b e i n g for mis v e r y p u r p o s e , and w h i c h is i n e s c a p a b l y led to w a r , c a n do this. On the o t h e r h a n d , a c c o r d i n g to science a n d to c o m m o n sense, in g o v e r n m e n t m a t t e r s , e s p e c i a l l y in the m a t t e r of w a r , c i t i z e n s a b d i c a t e their p e r s o n a l will.] (Chapter 15) 7 OH roBopHJi BMecie c MMxaiuibiqeM H HapoaoM, Bbipa3HBuiHM CBOIO Mbicjib B npeaaHHH o npn3BaHHH BapuroB: «KHH>KHTe H BJiaaeHTe HaMH. MM paaocTHO o6emaeM noJiHyio noKopHocTb. Becb T p y a , Bee yHHH<eHHfl, Bee wepTBbi MU 6epeM Ha ce6a; HO He MM cyaHM H peuiaeM». A Tenepb n a p o a , n o cnoBaM Cepreii HBaHbiqeii, oTpeKajica OT aToro, KynjieHHoro TaKofi aoporofl ijeHOH, npaBa. [He s p o k e t o g e t h e r with Mikhailich [the b e e k e e p e r ] and the folk, who had e x p r e s s e d their t h o u g h t in the l e g e n d of the s u m m o n i n g of the Varangians: "Reign o v e r us and c o m m a n d us. We h a p p i l y p l e d g e c o m p l e t e o b e d i e n c e . All the l a b o u r , all the h u m i l i a t i o n s , all the s a c r i f i c e s we will t a k e on o u r s e l v e s ; but it will not be we who judge and d e c i d e . " And now the folk, according to the Sergej Ivanyches, w o u l d r e n o u n c e this right, b o u g h t at s u c h a d e a r price.] (Chapter 16)

In abbreviated form, Levin is repeating arguments from Vojna i tnir, perhaps borrowed from W . H. Riehl and also from conversations with the Aksakov brothers in the mid-fifties, that rulers exist to keep the people from soiling itself with politics. H e even refers elliptically to theories from the earlier novel about the mysterious and inevitable movements of peoples for which governments exist to take responsibility. What is most striking about this reprise, how8

n

Where I q u o t e f r o m well-known w o r k s of Tolstoy, I will use c h a p t e r n u m b e r s ° , in the case of the s h o r t e r works, leave it to the r e a d e r to find the p a s s a g e . All o t h e r r e f e r e n c e s to Tolstoy's writings will be to the 90-volume Jubilee «aif/on of Tolstoy's works (Moscow, 1928-1958), subsequently i d e n t i f i e d by i t in the text, followed by v o l u m e a n d p a g e n u m b e r . r

Donna Orwin, Tolstoy's art and thought, 1847-1880 ^y, USA, 1993): 233-34.

(Princeton, New Jer-

DonmOrwin

54

ever, is what Tolstoy chooses to leave out. Here no spark ignites the people to defend their brother Slavs; Levin states that nothing can make the narod, as narod, kill. «Hapoa JKepTByer H TOTOB wepTBOBaTb una CBoefi ayum, a He una y6HHCTBa», — npHo'aBHJi OH.

["The narod sacrifices and will sacrifice for its soul, but not for murder", he added.] (Chapter 16)

Tolstoy does not address himself, as he did in Vojna i mir, to the question of w h y individuals and whole peoples run amok. The Russian people are praised rather for insulating themselves from the bestial horrors of war. In Anna Karenina Tolstoy puts his explanations for mass upheavals in the mouth of the Slavophil intellectual Sergej Ivanovich. Sergej Ivanych says that "arithmetic" cannot ascertain the "nyx

Hapoaa" [spirit of the people].

«3TO qyBCTByeTCH B B03ayxe, STO qyBCTByeTOi cepjmeM. He roBopio ywe o Tex noflBOflHbix TeqeHHax, KOTopue flBHHyjiHCb B c r o a q e M Mope Hapofla H KOTopue acHbi una BCHKOTO HenpeaySeiKfleHHoro qejioBeKa; B3i JIHHH Ha oGmecTBO B TCCHOM CMbicJie».

[It can be felt in the air, it can be felt by the heart. I'm not even talking about those submerged currents which have stirred in the becalmed sea of the narod and which are clear to every unprejudiced person; look at society in the narrow sense.] (Chapter 16)

The metaphysical argument advanced in the first four chapters of the first epilogue of Vojna i mir is founded on just such a comparison of peoples and historical forces to oceans. It begins with and then extensively develops the very image employed by Sergej Ivanych of a seemingly calm ocean with submerged currents. IlpouiJio ceMb JieT nocjie 1 2 - r o ro«a. B3BOJiHOBaHHoe HCTopHqecKoe Mope EBponbi ynerjiocb B CBOH Sepera. OHO Ka3ajiocb 3aTHXuiHM; HO TaHHCTBeHHbie CHJiu, ABHraiomHe qejioBeqecTBo (TaHHCTBeHHbie noTOMy, qTO 3aK0Hbi, onpeaejuiiomHe HX aBHweHHe, HeH3BecTHbi Haivi), npoflojiwajiH CBoe aeHCTBHe. HecMOTpH Ha TO, qTO noBepxHOCTb HCTopHqecKoro Mopa Ka3ajiacb HenoflBHHculation about historical forces to " T a c a M a a ropaocrb y i u a , KOTOthe hubris that leads Sergej Ivanych to suppose he and others, however "unprejudiced", could fathom the intentions of Providence. The telling, and killing, word in Sergej Ivanych's speech is "acHbi" [clear] if God's intentions could ever be clear to mankind. A few years later, speaking in his own voice in Ispoved' [A Confession], Tolstoy rejected his former belief in " i d e a l s " that guided humanity as a whole. Theories about the activities of " l e j i O B e i e c T BO" [humanity] could not explain the meaning of the life of each individual: a s

JLia T o r o , iToCbi noHHTb, eMjnomHH O K e a H " [an all-embracing ocean]: 3TO 6e3rpaHHqHoe, HeMoe, HenpeptiBHo crpeMHiueecfl eewib, Ha3BaHHoe BpeMeHeM! HeoTpa3HMO, ONCTpo, MOJiqa HeceTCH OHO, KaK B c e o6T>eMJUom,HH OKeaH, Ha KOTODOM MM H BCH BcejieHHaa ruiaBaeM KaK

HBJieHHfl, KOTOpbie nOKa3MBaK»TCfl — H H3qe3aK)T. [This limitless, dumb, ceaselessly flowing thing called Time! Inexpressibly, quickly, silently it rushes, like an all-embracing ocean, on which we and the whole universe swim as apparitions which show themselves and disappear.] 26

C a r l y l e also cites Fichte as another source of his thought. See Sovremennik (January, 1856), 2:35. Perepiska L. N. Tolstogo s V. P. Botkinym (Moscow, 1923): 85.

5

^Sovremennik (October, 1855), 2:100 (emphasis Botkin's). The language of this passage is reminiscent, of course, of Tjutchev, whose poetry was much admired and promoted by Tolstoy's new friends. Tolstoy himself became acquainted both with Tjutchev's poetry and with him personally at this time. Tjutchev, as Tolstoy recalled in 1904, "oaejiaji eMy qecTb" [did him the hon-

Donna Orwin

64

This specific passage appears in the first chapter of On Heroes, hero-worship, and the heroic in history, which Botkin had p u b lished in translation in the October 1855 Sovremennik. The title alone of Carlyle's book, shortened in Russian to O gerojakh i geroicheskom v istorii, would have been enough to draw Tolstoy's attention. Preoccupied himself with the theme of heroism and familiar with Botkin's reputation, he would have read this translation. He certainly discussed it with friends and with Botkin himself when they met in December. So here, in the two chapters from On Heroes translated by Botkin, in a nutshell, are the ideas — the poets as prime movers in an infinitely developing world — that Tolstoy claims in Ispoved' to have encountered in Petersburg. The theme of Carlyle's first chapter, the one published in October, is paganism, and the hero as divinity. Carlyle poses a question as relevant today as it was in the nineteenth century. How could people in the past believe in religions that strike us today as simple-minded? He vindicates these early people as more open to wonder, and to that extent more profound, than we are. A man's religion, no matter what kind, he says, " e c r b caMoe r n a B H o e , cymecTBeHHoe B HeM" [is the chief fact with regard to him]. 27

Ilofl CJIOBOM «pejiHrHH» pa3yMeio a 3,necb He oflHy uepKOBb, — MM BHflHM JHOfleH BCflKHX BepOHCnOBeflaHHH, KOTOpbie CTOHT Ha BCeX B03M0HC-

Hbix cryneHflx flocroHHCTBa, — nofl CJIOBOM pejmrHfl pa3yMeio a eme H TO, ITO qejioBeK HCKpeHHo H npaKmuuecKU npMHMMaeT K cepauy, Kan HenpejioiKHyio jjocTOBepHOCTb, Kan HeonpoBepwHMyio HCTHHy B CBOHX OTHOUieHHHX K 3T0My TaHHCTBeHHOMy uejioMy — KO BCejieHHOH, K CBoeMy flojiry, K CBoeMy Ha3HaqeHHio B MHpe.

[By the word "religion" I understand here not just the church — one sees people of every faith of every degree of worth — by the word religion I also understand that which a person sincerely and practically takes to heart, as unalterable authenticity, as irrefutable truth in his relations to this mysterious whole — to the universe, to his duty, to his meaning in the world.] 28

our] of calling on him first as the writer of the Sevastopol sketches. Tolstoy was struck at Tjutchev's appreciation of the subtleties of Russian in the story. See Gusev, 13. Despite his abandonment of German idealism, Tolstoy was a life-long devotee of Tjutchev's poetry. As Botkin changed the title, so did he loosely translate the chapter and change passages, sometimes in deference to the censor, but also perhaps to make Carlyle's arguments more relevant to the Russian situation. I therefore translate Carlyle's text back from Botkin's Russian when necessary. Where Carlyle's text differs markedly from Botkin's translation, I will include the original in a footnote.

27

^Sovremennik (October, 1855), 2:95, emphasis Botkin's. Carlyle's original is quite different in this place. "By religion I do not mean here the church-creed which he professes, the articles of faith which he will sign, and, in words or

2


65

Actions flow from thoughts, thoughts from feelings, feelings from religion understood in the broad sense elaborated above: so an individual's relation to the "Unseen W o r l d " determines everything else. Paganism in all its forms represented for Carlyle the first penetrations of the "Unseen World" behind nature. Everything — nature, time, the universe and mankind itself — presents itself to the pagan rnind as forces [CHJIM] that move and develop mysteriously. At bottom everything is "co3jiaHHe BceMorymero Bora" [the creation of an All-powerful G o d ] . ^ In the hero the pagans worshipped the Godlike in man. As an example Carlyle discusses Odin, whom he assumes originally to have been a hero: 2

...BejiHKan, rJiyooKa* ayiua, KHnaiuaa 3HTy3Ha3M0M, nojiHaa HeoaojiHMUX BHyTpeHHHX CTD6MJieHHHJ OH He 3HaeT CaM OTKyfla 3T0T nOTOK, OH 6ecnpecTaHHO 3araflKa jum caMoro ce6a, OH JIJIJI caMoro ce6« He-

ITO B poae ywaca H ?y,na. [a great deep soul, bubbling with enthusiasm, full of internal impulses; he does not know himself whence this stream. He is constantly a mystery to himself, he is something in the nature of a horror and marvel for himself.] 30

His new friends saw Tolstoy himself as just such a "BejiHKaa, rjiySoKaa ay in a" [deep, great soul]. From them, Tolstoy learned about the "Unseen W o r l d " which would at last tie the heights and the depths of his wartime experience together. Crucial to his acceptance of it, and something he left out in recounting it many years later, was its religious and moral colouring. It is no accident that Carlyle was a favourite author of Tolstoy in his last y e a r s . The same Victorian obsession with virtue that appealed to Tolstoy then would have attracted him in On Heroes. At the same time, Carlyle's Norsemen resemble Slavs. (According to one of Carlyle's 31

otherwise, assert; not this wholly, in many cases not this at all. We see men of all kinds of professed creeds attain to almost all degrees of worth or worthlessness under each or any of them. This is not what I call religion, this profession and assertion; which is often only a profession and assertion from the outworks of the man, from the mere argumentative region of him, if even so deep as that. But the thing a man does practically believe (and this is often enough without asserting it even to himself, much less to others); the thing a man does practically lay to heart, and know for certain, concerning his vital relations to the mysterious Universe, and his duty and destiny there, that is in all cases the primary thing for him, and creatively determines all the rest." Botkin then omits a sentence about scepticism as itself a possible relation to the "Unseen World". Sovremennik,

2:101.

°Sovretnennik,

2:113.

9

There are many quotations from Carlyle in the daily readers that Tolstoy compiled from 1904 to 1908.

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66

sources, they may have come from a Black Sea t r i b e . ) Like Russian soldiers as Tolstoy presents them in his war stories, the Norsemen's defining characteristics were " K a R a a - T o cepaeHHaji aoCpocoBecTHOCTb, HcyKJiiOiKafl CHJia, Kanaji-TO B e j i M K a n , rpySaa HCKpeHHOCTb" [a certain heartfelt conscientiousness, an awkward strength, a certain great rude a u t h e n t i c i t y ] . These qualities informed their myths and made valour [xpaGpocTb] their principle passion, associated, as in Tolstoy, with fire. Their chiefs, when dying, had themselves placed in ships to be burned at s e a . Tolstoy wasted no time incorporating lessons gleaned from Botkin's translation into Sevastopol' v avguste. Like Carlyle's Norsemen, his Russian officers combine rude physical strength with spirituality, mostly in the form of courage. The "Unseen W o r l d " of German idealism makes its first appearance in this text and in Tolstoy's fiction as a whole in that allegorical spark that Strakhov discerned hidden in Tolstoy's officers. Tolstoy had been present at the capitulation of Sevastopol, and had written an official report of it for General N. A. Kryzhanovskij. As a result Sevastopol' v avguste is factual to an unusual degree. * The story is also realistic in another, typically Tolstoyan way: settings, action and characters are all rendered concretely. The realism of the story is almost exaggerated, as Tolstoy for the first time self-consciously sought to portray the spiritual incarnated in the physical world. It is no accident that the reference to the spark in each soul comes at the end and in justification of a drunken brawl over cards. The same physical energy that flares up chaotically in the bunker will "illuminate great deeds". The co-heroes of the story are examples of the relation of physical to spiritual energy. The long description of the older brother Mikhail in the first chapter stresses his sturdy build, his good looks, small " i n s o l e n t " [ H a r j i b i e ] eyes, his thick moustaches; while 17-year-old Volodja, bubbling with unself-conscious energy, is a naive version of his older brother (Chapter 6). The brothers' last name, Kozel'tsov, with its reference to goats, discreetly underscores their animal spirits. Volodja resembles Ensign Alanin in Nabeg. Mikhail, although he is an officer's version of the "desperate" [oTiaflHHbiH] type described in Rubka lesa, does not descend from any one character in earlier stories. Tolstoy seems deliberately to contrast Mikhail with the mediocre Mikhajlov of Sevastopol' v mae. 32

33

34

3

Sovremennik

il

(October, 1855), 2:112.

^Sovremennik,

2:108.

^Sovremennik,

2:117.

3

5

^ V . I. Sreznevskij gives details in JE, 393-94.


67

Ero naTypa 6wjia aoBOJibHO 6oraTa; OH 6MJI H e n i y n H BMecTe c Teiu TaJiaHTJiHB, xopouio neji, Hrpaji Ha rHTape, roBopHJi oqeHb 6OHKO H nHceui BecbMa JierKO, ocooeHHo Ka3eHHbie 6yMarH, Ha KOTopue Ha6HJi pyny B C B O B SbiTHOCTb nojiKOBWM ajruoTaHTOM; HO 6ojiee Bcero 3aMeqaTejibHa GbiJia ero HaTypa caMOJiio6HBOH aHeprHefi, KOTopaa, XOTH H SbiJia oojiee B c e r o ocHOBaHa Ha STOH MCTIKOH .napoBHTOCTH, SbiJia c a Ma n o ce6e qepTa pe3Ka« H nopa3HTejibHan. [His nature was quite rich; he was not stupid and was talented besides, he sang well, played the guitar, spoke with great verve and wrote very fluidly, especially official papers at which he became a practised hand during his stint as regimental adjutant; but most remarkable in him was his proud energy which, although it was most of all based on this minor giftedness was itself a sharp and striking feature.] (Chapter 1) Mikhail Kozel'tsov, as befits a Carlylian hero, is a poet: h e sings, plays the guitar and writes well. His superiority, of which he himself and others are aware, makes h i m a natural leader: "OH j i e jiaji B e e , I T O einy x o T e j i o c b , a apyrne vac .nejiajiH TO xie caivioe H SMJIH y B e p e n w , HTO STO SMJIO x o p o u i o " [he did everything he want-

ed, and others did the same things and were convinced that it was good]. H e lives for glory as the proper fulfilment of that " c a M O J i i o OHBafl 3HeprHa" which is his most salient feature. The suggestion is that Mikhail's nature is all of a piece, spun o u t of a physical strength infused with spirit from that musical, poetic "Unseen World" of which Tolstoy had recently become aware. Like one of Carlyle's Norsemen, Mikhail dies happily in battle with " H e B b i pa3HMMH B o c T o p r

c:o3HaHHH T o r o , I T O OH caejiaji

repoHCKoe

jiejio"

[the inexpressible j o y of the consciousness that h e had behaved heroically] (Chapter 25). At the same time, Mikhail's deepest personal satisfaction as he lies dying is " I T O OH HcnojiHHji CBOH .nojir, HTO B nepBMH p a 3 3 a BCK» CBOK) cjiywGy OH n o c T y n m i TaK x o p o u i o , KAK r o j i b K o MO>KHO SHJIO, H

HH B qeM He MOJKCT y n p e K H y T b cdoa" [that he had fulfilled his duty, that for the first time in all his service he had acted as well as possible and had nothing to reproach himself for]. His sense of duty presumably comes from the same "Angel-Comforter" sent b y God to bring " T e p n e H H e , HyBCTBO a o j i r a H OTpajiy HafleiKflbi" [patience, a feeling of duty and the joy of hope] (Chapter 14) to give courage to Volodja Kozel'tsov. But duty in Sevastopol' v avguste is anchored in a patriotism that requires more than self-satisfaction for fulfilment. Mikhail dies joyfully because of his mistaken perception that the French have been repelled, in part by his efforts, from the bastion. He fulfils himself as one part of the Russian army, which Tolstoy for the first time, in the closing lines of the story, compares to an °cean current. This image resonates with those lines, quoted above, from the first chapter of On Heroes, in which time, the natural force

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behind history, is embodied as an o c e a n . According to Carlyle, each "Hapofl" [people], like each individual, through its "religion", understood in the broad Carlylian sense, is part of the "mysterious w h o l e " which underlies external reality. ^ As such, it participates in history as a kind of force or current in its own right. And each person is connected to the "mysterious w h o l e " directly and indirectly as well, through his membership in a people. If each individual is spiritually joined to and ultimately defined by a nation that itself exists as a metaphysical force, then duty, service to the nation, even if it seems to contradict the interests or the morality of the individual, makes psychological sense. Just as in Carlyle, a poetic "Unseen W o r l d " embodied in primal images of fire and water underlies the sternly prosaic details of Tolstoy's text. As in Carlyle, the complexion of this "Unseen W o r l d " is religious and moral, the source of duty as well as of personal courage and vitality. Drawing on Carlyle, in Mikhail Kozel'tsov for the first time Tolstoy combined the energetic self-loving man with the man of duty. Because of the Russian context, and because of Botkin's translation, there is more of a stress on the people, the narod, than in Carlyle, but as in Carlyle, the people are understood as a religious entity, bound together by an idea as well as by blood. Newly under the spell of Carlyle, in Mikhail Kozel'tsov Tolstoy for once created a natural leader w h o m he did not debunk. In this sense, Kozel'tsov is a predecessor not only of Denisov but of Kutuzov as w e l l . Even in Sevastopol v avguste, however, Tolstoy draws his hero from the line 36

3

38

•^Tolstoy's comparison of the troops to an ocean was added after the Sovremennik version of the story, which ended with the lines "«H3BecTH0, 6yaeT!» — CKa3aji jipyroH c y6eHyieHHeM" ("There sure will!" said another with conviction] The rest of the story appeared only in the May 1856 edition of Tolstoy's collected war stories, at a time when Tolstoy was already very close to Botkin. See Sreznevskij's account of the complicated history of Sevastopol' v avguste (JE, 4:395-%). 3

^ " 3 T O paBHO OTHOCHTCH, KaK K KaiKflOMy qeJioBeKey OTflwibHO, Tan H K ueJIOH HauHH, K H a p o j i y " [This is true as well of each individual person as of

the whole nation, the people]. Sovremennik (October, 1855), 2.:95.

T h e great Soviet critic A. Skaftymov has shown that, far from being merely passive, Kutuzov actively leads his troops in accordance with his privileged understanding of the real meaning of the war. See his "Obraz Kutuzova i filosofija istorii v romane L. Tolstogo «Vojna i mir»", in Skaftymov, Nravstvennye iskanija russkikh pisatelej (Moscow, 1972): 182-217. Skaftymov suggests that Tolstoy's idea of the leader came from Hegel, with whom he polemirizes in his novel. A more likely source is Carlyle, whose leaders are conceived as bound by moral law while Hegel's are not. Kutuzov alone understands that "HapoflHoe qyBCTBc" [national feeling] underlies the events of 1812, because as a Carlylian hero he alone "carries [it] within himself in all its purity and strength" (Vol. 4, Bk 4, Ch. 5).

38


69

officers on the front rather than the general's staff. He suggests, typically, that all of us, from generals on down, can behave heroically at the right moment. Tolstoy's individualism, his democratic tendencies and his consequent ultimate rejection of Carlylian hierarchies eventually moved him closer to Ralph Waldo Emerson, the Carlyle of the New World, than to Carlyle himself. Tolstoy knew about Emerson in the 1850s, but may not have read him until much later. ^ In 1884 he did read Emerson and singled out the essay Self-reliance for special praise. Tolstoy recognized the kinship of Emerson's Transcendental philosophy to the German idealism of the "people of the 1840s" who had influenced him in his youth. Interpreting the philosopher through his writing, Tolstoy commented that "3MepcoH CHJibHbiii l e j i o B e n , HO c j i y p b i o j u o a e f t 40-x r o ^ o B " [Emerson is a strong man, but with the foolishness of the people of the 1840s] (JE, 49:94). Both in Carlyle and again in Emerson's Transcendentalism, Tolstoy was attracted to the Kantian defence of individual moral freedom while rejecting a belief in an "Unseen World". In the 1850s, the Carlylian vision of the "Unseen W o r l d " functioned for Tolstoy as a natural religion that allowed him to broaden his focus from the individual to the nation. He thereby found a theoretical justification for a love of country that reached its peak during the Crimean War. As critics from Viktor Shklovsky to Kathryn Feuer have maintained, there is a strong emotional link between Tolstoy's wounded patriotic feelings at Sevastopol, and Vojna i mir, 3

O n March 24,1858, Tolstoy made a note in his diary of two essays of Emerson (on Goethe and Shakespeare) in German translation, mentioned in a German journal (Literarisches Zentralblatt, 1858, No 11 [13 March]: 48:11). George Motolanez claims to have found proof in unpublished letters that Botkin knew Emerson's essays (Botkin as literary critic, 25-29). Motolanez (165) also contends that Son [Dream], a highly allegorical fragment written by Tolstoy in the late 1850s, was influenced by Emerson's essay The Poet. Motolanez's arguments are confusing, and I have been unable to find decisive evidence that Tolstoy actually read Emerson in the 1850s. Galina Alekseeva, Head of the Research Section of the Tolstoy Museum at Jasnaja Poljana, has informed me that the relevant issue of Literarisches Zentralblatt is not in Tolstoy's library. The library does contain an edition of Emerson's Representative men published in Germany in 1856 (R. W. Emerson, Representative men: Seven lectures [Leipzig: Alphons Durr, 1856], Vol. 22 of Diirr's collection of standard American authors, edited by William E. Drugulin). Although the pages of Representative men are cut, there is no other indication that Tolstoy might have read the essays on Goethe and Shakespeare. We also do not know when Tolstoy actually acquired this book.

y

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DonmOrwin

in which the Russians defeat a foreign e n e m y . Revised and greatly expanded, the ideas that finally ground and validate patriotism in Sevastopol' v avguste become the theory about historical forces and the relations of nations to them in Vojna i mir. In that novel, characters are portrayed both as individuals, and as citizens or soldiers w h o m a y d o things contrary to their individual interests or even morality. In Ispoved", by contrast, Tolstoy wrote that one can40

not define the individual in terms of a "TaHHCTBeHHoe

lejioBeiecTBo,

c o c T O f l u i e e H3 T&KHX w e j n o A e H , KUK H OH c a M , He n o H H M a i o m H x c a -

MHX c e 6 a " [mysterious humanity, made up of people like himself, who didn't understand themselves] (Chapter 4). When, in Chapter 12 of Ispoved', he turned to the Russian people for guidance, he approached them not as a unique spiritual entity, but as " n p o c T o f i T p y AOBOH H a p o j x " [the simple working people] who happened to be at hand. By the time he wrote Tsarstvo Bozhie vnutri vas [The Kingdom of God is within you] (1890-93), he stated outright his belief that patriotism was impossible. (It spread self-love too thin — see JE, 28:82.) He could no longer look for self-understanding or morality to any human entity, be it a nation or all humanity, larger than the individual human soul.

"See Shklovskij, Mater'ial i stil' v romane L'va Tolstogo *Vojna i mir» (Moscow, 1928) and Feuer, Tolstoy and the Genesis of War and peace (upcoming from Cornell University Press, autumn 19%).

Gary R. Jahn University of Minnesota

BROTHER OR OTHER: TOLSTOY'S EQUIVOCAL SURRENDER TO THE CONCEPT OF BROTHERHOOD Bu na cnoeax nporweegyeme Jiioffoeb, HO ec/iu pa3oSpamb mo, imo eumexaem U3 earned Jix>b~eu, mo euxogum coeceM gpyzoe. «XoflHTe B CBere, ncwa cBeT ecTb»

Lev Tolstoy was, already in childhood, fascinated with the concept of brotherhood, and even more fascinated with the warm feelings of closeness and acceptance associated with it. I a m sure that I will be neither the first nor the only speaker at this conference to recall the old Tolstoy's reminiscence of the game of "Ant Brotherhood" which he and his brothers played when they were children: MM jjawe VCTDOHJIH nrpy B MypaBeHHbie S p a T b a , KOTopaH cocTOHJia B TOM, ITO caAHJiHCb n o a CTyjibfl, 3aropa>KHBajiH HX muHKaMH, 3aBeuiHBajiH njiaTKaMH. H CH«ejiH TaM B TeMHOTe, npHWHMaacb j i p y r K a p y ry. R, noMHio, HcnbiTMBaji oco6eHHoe lyBCTBO JUOSBH H yMHJieHHH H

oqeHb JIIO6HJI 3 T y Hrpy. (Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh, 14:466)

1

This, for Tolstoy, seems to epitomize the true and full meaning of "brotherhood". Yet the warmth and fellowship of this emotional, actionless, huddling in the well-surrounded and fully protected darkness of the circled furniture long eluded the younger Tolstoy. It is commonly thought, however, that the old Tolstoy could look back upon his crisis of the 1870s as a watershed out of which flowed the wisdom of life in abundance, including a firm grasp upon the sentiment and significance of the brotherhood of all people. The picture

Two editions of Tolstoy's works were consulted in the preparation of this paper. Citations from them are identified in the text using the following abbreviaions, followed by volume and page number: Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh = L. N. Tolstoy, Sobranie sochinenij v dvadtsati tomakh (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1960-65). JE [for Jubilee Edition] = L. N. Tolstoy, Polnoe sobranie sochinenij i pisem v 90-kh tomakh (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1928-58).

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that has become characteristic in Tolstoy studies is of the old Tolstoy finally able to seize and enjoy the sense of fraternal solidarity with all the world which he had longed for and played at as a child, but which he had been unable to secure, or even fully to imagine or represent in art, during the years prior to his "conversion". The theme "Tolstoy and brotherhood" is one which can be addressed from the perspective of virtually any point within Tolstoy's long and productive career and in the context of almost any of the many literary forms to which he turned his hand. I propose to deal with this theme in a fairly broad context. I will refer to works both early and late, both fictional and not. I will, however, be found to be in disagreement with the idea, expressed and encouraged by Tolstoy himself, that as an old man he had come finally and contentedly to the concept of brotherhood, and that his earlier discomforts and incapacities with respect to this concept had been fully overcome. My contention will be that there is in Tolstoy's, including the old Tolstoy's, reflections on brotherhood, as in so many subjects of concern to him, a deeply rooted sense of uncertainty and equivocation and a difficulty with accepting even the most obvious truisms without qualification, either expressed or implied. I would like to explore the theme of brotherhood in Tolstoy as emblematic (or, perhaps, symptomatic) of an inability to be fully at home and at ease in any single camp or with any single concept. For Tolstoy there seems always to be an "other side", the consciousness of which makes it extraordinarily difficult for him to be at peace on "this side". This is expressly true of the younger Tolstoy, and I would contend that ambiguity and uncertainty, even with respect to his most cherished ideals, is a characteristic which persists in Tolstoy throughout his career. In the writings of the old Tolstoy, however, his diffidence with respect to the theme of brotherhood appears indirectly and 2

3

2

3

I n h i s Vospominanija Tolstoy d i v i d e d his life into f o u r p e r i o d s . Of t h e final p e r i o d (that of his life f o l l o w i n g his " c r i s i s " ) he w r o t e : M, HaKOHen, qeTBepTHH, 20-JICTHHH nepHO/J, B KOTOPOM a m.my Tenepb H B KOTOPOM Hajjeiocb yMepeTb H c TOHKH 3peHHa KOToporo a BHwy Bee 3HaieHHe npouiefluiefi >KH3HH H KOToporo a HH B qeM He wejiaji 6bi H3MeHHTb, KpoMe KaK B Tex npHBbiiKax 3Jia, KOTopbie ycBoeHbi MHOIO B npomejiiHHe nepHOflbi (Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh, 14:416).

W e may recall Tolstoy's famous discussion of free will and determinism in the second epilogue to Vojna i mir [War and peace] w i t h its continual shifting back and f o r t h f r o m t h e position of t h e d e t e r m i n i s t to t h a t of t h e advocate of free will, which "constituted the other side of t h e q u e s t i o n " (Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh, 7:364). The c o n c e p t i o n of Tolstoy as a permanently divided p e r s o n a l ity, c e n t r a l to the p r e s e n t p a p e r , is in close g e n e r a l a g r e e m e n t w i t h t h e main thesis of Richard Gustafson's Leo Tolstoy. Resident and stranger (Princeton, New Jersey, USA: Princeton University Press, 1986).

Brother or other

73

implicitly/ and is even directly at odds with his whole-hearted, frequently expressed, and unqualified support for that concept. Tolstoy was primarily a binary thinker. Like Immanuel Kant, whose wisdom he greatly admired, Tolstoy seems to have been fascinated with antinomies. In Tolstoy this fascination takes the form of thinking in contrastive pairs. One thinks of such Tolstoyan combinations as "freedom and determinism", "consciousness and reason", "the spiritual self and the physical self". On a more concrete level one remembers the elder and the younger Turbin of Dva gusara [Two hussars], Levin's story and Anna's story in Anna Karenina, Dva starika [Two old men], or even Vojna i mir [War and peace]. One of the most persistent of these pairs in Tolstoy's work is that of "the self and the other". This theme figures prominently in nearly all of Tolstoy's major writings, both early and late. In Vojna i mir, Andrej Bolkonskij, the individual, seeks a way in which he can produce a notable effect on history — the 'other' construed as humanity in the mass. In Anna Karenina the heroine finds herself as an individual irreconcilably at odds with those in her social circle, the other construed as family, friends, acquaintances. The eponymous hero of Smert' Ivana ll'icha [The Death of Ivan ll'ich] faces above all the trauma and suffering of finding himself, because of his terminal condition, an individual estranged from the family and profession to which he had devoted himself. In this paper I will examine the theme of brotherhood as one of the many ways in which Tolstoy tried to address the persistent and vexing questions of the isolation of the self and the relationship of the self to the other. I will construe "brotherhood" as a strategy whereby Tolstoy sought to valorize, and thereby find himself able to accept, the surrender of the self to the other which he came increasingly in his later period to believe to be required for right living. At the same time, as I will attempt to show, Tolstoy seemed unable fully to accept that complete renunciation of self which seemed to him to be the crucial enabler of brotherhood. That is, I will try to show that even in the midst of his most total submission to the ideals of brotherhood and the well-being of the other there remains a secret commitment to the individual and the independence of the self. I will lay out the rationale for Tolstoy's concept of brotherhood, indicating its background in the work of the younger Tolstoy and tracing its development into one of the two pillars of his later thought in the 1870s (especially in Ispoved' [A Confession]) and 4

He chose Kant's "starry sky above us and moral law within u s " as one of the three epigraphs to his treatise O zhizni [On Life]. The other two epigraphs to that work are from Pascal and from St John's Gospel.

GaryR. John

74

l a t e r . Then I will turn to an examination of particular instantiations of this concept in a variety of works by the old Tolstoy. I will refer to some of his Narodnye rasskazy [Stories for the people], to his long essay Tak chto zhe nam delat'l [What then must we do?], to his monograph O zhizni, to his unpublished historical novel Khodite v svete, poka svet est' [Walk in the light, while there is light] and to his short novels Smert' Ivana Il'icha and Khozjain i rabotnik [Master and man]. M y thesis will be that Tolstoy's conception of brotherhood was realized in one of two ways: either "brotherhood" is presented in the context of a loss or sacrifice of the valueless material self in favour of the priceless spiritual self, or its representative is shown as completely self-reliant, as committed to brotherhood but not dependent upon it. I see both of these strategies as suggestive of the conclusion that Tolstoy was unable, even in the full and final grip of his Christian convictions, to turn aside from his lifelong habit of being able to see, analyse, and appreciate "the other side of the question". 5

The concept of brotherhood is one answer to the general question of "what is the relation between me and others like m y s e l f ? " , and it is clear that Tolstoy was from his earliest works concerned with this question. It is a leading theme in the so-called autobiographical trilogy, attaining its most obvious expression, perhaps, in Otrochestvo [Boyhood], in that passage wherein the young hero attempts to come to terms with various philosophical conceptions of the relation between himself and the world around him. This includes, of course, his experiment, while in the throes of a fascination with absolute idealism, to whirl suddenly and rapidly around in an attempt to catch "le néant" by surprise, there where he wasn't looking. In Junost' [Youth] the theme is continued as the young hero, urged on by his auntie, seeks to cultivate those habits of mind and person which will make him fit neatly into the society of his peers. At the same time, there is a ubiquitous sense of unease with others, a failure to understand or fit in with the other, a debilitating and embarrassing consciousness of self. The device of ostranenie, which Tolstoy uses to such telling effect in these works to ridicule conventional behaviour, is also an emblem of the sense of the failure to belong: a sign of the unease and confusion of the self in the company of the other. 6

In Otrochestvo the child hero deals with the concept of the complete isolation of the self; in Junost' with the conforming of the self to the model/pattern established by the surrounding society, the 5ln Ispoved' Tolstoy posits the existence of a creator God as the axiom of his faith and the logically consequent fraternal union of all creatures as its primary corollary. ^This is the third of Tolstoy's three basic "religious" questions as presented in the essay Chto takoe religija, i v chem sushchnost' ee and elsewhere.

Brother or other

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other. Kazaki [The Cossacks], Tolstoy's chef d'œuvre of the early period, can be seen as the culmination of his literary reflections of [he 1850s. The hero, Olenin, is not far off from being the hero of funost', having succeeded in becoming a paragon of comme il faut, one who has enjoyed many, already too many, "liaisons avec une femme ie qualité". H e has secured a prominent and pleasurable place within the society around h i m , but he is not satisfied with this, he is even repelled by it; he feels that he does not belong, that love has eluded him. A friend tells him mat he has never loved and that he doesn't know what love is; he replies: «He JUO6HJI! ^ a , npaBfla, He JHO6HJI. fla ecTb we BO MHe weJiaHHe jiioGHTb, CHJibHee KOToporo Hejib3g HMeTb mejiaHbfl! JJa onuTb, e e r b jiH Tanaa jiK>6oBb? Bee ocraeTCJi ITO-TO HeôKOHieHHoe. Hy, n& qTO roBopHTb! HanyTaji, Hanyiaji « c e 6 e B IKH3HH». (Sobr. soch. v 20-i to-

makh, 3:164)

At the same time, his freedom and strength as an individual are as complete as they can be: ...OjieHHH 6biJi Tan CBOôofleH, KaK TOJibKO 6biBajiM CBoSoflHM pyccKHe 6oraTbie MOJioawe JUOAH copoKOBbix roaoB, c MOJIOAHX JieT o c r a B uiHecH 6e3 poflHTeJiefl. J\n* Hero He 6biJio HHKaKHX HH <J>H3HqecKHX, HH MopajibHbix OKOB; OH Bee Mor cuejiaTb, H HHqero eMy He HywHO

6bi.no, H H M qTO e r o He aiHm.majio. (Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh, 3:167)

This complete freedom, however, is associated with a lack of genuine connection to the social framework in which he lives. H e may fit, but he doesn't belong. He has "neither family, nor fatherland, nor faith, nor need of anything" (Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh, 3:167). He has decided that there is no such thing as love. By going to live among the Cossacks, Olenin hopes to find a place for himself to belong and a group (a formally established brotherhood) to be part of. He finally achieves his moment of belonging in the lair of a deer [ o j i e H b ] — a moment of satisfaction in which he fully becomes himself by becoming part of everything else. In this situation Olenin as an individual is neither a dominant nor even a central force; rather he seems to merge with his namesake — the deer — and becomes no more than food for the insects who feast upon his blood. This is a moment of the loss or sacrifice of the individual self, as well as a moment of triumph. The moment is one of epiphanic power and significance, but it passes, leaving Olenin to try to reimpose himself as an individual p o n it, to discover h o w he may render the moment permanent and bring it under his control. He seeks the implications of his moment of total belonging for his life among the Cossacks; he wishes to reason his way to an equivalent state of social belonging. However, his efforts (he is moved to give his horse as a present to Lukashka) produce only suspicion and an increased distance between himself and those around him. u

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Olenin's experience suggests that there is a distinction between being and doing. The time in the deer's lair is a time of being; Olenin's efforts to determine what he should do to maintain that sense of belonging, however, produces only a diminution of the feelings he had experienced. He desires to belong, but he is unable to be content simply to be a part; he needs to somehow exert himself separately from that of which he would be a part. This can be seen as a desire to unite with the other competing with a fear of losing the self (metaphorically, the loss of the individual's own life's blood) which appears to be entailed in this union. In the end, Olenin departs from the Cossack village much as he had left the city in the beginning of the novel. He had remained a stranger in a strange land, and his presence there will be soon forgotten. There is a fitness to his "education" among the Cossacks having been entrusted to Eroshka, who is himself an outsider in their world. The significance of Kazaki for this enquiry is its representation of the mutual exclusivity of the " f r e e " state and the "belonging" state, of the inherent, ineluctable nature of the tension between the self and the other. Vojna i mir continues Tolstoy's investigation of the theme of self and other, primarily in its presentation of the fates of two of the principal characters, Andrej Bolkonskij and Pierre Bezukhov. We may understand both of these characters as attempting to find a place for themselves in the world around them. Andrej Bolkonskij wants not merely a place in the world, but a position of significance and power. He does not seek to lose himself in the world, but to find himself in it. He chooses the path of standing apart from the world in the belief that he can come to control or dominate it. His entire presentation in the novel is based upon this. His pride, his conscious search for fame and glory, his association with powerful leaders — first Kutuzov and later Speranskij, his admiration for Napoleon, all suggest that his prime motivation is to assert himself above his surroundings. Andrej's path through the novel carries him ultimately toward death, and in the end, discouraged by repeated disappointment, he embraces it. His death is associated with, even perhaps enabled by, the concept of an abstract and universal brotherhood. Andrej's concept of brotherhood entails the loss of self and of individual desire, and the achievement of this loss is shown to be equivalent to death. And yet, even here, death is not an absolute cessation; for the indomitable Andrej it is also an opportunity. It is both a door to somewhere else and an awakening to a new day. Brotherhood entails closure, but even at the very end the individual is unwilling to be submerged and may yet dream of a new field for its activity. Pierre Bezukhov's search for a proper place in the world begins with the effort to secure his "legitimacy", making of this character

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practically a realized metaphor for the theme of the search for the proper relationship of the self and the other. His friendship with Bazdeev presents an opportunity for uniting himself with the "brotherhood" of Freemasons. But here again w e encounter the familiar pattern. From the beginning Pierre experiences discomfort in the presence of the brothers: discomfort with the rituals, discomfort with the company he is forced to keep. His efforts within the brotherhood are marred by the ineffectiveness and deceit of those around him, and his Masonry eventually degenerates into the weird and mystical calculations which prove that he, le russe Besuhov, is the one and only unique individual destined to rid the world of the anti-Christ. What began as the quest for brotherhood ends in the discovery of radical solipsism. It is probably not irrelevant that his only companion in this phase is the insane brother of his mentor Bazdeev. From Karataev, his "little brother" [SpaTeu, TM MOH] in captivity, Pierre learns that true wisdom entails the loss of individuality: [IIjiaTOH KapaTaeB] He noHHMaji H He Mor noHflTb 3HaieHHH CJIOB, OTn;e.ni>HO B3HTbix H3 pe<w. Kanmoe CJ10BO e r o H Kawjjoe fleflcTBHe GbiJio npoHBJieHHeM HeH3BecrHOH eMy aeHTejibHOCTH, KOTopaa SbiJia e r o wH3Hb. Ho i n M e r o , KaK OH caM CMOTpeji Ha Hee, He HMejia CMHCJia KaK oTflejibHax MH3Hb. Ona HMejia cMbicn TOJibKO KaK qacTHua u e j i o r o , KOTopoe OH nocTOHHHO qyBCTBOBaji. {Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh,

7:60) But in the end Pierre returns again to the promotion of his own schemes, the exertion of himself as individual to bring about the realization of his o w n agenda. His parHcipation in the meetings of the pre-Decembrist secret societies, still another instantiation of brotherhood, in the First epilogue is suggested to be at the cost of the wisdom and example shown him by Karataev. In answer to Natasha's question about what Karataev would have thought of Pierre's current political activity, Pierre first says that Karataev would not have understood it, b u t finally admits that h e would not have approved it, either (Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh, 7:327-28). Both Pierre and Prince Andrej seek a consciousness of their proper place in the world around them, a sense of position and belonging in the world. But both are ultimately kept from enjoying this union by the strength of their individuality and by the apparent presumption that union and individuality are mutually exclusive of one another. Andrej and Pierre cannot be content with "that consciousness of the whole of which he was a part" which is the hallmark of Karataev. Both require that the whole be somehow apart from them, addressable by them, shapable by them and by their independent action. It is interesting to see that the concept of brotherhood can be directly invoked as part of the discussion of Vojna i mir (Pierre's joining of the "brotherhood" of the Freemasons, Andrej's decision to embrace

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the concept of universal brotherhood on his deathbed). But strangely enough, brotherhood leads not to belonging but to isolation (Pierre's mystical calculations; Andrej's death). The more completely these characters accept the concept, the less are they able to be a part of the world around them. It is not that it is impossible to find the union of brotherhood, but rather that the price of that union, the loss of one's individual self, is dreadfully high. The character of Konstantin Levin in Anna Karenina faces the same sort of difficulty. Levin likes to see himself as a ruggedly independent individualist, even as an eccentric, but his fate in the novel is to be dragged willy-nilly into the confines of conformity. This tendency shows itself throughout the novel: in the details of his marriage to Kitty, in the social calls he is obliged to make afterward, in concluding that one must leave the selection of agricultural methods in the hands of the peasants, in his participation in the provincial elections, and even in such a small matter as the choice of a procedure for making jam. Nowhere is Levin's dilemma better illustrated, however, than in the famous scene of the hay-mowing. Tolstoy here presents a brilliantly realized metaphor of life in lock-step, of the necessity of conformity, and of the inherent discomfort of the feelings associated with the self as individual. Only once he has dispensed with thoughts of how best to perform his task and with the awareness of himself as one of the mowers in the line is Levin able to perform the work competently. At the moment of his physical union with the men in the line, however, Levin senses that his labour has become completely unconscious, i.e., no longer under his individual control. In mis moment of unconscious union he remains aware of himself as an individual. A condition arises wherein Levin's action is constrained by his environment but he remains apart from and above that action in some sense7 Levin looks at himself from the outside in. He is convinced that the external activities of his life have an inexorable determinacy and orientation toward the other but that within himself there remains a place for freedom and individuality, for the preservation of self, and that this persists, despite the constraints entailed by the outer life. Anna does just the opposite. She refuses to accept the constraints placed upon her by her surroundings and insists instead that her surroundings should match her inner perceptions. Anna much resembles Andrej Bolkonskij in this (just as her birth name — Anna Oblonskaja — is a virtual anagram of his). Like Andrej she seems determined to impress herself upon her world rather than accepting

7

This state of affairs is described in detail on the last page of the novel. Levin believes that although his life will go on subject to the happenstance of his surroundings and the uncontrollable vagaries of his own personality, he will at the same time also be separate from and distant from all that.

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her world's determination of her fate. Like him, too, Anna chooses death once the world has shown itself to be obdurate in its resistance to the claims of her individuality. Levin, like Pierre in captivity, tries to rejoice in the fact that he has an individual soul which is invincible in the face of the world's pressures and obligations; Anna, like Andrej, cannot abide in a world which will not permit the realization of her soul's desires. These contrasting attitudes are suggested also in the names Tolstoy assigned to the estates associated with them, Levin's Pokrovskoe (from vokryvat' = to cover, protect) and Anna's (actually, Vronskij's) Vozdvizhenskoe (from vozdvigat' - to put up, erect [as a monument]). Thus, for Tolstoy in the seventies the question of self and other, so often and so closely related to the concept of brotherhood, had resolved itself into a choice between the unsatisfying compromise of Levin, a life of private freedom and public conformity, and Anna's doomed insistence on the open manifestation of the self's desires. It would be easy to understand that for Tolstoy this choice would be unsatisfactory. Such reflections might easily have contributed to his self-confessed thoughts of suicide and to the onset of his spiritual crisis. Tolstoy has repeatedly considered "brotherhood" as a solution to the apparently intractable tension between the self and the other, but he has always found that the solution consists in the submerging of the self into the other, thus entailing at least a partial loss of the self. So he needed to look at things the other way around, to find somehow that the loss (Anna) or concealment (Levin) of self was not inherent in the relations of the self to the other, the individual to the group. Without some new insight, the individual is in the same desperate and vulnerable position as the traveller whose fate Tolstoy recounts in the "Eastern fable" which he includes in Ispoved': 8

9

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 a 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 o n . 10

'Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh, 7:122-23. Wer carnal relationship with Vronskij is described as "that which her soul desired but her reason dreaded" in Part 2, Chapter 11 of the novel. ^Leo Tolstoi, A Confession, The Gospel in brief, and What I believe [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967]: 20.

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There would seem to be two main points to this fable: the isolation and the hopelessness of the human individual. This vulnerability stands plainly revealed by reason (by the great philosophers "from Plato to Schopenhauer") and, for the members of Tolstoy's own class, can be endured only by the deliberate failure to exercise reason, by resorting to a sort of unreasoning oblivion. Tolstoy finds salvation from the isolation/vulnerability of the thinking individual only in the shared consciousness of one particular group, the peasantry. It is his perception of the brotherhood and the fraternal love of the Russian peasants for one another which leads Tolstoy back to the Christian teaching. He understands that this brotherhood, and consequently also the well-being of the individual, is entirely dependent upon a consciousness of (i.e., a faith in) God's existence. Tolstoy's system (like those of his fictional predecessors!) is a "rational" elaboration of this primary affective experience of consciousness or faith, as though the "being" of consciousness were still not enough and must needs be supplemented or perfected by the " d o i n g " of reason. Thus, Tolstoy moves from the consciousness/faith that God is and therefore that life is possible and g o o d , to the reasoning that because God is, all that is, is God's, and that therefore all people are as children of one parent and therefore brothers and sisters to one another. Thus does Tolstoy come, in Ispoved", to the idea of brotherhood yet again as the apparent answer to the persistent, inescapable tension between the self and the other which we have seen exemplified in each of his major works. There could have been no relaxation of this tension previously because the striving of the self was always seen by Tolstoy as at odds with the requirements of the other; in that the self always sought independence and control, it was necessarily in tension with the other in the midst of which it was required to exist. In the model of the fraternal, mutually supportive life of the peasantry, however, Tolstoy hoped to have found a resolution to the vexing question of the co-existence of the self and the other. Yet even in Ispoved' itself there are clear indications that the model of the peasants, too, will not suffice. In particular, Tolstoy finds fault with the overt religious expression of the Orthodox faith of the peasantry. The brotherhood of the peasants was almost, but not quite, the right answer to his question. Not content to " b e " with the peasants and to share in the fraternal solidarity of their brotherhood, Tolstoy set about to re-evaluate and rationalize their faith. In so doing, 11

Tolstoy writes in Chapter 12 of Ispoved': "I remembered that I lived only at those times when I believed in God. As it was before, so it was now; I need only be aware of God to live; I need only forget Him, or disbelieve Him, and I died" (Tolstoi, A Confession, 64). i

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he steps out along a path already well trodden by Olenin, Prince Andrej, Pierre Bezukhov, and Konstantin Levin. Tolstoy, as w e have seen, made use repeatedly of the model of a self both estranged from and dependent upon a surrounding other. The scale of this " o t h e r " varies from the historical dimensions assigned to it in Vojna i mir to the familial scale of Levin's life at Pokrovskoe. This model has a great deal in common with the image of the kernel and the shell. In the reflections following upon his identification of the shortcomings of the brotherhood of the peasants in the late 1870s Tolstoy resorted yet again to this model, but he now identifies the other with the individual's most immediate shell, that of h i s / h e r own enveloping flesh. His most detailed statement of this model is in the lengthy tractate O zhizni, begun in 1886 shortly after he finished writing his Smert' Ivana Il'icha. The problem of the individual self now becomes how to reconcile its strivings not with some externally positioned other but rather with the requirements of its own physical, material aspect. Thus, the other becomes essentially a dimension of the self and so, to Tolstoy's mind, a final resolution of the ineluctable tension between the two becomes possible. If the other is simply an aspect of the self, then it ought to be amenable to control by the self. The apparently ineluctable tension between the self and the other turns out to be only the result of simple confusion; the other is not "out there" where it cannot be controlled by the individual, but rather "in here" as a dimension of the self which seeks to control it. O zhizni explores the distinction which Tolstoy makes between the material self (the "animal life of m a n " ) and the spiritual self (man's "true life") at great length, but for the present enquiry the relevant conclusion is simple enough. From the point of view of the material self all individual persons are separate from one another and because they all compete and contest for the same goods, harmony and peace among them is impossible. From the point of view of the spiritual self, however, every individual has a share in every other and the very concept of individual loses its meaning. As in the contemporaneous Tak chto zhe nam delat'? Tolstoy argues in O zhizni that the tension between the self and the other arises mainly from the faulty belief that there is a self and an other to be at odds. The distinction, he claims, is only an apparent one, the result of imagining that the self is to be found in the unimportant material life rather than in the crucial spiritual life of the individual. The primary fictional example of this line of thought is Smert' Ivana Il'icha, over the course of which the eponymous hero gradually becomes more and more aware of the spiritual centre within him and more and more removed from the decaying physical envelope enclosing him. In the end the inner self is shown to be free not only of

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the surrounding body (which, both metaphorically and actually, dies) but also of space and time, the body's natural accoutrements.^ The great advantage of Tolstoy's discovery that the other is actually and essentially the self is that it made it possible for him to imagine that the self could actually live in complete harmony with the other. His mistake had been to confuse the material, personal self (what he now called the "animal life") with the true, immaterial self (the "spiritual life"). What had formerly seemed the insoluble problem of self and other was now swept away simply by looking at the problem from the other side. What had seemed to be the self was now seen to be no more than one of the many manifestations of the other, while the true self was never at odds with the other, because it had no crucial need of that which the other represented or possessed. In this way, brotherhood now becomes a feasible scheme of social arrangement, but in a very peculiar sort of way. It works because, basically, none of the brethren are really in need of what it provides. Brotherhood is advantageous to the other, and the other is also myself, my physical self, and my physical self is entirely secondary to my essential well-being. This conclusion is illustrated most directly perhaps in the unfinished historical novel Khodite v svete, voka svet est' (1886). This preachy paean to the life of the primitive Christians was wisely kept back from publication by Tolstoy the artist, but it does serve to show what would or should be the consequences in life of Tolstoy's beliefs. Prefaced by Beseda dosuzhikh ljudej, which seems to be the first half of an intended frame for the novel, Khodite v svete presents the story of its hero's (named Julius) lifelong resistance to the call of the Christian life and teaching and to the repeated invitations of his Christian friend, Pamphilius. Julius' persistent hesitation is the result of his inability to let go of the conviction that his everyday, material existence is his real, individual life and that whatever dissatisfactions (and he has a lot of them) he may feel with that life are the normal lot and also the proper responsibility of the individual. As a young man, Julius leads a dissolute life which results, finally, in his total isolation from and hatred for both his friends and his family. He feels that he stands alone against all others and that the hand of every man is against him. He is completely cut off from connection with other persons, completely without brotherhood. At one point, he even feels that his well-being can be assured only by the murder of his father. This is shown in the narrative to be the natural outcome of a life in which the steadily increasing demands of the self on others is inescapable:

T h i s interpretation of Smert' Ivana Il'icha is presented in full in Gary RJahn, The Death of Ivan Il'ich: An Interpretation (New York: Twayne, 1994).

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«A ?To6bi ycHJiHBaTb yaoBojibCTBHe, yBejiHiHBaTb e r o , nyjKHO Tpe6oBaTb Sorbin e OT i i p y r a x Jiio;ieH». (JE, 26:257)

The central requirement of a life of continuous pleasure is that the pleasure needs constantly to be intensified in order to preserve the sensation of life's being equally pleasurable from moment to moment. Since life's pleasures are construed so as to require the services of others, a steadily increasing dependence on the other is inherent in the life of the individual. At this moment, considering suicide at the end of Chapter 2, Julius thinks of his friend Pamphilius who had previously invited him to join the Christians in their community life. The happiness of the Christians' life is in the individual's freedom from the sort of desires that have plagued the life of Julius: «EcTb JKe qejioBeK, KOTopbiH B c e r a a pajjocTeH OT Toro, ITO HHiero He HiueT».

(JE, 26:260)

The happiness of the Christian is found in a condition of life in which the individual feels the need of nothing and, consequently, the need of no one. Julius is deterred from his intention to join the Christians, however, b y the argument that in the style of life they have chosen, the Christians have disavowed the finer things of life. To Julius, this represents a denial of human nature and a deliberate embracing of the "animal life" [wHBOTHafl >KH3Hb] at the expense of the higher forms of existence. Thus, Julius adverts to the same argument as Tolstoy in O zhizni but with the terms of the argument reversed: what Julius sees as the higher life is denounced by Tolstoy as only further emanations of the animal life of the human being. Pamphilius answers Julius' complaints as follows: «B qeM 3Ta npHpo,na? B TOM JTH, 6BH H c o r a a c H H c o BceMH, qyBCTBOBaTb ce6n qjieHOM oflHoro BceMHpHoro 6paTCTBa?»

(JE, 26:273)

Here then is a real paean to the life of brotherhood. The way to its achievement is through renunciation of the physical self. Julius raises numerous objections in his discussions with Pamphilius, but in the end they boil down to one: what will happen if conflict should arise among the brothers. A favourite example is the relationship between Pamphilius and a beautiful young woman of the Christian community. When asked what will happen if another young man should accord this beauty the same sort of attention as Pamphilius, the latter replies that h e will cheerfully step aside if that is what the other two wish. Pamphilius, although h e is greatly attracted to the young woman, is at the same time not at all involved in his feelings for her. His concern for the harmony of the brotherhood as a

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whole supersedes his desires as an individual brother. Since, however, the self which is here renounced is the " a n i m a l " self, a synonym for the other — that in the midst of which the (true) self resides — then what has really happened is that the self has triumphed over the other. In this w a y , the individual self finally achieves the independence and control for which such earlier characters as Prince Andrej and Pierre and Anna Karenina had sought in vain and for which Konstantin Levin had found only a covert indulgence. And this new-found independence and freedom is the same as that which had been possessed by Platon Karataev and by the merchant Aksenov at the end of the story Bog pravdu vidit, da ne skoro skazhet [God sees the truth, but waits]. The later Tolstoyan ideal of brotherhood has one very peculiar characteristic, then. It can be regarded from two distinct and apparently opposite points of view: one can focus on the brethren or on the brother. Even the pious Pamphilius acknowledges that: " S p a T C T B o j t o c T H r a e T C f l TOJII>KO T o r j i a , K o r n a K a w n b m H3 H a c 6 y j i e T 6paTOM, —

(JE, 26:292). If one looks at the brethren, one sees an indiscriminate mass united by a single spirit; if one looks at the brother one sees an individual who has contested openly with the other and triumphed completely over it, has succeeded in asserting his true self in the face of the surrounding other. Which of these two points of view does Tolstoy himself adopt in those writings which he produced once he had come to a full understanding of his concept of brotherhood? Perhaps in answering this question w e can best appreciate wherein lay the value of the idea of brotherhood for him. In this connection, it needs to be mentioned first of all that the inclusion of characters representative of the ideals of the concept of brotherhood is an obvious feature of Tolstoy's later work. Whether we turn to works written for the educated audience of Tolstoy's social peers (e.g., Smert' lvana Il'icha, Khozjain i rabotnik), or for the popular audience (Dva starika, Bog pravdu vidit, da ne skoro skazhet, Vlast' t'my [The Power of darkness]) we will find such characters as the servant Gerasim (Smert' lvana Il'icha), the workman Nikita (Khozjain i rabotnik), the peasant Elisej Bodrov (Dva starika), the merchant Aksenov (Bog pravdu vidit, da ne skoro skazhet), and the saintly Akim (Vlast' t'my). It is also obvious, however, that these characters are seen as isolated individuals rather than as members of a brotherhood. Even in Khodite v svete, poka svet est', which is arguably Tolstoy's most complete fictional treatment of the theme of brotherhood, Pamphilius, the representative of brotherhood, is not seen amidst the brethren until the very end of the story, and then only briefly. Tolstoy's main interest here, as elsewhere, would seem to be in the representative of brotherhood as HTO Hejib3H y c T p o H T b 6 p a T C T B o 6 e 3 6 p a T b e B "

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seen outside of the context of the brethren and in the midst of the surrounding world. In the role of isolated representative of the ideal of total union all of the characters w h o m I have mentioned share certain common and, I think, revelatory, traits. Each of them is, first of all, intensely self-reliant. Nikita is specifically said to be handy and competent at all sorts of work, Gerasim is equally at home whether he is comforting or cleaning up after the invalid or cutting wood for the domestic fire, Elisej Bodrov undertakes to perform all of the household and agricultural tasks for the starving family which he helps. A dimension of the self-reliance of these characters is their physical strength, which makes them equal to every task that confronts them. Gerasim is a picture of health and vigour from his springy step in his freshly tarred boots to his irreproachable white teeth. Even in old age Akim and Elisej Bodrov do not find their heavy physical labours taxing. Nikita always has the strength he needs, despite the emphasis placed on the puniness of his stature in comparison with that of his sleekly well-fed master Brekhunov. A third common characteristic is the dignity of their demeanour and the calm with which they endure what life sets before them. Since Akim cleans cess-pits for a living and is next door to mute as far as verbal skills are concerned, the maintenance of dignity requires unusual artistry and careful attention, and yet the sense of his dignity never lapses. So, too, the patient endurance of Nikita in the face of danger which reduces his master to abject fear. Finally, each of these characters possesses, or comes to possess, a wisdom which places them above all those around them in understanding. Aksenov, in the end, transcends even the high place and saintly reputation which his fellow-prisoners had accorded him. Gerasim always knows the apposite thing to say (as when he rerninds Petr Ivanovich that we are all mortal) and the right thing to do (as when he says nothing but provides the support of physical touch to the dying Ivan Il'ich). Akim keeps silent until the moment arrives for his son's confession and repentance, and then he knows just what to say and do in order to stay the action of the police until the higher spiritual task has been accomplished. When Brekhunov goes wrong while driving the sleigh, Nikita is usually able to put them right. In these shared qualities, these characters are all superior to their surroundings. Those with whom they interact are shown to be dependent, incompetent, weak, and foolish, at least in everything that matters. They are, in fact, the heroes of the works in which they appear, if not always the protagonists. They are accorded by bom the author and his readers the respect, sympathy, and position which the protagonists of Tolstoy's earlier fiction (Olenin, Andrej, Pierre, Anna) desired for themselves. They succeed in being that

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which they really are and want to be. Elisej Bodrov is seen by his fellow pilgrim right next to the altar in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, despite the fact that Elisej had abandoned his promise to go there in order to help a starving family. In their triumph, these characters stand alone and are always isolated from those around them in their respective texts. This is, I suppose, the common fate of cess-pool cleaners, and the other characters I have discussed are similarly put into an inferior position by one means or another. Even Elisej Bodrov is noted to be considerably less successful in life than his fellow pilgrim, Efim. In one of these texts the hero is, however, acknowledged as such by the characters around him. Aksenov is respected for his honest and pious life in the prison by both the authorities and his fellow-convicts. Yet here, too, the isolation, distance, and difference of the representative of brotherhood is maintained as, at the very end of the story, Aksenov consciously severs all ties; he ceases longing for or even thinking about his past and his family, and, equally, his present and those currently surrounding him. Thus, Tolstoy's attempts to represent brotherhood in artistic images in the latter portion of his career are subject to a constant ambiguity and to the continuing presence of "the other side of the question", very much in the manner of the conceptions and ideals represented in his earlier works. We may be excused if we see in Tolstoy's representation of the ideal Christian someone who could as well be described in the same way as Olenin in Kazaki: J\nti H e r o H e 6MJIO HHKAKHX HH (t>H3HiecKHx, HH MopajibHux OKOB; OH B e e M o r caejiaTb, H H H i e r o einy H e HV>KHO 6biJio, H HHITO e r o He CBH3biBaJio. (Sobr. soch. v 20-i tomakh, 3:167)

On one hand, Tolstoy is certain that, as he has Pamphilius say in Khodite v svete, poka svet est': " T h e good of all people is only to be found in their union" (JE, 26:289); on the other it is the independence, self-reliance, strength, separateness, isolation, and individuality of the representatives of this union that he, time and again, finds most remarkable. Hence the epigraph which I selected for this paper: Bw (the Christians; the representatives o f " B c e M H p H o e o C i e a H H e H H e H S p a T C T B o " ) H a c n o B a x n p o n o B e j i y e T e JiK>6oBb, HO e c j i H pa3o6paTb TO, ITO B b i T e K a e T H3 B a m eft JIIO6BH, TO BMXOAHT coBceM flpyroe. (JE, 26: 289)

I a m not sure that even in Khodite v svete, poka svet est' Tolstoy manages to answer this charge successfully. Even in the Christian brotherhood itself, as Pamphilius admits, there are gradations and degrees among the brethren reflecting how much progress each has made toward the goal of becoming an ideal brother. Tolstoy's representation of the ideals of brotherhood may indeed be seen as the representation not of the loss of self but of its assertion, not of the need for mutual dependence but of the possibility of independence and

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separation. In such essays as Tak chto zhe nam delat'? T o l s t o y makes it an article of faith that the goal of every true Christian is to provide everything needful by individual effort: to take nothing and to be able to give everything, to be dependable but never to dep e n d . Indeed, one is hard put to find a fully satisfactory rejoinder to Julius' complaint 13

Bbl We (xpHCTHdHe) H3 ropflOCTH BMeCTO TOrO, 1T06bI CBOMM TpyflOM yqacTBOBaTb B a e j i a x pecny6jiHKH H no Mepe 3 a c n y r nojiHHMaTbcji TpyflOM Bbiuie H Bbiuje B yBaweHHH jnoflefl, BU c p a 3 y , no cBoefi r o p HOCTU, npH3HaeTe Bcex juoflefi paBHbiMH, jum Toro, iTo6bi HHKOTO HH cqHTaTb Bbiuie ceoa, a cqHTaTb ce6« paBHbiMH Kecapio. (JE, 26:288)

Can it really be so that the power and pride of Cæsar is inherent in the apparent submission of the self to the other in the union of brotherhood? This is certainly no less difficult a saying than that in Vojna i mir in which w e read that our actions as human beings are both free and determined. Perhaps, in the end, the question of the self and the other is shown by Tolstoy to have the same sort of answer, one that varies with the vantage point from which the question is asked. None of this is to say that Tolstoy was in some way insincere in his advocacy of brotherhood or had lost his life-long desire for mutuality, belonging, and acceptance. It is only to say that the call of the individual, the affective sense of the self, continued to remain strong with him, continued in tension with his sense of the other, and continued to serve as the well-spring for works of artistic genius.

for example, Chapter 38 of this work. Here Tolstoy not only argues for the benefit of each providing for himself, but argues specifically against the concept of the "division of labour" which would seem to flow so naturally from the concept of brotherhood as a doctrine of union and mutual support

Rimvydas Silbajorìs The Ohio State University

THE BROTHERHOOD AND SOLITUDE OF DEATH IN TOLSTOY The common metaphor brotherhood will be understood here in terms of how people in Tolstoy's works accommodate themselves to each other's humanity under the shadow of death. In itself, the question of brotherhood, or brotherhood in death, stands outside of Tolstoy's art and belongs to the world of his convictions. Whatever these may be, in plain reality the question is moot to the extent that the dead are no longer brothers or sisters to anyone. In fiction, Tolstoy can imitate a broad range of human actions and situations in which the relationships between brotherhood and death become experiences that are both possible and significant. True, they may not always be consistent with Tolstoy's own often proclaimed belief that universal brotherhood and sisterhood are prerequisites to meaningful life for all humanity. Sometimes, indeed, it seems as if in Tolstoy's fiction brotherhood becomes an attribute of meaningful death. Gary Saul Morson, in his two recent books Hidden in plain view and Narrative and freedom, offers a perspective on open narrative potentials. With regard to Tolstoy's characters, Morson believes that the self "is not a system but an aggregate. It is a cluster of habits and memories, which incorporate and 'excorporate' elements of the random in an endless succession describable by no overarching d e s i g n . " Morson also thinks that Tolstoy's method of narration is "to give countless ordinary events a small range of freedom. Constant tiny alterations multiply to a myriad possibilities." If a character is a cluster of habits and memories who lives surrounded by small spaces of potential freedom of action and perception, then it appears that in Tolstoy's fiction one can expect any number of events, some contradictory or ironic, that are not subject to any superimposed pattern of logic or morality pertaining to the issue of brotherhood. 1

2

1

2

G a r y Saul Morson, Hidden in plain view. Narrative and creative potentials in "War and peace" (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1987): 205. G a r y Saul Morson, Narrative and freedom. The shadows of time (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994): 161. 88

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The experiences of Tolstoy's characters, being concrete and particular to any given moment, tend in his imagery to acquire something like material substance, so that the characters respond to them in a physical dimension that has no measure for any intellectualized systems of beliefs. For instance, in Smert' Ivana Il'icha [The Death of Ivan Il'ich] Ivan's growing disease acts like a thickening in the air that brakes the speed of narration and makes the reader see how Ivan's moral problem has slowly transformed itself into something like a physical presence, death, standing right next to him no longer as a thought, but as if a reality. Similarly, in Andrej's dream in Vojna i mir [War and peace] death is perceived as a material presence. It can literally push against the door, force it open and enter Andrej's own body. In turn, the idea of brotherhood can acquire the substance of a Karataev — a smelly, round-shaped piece of humanity that can eat a potato, or mend a Frenchman's shirt, or in the end be shot dead by the wayside. Thus, in depicting the process of dying as something palpable and material inside the body and mind, Tolstoy extends the devices and structures of his art from the realm of life to that of death. Richard E. Gustafson speaks of Tolstoy's " e m blematic r e a l i s m " , calling it "iconic" in the sense in which in the Eastern Christian tradition an icon embodies and reveals divine truth. In a similar sense, many physical experiences, objects and situations in Tolstoy function as icons embodying the meaning of both death and brotherhood. 3

4

The notion of brotherhood and the presence of death can therefore be signalled in Tolstoy in concrete, sensory ways at least as strongly as in cogitative, intellectual processes. In this sensory dimension we may sometimes be touched or shocked by situations where an individual takes action outside of abstract moral norms which we think are inherent in our civilization. In Kazaki [The Cossacks], for instance, the question of death and brotherhood develops a strange poignancy at the moment when Lukashka kills the abrek in the river with the prayer "In the name of the Father and of the S o n " on his lips, "in the Cossack way learned in his child-

See Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilyich and other stories (New York: New American Library, 1964): 132: "He could not understand it and tried to drive this false, morbid thought away and replace it with other proper and healthy thoughts. But that thought, and not the thought only but the reality itself, seemed to come and confront him." Also (133): "Ivan Ilyich would turn his attention to it and try to drive the thought of it away, but without success. It would come and stand before him and look at him, and he would be petrified, and the light would die out of his eyes, and he would again begin asking himself whether It alone was true." 'Richard E. Gustafson, Leo Tolstoy. Resident and stranger. A Study in fiction and theology (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986): 202 ff.

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h o o d " . Luka has just directly violated God's commandment: "thou shalt not kill", but being the particular aggregate of habits and memories that he is, he never perceives his action as sin, and his words, requiring no thought, are not addressed to either God or cons c i e n c e . At the same time, we can witness how death brings the killer and the victim together in brotherhood when Luka, resplendent with youth and life, with water from the river still steaming on his body, looks at his victim and says: " h e , too, was a human being". The point is reiterated b y the narrator at the end, when the Cossacks destroy the invading group of abreks: "each of the red-haired Chechens had been a man, and each one had his own individual expression" (Kazaki, 333). Here w e can also remember the Moscow factory workers in Vojna i tnir, about to be executed by the French: "they could not believe it because they alone knew what life meant to t h e m " 7 It is that individual expression, the "basic and indivisible particular s e l f " , encoding the dreadful personal moment of final solitude without hope that poignantly reminds us of our brotherhood with each victim separately and together. The scene in Kazaki becomes even more powerfully ironic when w e recall that the Chechens had tied themselves to each other to sing their death song in a paradoxical final bond of brotherhood now sanctified by their own blood. There is, of course, no paradox or contradiction in such a brotherhood in the minds of the Chechens or the Cossacks who killed them; only the reader, from his intellectual dimension, can perceive a cruel absurdity in the scene. In Vojna i mir, by contrast, as we watch the French executioners' pale faces and trembling jaws, we learn that they do indeed feel their own guilt in the horror 5

6

8

9

•'"The Cossacks" [Kazaki] in The Short novels of Tolstoy, trans. Aylmer Maude (New York: Dial Press, 1946): 198. 6

A n d besides, being illiterate, Lukashka has not even read the Bible.

^YJar and peace [Vojna i mir], trans. Aylmer Maude, ed. George Gibian (New York: Norton, 1966): 1070. Subsequent references to this edition will be identified by VM in the text. 8

D o n n a Tussing-Orwin, Tolstoy's art and thought 1847-1880 Princeton University Press, 1993): 33.

(Princeton:

this connection, the comment by Donna Tussing-Orwin in Tolstoy's art and thought (95) may be relevant: What Olenin finds frightening in this eery and powerful moment is the irrationality of the participants, their obsession with personal honor, on the one hand, and their complete and almost inhuman acceptance of the laws of nature, on the other. All three notions — of irrationality, personal honour, and acceptance of the laws of nature — come from the mind of an intellectual and thus, while not exactly false, are not quite relevant to the world of the Chechens and the Cossacks.


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of the moment, even if they cannot verbalize it the way Tolstoy as the narrator can. Luka's spontaneous empathy toward his victim places him, a deadly sinner against the Lord, incomparably higher on the moral plane than the Lord's servants and guardians of social order as w e see them described in Voskresenie [Resurrection]. W e need only recall the church service in which the prisoners and their jailers take part together as if this were truly an example of the Eastern Orthodox sobornost' — a community of sinners and Christians loved by God through the repeated act of His death and resurrection. Typically for Tolstoy, all the salient points of his ironical commentary rest on material things: holy pictures, bread, wine, shaven heads and clanging chains. The blasphemy of the central mystical event, the Holy communion, strikes us full force precisely because Tolstoy, using his known device of estrangement, demystifies the priest in his ritual, so that the Host, Christ incarnate in the bread and wine, looks like a ghoulish parody of some solid merchant's breakfast: 10

After that the priest carried the cup back behind the partition, and drinking up all the blood left in the cup and eating all the remaining bits of God's body, and painstakingly licking round his moustaches and wiping his mouth and the cup, briskly marched out from behind the partition, in the most cheerful frame of mind, the thin soles of his calf-skin boots creaking slightly as he walked. 11

The creaking boots have their material counterpart in the prisoners' clanking chains, and the entire irony of this hypocritical celebration of absent human brotherhood is played out between these two verbal icons. A little boy later in the novel looked at the prisoners and knew "straight from G o d " that these people, the prisoners, were just like him. He was "horrified not only at the people who were shaved and fettered but at the people who had fettered and shaved t h e m " (Voskresenie, 426). The real question, however, is not about being horrified. Watching the mindless priest at the service, as well as the sorry and despicable collection of individuals called judges at the beginning of the novel, we cannot avoid the question: Is Tolstoy proposing anything to

John Bayley, Tolstoy and the novel (New York: Viking Press, 1966): 136, makes a good point pertaining to the basic difference between the Russians and the French in the war, namely, that the Russians constitute a family, and the French — a system. This is what Pierre felt so keenly after his capture — that the French occupation was a system of some sort, killing him and others. The irony, indeed, blasphemy, here is that the jail, the prisoners' chains etc., constitute a system which is pretending to be a family at the church service. ^Leo Tolstoy, Resurrection [Voskresenie] mondsworth: Penguin Books, 1966): 182.

trans. Rosemary Edmonds (Har-

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us with respect to feelings of brotherhood toward those people as well? I doubt that w e will understand Tolstoy unless we realize that they are indeed meant to be our brothers as well. Such realization will come to us not in some intellectual light, but largely because of the judges' little concrete human foibles that any of us might well share: the dumbbells the Court president was lifting while thinking of his little redhead Klara Vasil'evna, the gastric catarrh of the judge, Matvej Nikitich, who had kindly eyes and hoped to cure himself by counting the steps from his study to the bench, and so on. These things constitute their humanity, similar to ours, and it is thus that w e cannot judge one another. For the Chechens, brotherhood at the moment of death had about it a finality and perfection of despair — it became indissoluble. In Vojna i mir, w e can see a very different, cheerful, indeed, exalted camaraderie of men dying together. This is true of the artillerymen under Captain Tushin at Schcengraben and of the soldiers at Borodino. There is a euphoria about being together and dying together in that one special place and time that approaches the mythological dimension, as if in a Dionysiac orgy which, as we all know, was a celebration of life — and here, again, lies the paradox for the thoughtful reader. For the men involved, however, everything seems so natural and consistent with their togetherness of the moment that it requires no thought at all. Captain Tushin, for instance: ...though he thought of everything, considered everything, and did everything the best of officers could do in his position, he was in a state akin to feverish delirium or drunkenness. ... a fantastic world of his own had taken possession of his brain and at that moment afforded him pleasure. ... He imagined himself as an enormously tall, powerful man who was throwing cannon balls at the French with both hands". (VM, 205-06) 1 2

Similarly at Borodino, in the very heat of the battle, Pierre saw " a dense crowd of Russian soldiers who, stumbling, tripping up and shouting, ran merrily and wildly toward the battery" (VM, 890). A happy crowd of men, all united in the brotherhood of dying and killing, is totally beyond any rational explanation by any system of •'Tushin was, of course, a most unimpressive figure of a man, slight and red-nosed, hardly the stuff from which heroes are made. The bogatyr' in him, however, was already prefigured in Rostov's master huntsman Daniel at that happy hunting time which in many ways prefigured the coming war: Though Daniel was not a big man, to see him in a room was like seeing a horse or a bear on the floor among the furniture and surroundings of human life. Daniel himself felt this, and as usual stood just inside the door, trying to speak softly and not move, for fear or breaking something in the master's apartment, and he hastened to say all that was necessary so as to get from under that ceiling, out into the open under the sky once more. (VM, 544).


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values that could transcend the slaughter. Again, it is the physical action, at the lowest level of intellectualization, that establishes its own inexorable consistency. W e are again forced to search for something else than logic with which to confront this fact that men become joyfully united as brothers when they become oblivious of themselves, thus, in principle, prefiguring their own death. In this context, the Russian and French corpses scattered about the battlefield also constitute a macabre brotherhood of the dead, for they all now know something that the living do not. A crowd of happy, possibly drunken, soldiers, and a delirious Captain Tushin, caught in their Totentanz whirlwind, nevertheless sustain an almost childish innocence as they go about their bloody business. This purity, like a deep stillness in the soul underneath all the noise, becomes even more poignant when we find two children trying to make friends while surrounded by the nightmare of war. We can see them in Vojna i mir, in a rain-soaked forest where Dolokhov looks with deadly, glassy eyes at the dwindling band of Frenchmen in the melting snow. There is a young French drummer boy mere, Vincent, whom the Russians call "Vesennij", or "Vesenja", as if he were a youthful harbinger of Springtime. He could very well have been shot, together with the other French prisoners, if Denisov had not protected him (VM, 1 1 6 4 ) Petja Rostov does die, during the attack on the French, shot clean through the head, waving his arms spasmodically, as if he were still conducting his dreamland orchestra of universal harmony. In the meantime, however, the two boys share a moment of shy and fragile intimacy that, in the context of the holocaust around them, speaks untold volumes about human brotherhood: 13

1 4

There were many things Petja wanted to say to the drummer boy, but did not dare to. H e stood irresolutely beside him in the passage. Then in the darkness he took the boy's hand and pressed it. "Come in, come in" he repeated in a gentle whisper. (VM, 1163)

We may say at this point that encounters with death which are depicted as having little or nothing to do with controlling reason cut to much greater emotional depth and open up the wound of many tragic ironies that speak complex and sometimes mutually exclusive truths about brotherhood and love in human experience.

Among such innocents w e must also count Tikhon Shcherbatyj, the mass-murderer peasant who captured and killed more Frenchmen than anyone else, "and consequently was made the buffoon of all the Cossacks and hussars and willingly accepted that role", and looked at the world with a "beaming, foolish grin" (VM, 1158, 1160). Âlthough it does seem that Denisov saved the boy, Tolstoy does not make it absolutely clear. In any case, the boy is never mentioned later in the text.

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Tolstoy, however, also provides us with events and situations where the characters' intellect and moral values are strongly, sometimes desperately, engaged in confrontations with the issues of human brotherhood in the context of unyielding death. We may for our purposes distinguish several variations, or stages, in Tolstoy's portrayal of the crucibles of the mind facing death in the context of our common humanity. These range from the dreadful solitude of an individual afraid of death and attempting to resist it to a reconciliation with the inevitable that brings with it an increased bond with humanity, and finally to a cosmic acceptance and acquiescence in a universal love to which life itself becomes an irrelevance and death the ultimate good [ f l o 6 p o ] . Sometimes, as in Smeri' Ivana II 'iena [The Death of Ivan Il'ich], Tolstoy depicts the struggle of the mind against the concept and reality of death as a process of physical decay that carries with it the rotten odor of both moral and intellectual falsehood. W e see there three different aspects of one and the same process: (1) the pain in Il'ich's side keeps growing steadily; (2) his thoughts keep getting more painful and helpless as he continues to resist the clear truth that he will die, and (3) his solitude keeps growing as long as he resists the inevitable conclusion that he had lived his life wrongly, until it reaches the point of hysterical hatred of all his family and of everyone. Only the act of dying releases him from all these burdens. Then we can read the dreadful lesson: those who would refuse the bond of brotherhood with others must die in agony and alone. Only after Ivan understands the falsehoods of his life does death become light to illuminate his last word " n p o c T H " [forgive] — which comes out sounding like " n p o n y c T H " [let me pass] — and thus to engulf him in the brotherhood of eternity. Solitude and hatred remained to the end of the road with Anna Karenina as she looked with convulsive hatred at everything and everyone through the window of her carriage, and with the living Christian corpse, Karenin, whose last profoundly felt statement to Dolly was: "Love them that hate you, but you can't love them whom you h a t e . " There was a moment in their life together when they almost entered a sort of ménage à trois with Vronskij, and that mo15

16

we consider the fearful solitude, then acquiescence and acceptance as markers on a scale of possible human confrontations with death, then we can see essentially the same markers already in place in Tolstoy's early, and brief, story Tri smerti [Three deaths]. Of course, Andrej, a human being, cannot in any w a y be compared to a tree, however majestically it should die. Nevertheless, we have it from Andrej himself that at certain times (as on his way to Otradnoe and back) such a comparison is quite possible. 16

S e e Anna Karenina (New York: Norton, 1970): 359. Subsequent references to this edition will be identified by AK in the text.


rnent came at the point of birth of her daughter, and her own expected death. However, Anna's hysterical plea for forgiveness and reconciliation between Karenin and Vronskij casts an aura of falsehood, because the very premises of such "brotherhood" between the two men are inherently false. It certainly does not take long for Anna and Karenin to return to their cold hostility toward each other, and Vronskij surprises himself, but not the reader, by his attempt at suicide. In all this affair, Karenin is the greatest cause of suffering for himself and Anna precisely because he is an intellectual and perceives his Christianity and moral standards in general in terms of abstract schemes of logic, reason and principle. He does not, for instance, need or love Serezha, but his principles tell him Anna ought to be punished, and so he takes the child away. He is even willing to acquiesce to Anna's infidelity, because in his mind the rules of social propriety are much more important, and in truth, he never loved her either, but only stuck to the principle of being the righteous husband in an orderly society that is a substitute for love. To some extent, he resembles Ivan H'ich, in that both understand only a paper universe from which brotherhood, as an improper sentiment, has been excluded, and in that the truth about themselves and the falsehood of their mode of living bring them to an ultimate crisis where Ivan will die, and Karenin will say to Dolly: "I am very unhappy", at the very time when Levin is afloat in his euphoria of happy love. Karenin's unhappiness may well have arisen from the intolerable realization that in his actions he was guided in the end not by logic or principle, but by a hidden hatred, an urge to suffer and to destroy. The belief that human brotherhood derives from some universal master plan designed by a Builder God, encoded in appropriate mysteries and rituals and recorded in philosophical and mystical texts, caused Pierre Bezukhov to suffer from a number of illusions during the Masonic episode of his life. The first false note was struck when Pierre realized he was failing to obey the Masonic precept of loving death. Pierre was right, of course, and both the Masonic notion of brotherhood and their idea of death were nothing but false constructs of the intellect. Pierre learned about his brotherhood with the Russian people on the battlefield of Borodino and in his captivity, with the real presence of death all around him. It is this knowledge that in the end endowed him with a great love for humanity and for life itself. In this context, Pierre's love for Natasha acquires a special deep meaning when we think of her prayer for Russian victory at the beginning of the war. Like Russia herself, she has been cruelly violated by the affair with Kuragin, and she draws her strength to recover from the same deep well that has always nourished the noblest impulses in the Russian spirit — the feeling of a universal brotherhood

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of all its people in the sight of God. " A s one community," thinks Natasha, "without distinction of class, without enmity, united by brotherly love — let us pray" (VM, 733). Then her prayer extends from one nation to the entire humanity, and from love of one's own to love of one's enemies as well: ... She could not pray that her enemies might be trampled under foot when but a few minutes before she had been wishing she had more of them that she might pray for them. But neither could she doubt the righteousness of the prayer that was being read on bended knees. She felt in her heart a devout and tremulous awe at the thought of the punishment that overtakes men for their sins, and especially of her own sins, and she prayed to God to forgive them all, and her too, and to give them all, and her too, peace and happiness. And it seemed to her that God heard her prayer. (VM, 736)

Thus prayed Natasha at the door of death's dominion, and the relationship between brotherhood and death in Tolstoy acquires compelling clarity and force precisely because of that fact, and also because it is not clouded by any intrusions of the intellect. If we now think of mortality as our human condition in which we are granted some space for the action of love, then we can see how this action issues from a spontaneous feeling that has its roots in our habits and memories, in what we simply are, and not in what we might extract from some philosophy. Konstantin Levin realizes this at the deathbed of his brother Nikolaj and explains it in terms of the inherent qualities of himself, a man, who intellectualizes and does not understand anything, and Kitty, a woman, who acts in love and thus in full u n d e r s t a n d i n g . Here "brotherhood" has the literal meaning of family obligations between Nikolaj and Konstantin Levin that must simply be assumed, however much they might have quarrelled at times. One of those obligations is that they shall tell the truth to each other. If the truth seems too terrible to tell, the brothers have another, special depth in them where that truth can communicate itself just as clearly. Levin knows that the only truth he could tell Nikolaj is "you shall d i e " (AK, 319), but he cannot say this. Yet, Nikolaj understands, and w e can see that he does from the sudden tenderness with which he says in parting: "don't think too badly of me, Kostja" (321). Typically for Tolstoy, Levin immediately relates this moment of deep brotherhood to thoughts of his own death as he says to Shcherbatskij: " n o w I know that I shall soon die" ( 3 1 2 ) . In striking contrast to this false foreboding, Kitty learns of new life stirring in her almost immediately after Nikolaj's death (459). 17

18

1 7

18

B u t not in terms of a feminine and a masculine principle, as the Symbolists would later have it. The difference is crucial. T h a t Levin still has plenty of time left for that is of course, another matter.


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Nikolaj Levin is the first person on his deathbed in Tolstoy who descends toward a mysterious peace of mind as if having understood something beyond the ken of the l i v i n g . As Nikolaj was dying, Levin: 19

.. .saw by the expression of that calm stem face and the play of the muscle above one eyebrow that something was becoming clear to the dying man which for Levin remained as dark as ever. "Yes, yes! That's so!" Slowly pausing between the words, the dying man murmured: "Wait a bit." He was silent again. "That's so!" he drawled in a tone of relief, as if he had found a solution. (AK, 455) As it was with Ivan Il'ich, the clarity that dawns on Nikolaj also signals the beginning of acquiescence in death, and the beginning of liberation from the web of illusions entangling our lives. In his story Khozjain i rabotnik [Master and man] Tolstoy went further to show how acquiescence in death could also be the beginning of true human brotherhood. The liberation of Nikolaj Levin and Ivan Il'ich took place inside their minds, in the final solitude of death. Brekhunov, on the other hand, accomplished his liberation as a deed of personal sacrifice, to save die life of his servant. In this way, he not only understood, as Ivan Il'ich had, that the life he lived up to then was wrong, but also destroyed that former life of his, broke down its basic premises: And he remembered his money, his shop, his house, the buying and selling, and Mironov's millions, and it was hard for him to understand why that man, called Vasilij Brekhunov, had troubled himself with all those things with which he had been troubled. 20

It is interesting to note that Brekhunov accomplished his radical act in a physical movement resembling submission — lying down on top of Nikita to keep him warm. One could imagine here an attendant irony — Brekhunov had always been the burden the exploited peasants had to bear, and now his warm weight was giving life to Nikita. In fact, his dying act of brotherhood gave him a new identity — the identity and thus the continued life of himself in Nikita and, symbolically, in all humanity which, in his death, he became: He remembered that Nikita was lying under him and that he had got warm and was alive, and it seemed to him that he was Nikita and that Actually, we can see the first instance of this strange understanding in the sudden calm of the Russian factory lad executed as an incendiary in Vojna i mir, 1070: They dragged him along, holding him up under the arms, and he screamed. When they got him to the post, he grew quiet, as if he suddenly understood something. ,0

L. Tolstoy, "Master and man" [Khozjain in rabotnik], in The Short novels of

Tolstoy, trans. Aylmer Maude (New York: Dial Press, 1946): 577.

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Rimvydas Silbajoris his life was not in himself but in Nikita.... "Nikita is alive, so I too am alive!" he said to himself triumphantly. (Khozjain i rabotnik, 577)

Therein lies the deepest meaning of brotherhood and death in Tolstoy's work. At this very point, however, we seem to enter a different dimension of the issue. There we must seek to understand how Tolstoy describes the dissolution of a person's identity so that the fading away of an individual consciousness would become the fulfilment of universal love, and not simply an entrance into cosmic oblivion. For this, w e should take a closer look at the episode in Vojna i mir pertaining to Andrej's fatal wounding and death. During the dreadful hours when Andrej's regiment had to stand in reserve under constant artillery bombardment the soldiers unconsciously formed a brotherhood of men held together under the wing of death. Their sense of togetherness is encoded by Tolstoy in their trivial and random occupations — plaiting baskets, refolding leg bands, laughing together at a little stray dog, and so on. The presence of death over them elevates these trivialities to the centre of consciousness while at the same time seemingly trivializing the importance of being a separate individual confronting his own particular end of the world. Andrej is also occupied with similar trifles as he walks dragging his feet through the dust and counting his steps, and rubbing some wormwood between his h a n d s . From this elementary level of existence rises the wellspring of Andrej's love for life, in a sudden rush as he sees the spinning shell of death in front of him (VM, 904). At this high point life and death become as one, and the name, the paramount emotion of the moment, is love. Love will continue in Andrej's thoughts during his delirium and to the end, so that the process of his dying becomes also a process of expanding l o v e . Andrej's spiritual descent into death begins in the hospital tent, when he suddenly wonders: " W h y was I so reluctant to part with life? There was something in this life I did not and do not understand" (VM, 906). W e can already see how the process of acquiescence, and the process of death, will also be a process of understand21

22

This wormwood has emotional connotations of long standing in Russian literature — from the thirteenth century, the story of a Tartar in Russian captivity who smelled the wormwood from his cell and longed for home. There is this emotional longing for peace and home and, really, life, that this encodes and it may well be that Tolstoy thought of it as he wrote this. Or, at least, from the "reader's perception" point of view, this is a possibility. This passage also recalls Andrej's thoughts of his men as "cannon fodder" as they bathed near Smolensk (VM, 772). In fact, lying wounded in the hospital tent, hearing the moans, Andrej actually remembers this (906).

2 1

22

T h i s sudden rush of love for life returns in a different encoding on p. 907, when Andrej thinks of his earliest childhood and how he was put to bed and "felt happy by the mere consciousness of life". This, of course, is one of the final saving visions of Ivan Il'ich.


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ing. At this very point, the doctor kisses Andrej on the lips, amidst all the blood and gore, and with the horses nearby eating their oats calmly. It is the kiss of death, but it also is a poignant statement of human brotherhood, the only loyalty that can still be expressed by the healer to the dying man. When Andrej, in his mind, forgives the wounded Kuragin, the most important thing is his kindly, childlike feeling: ...because he was sorry to part with life, or because of those memories of a childhood that could not return, or because he was suffering and others were suffering and that man near him was groaning so piteously — he felt like weeping childlike kindly, and almost happy tears. (VM, 708)

All the signals are there: suffering, understanding, childlike happiness, forgiveness — all formed, shaped by the descending death. Death shapes the space of consciousness and relates events remote from each other, and causality becomes something like configurations of a force of which two aspects, love and death, are not separate but only separately articulated. At the very roots of Andrej's dawning idea of divine love is the sense of detachment and separation from particulars and "objects". His "happiness of the soul alone" is already a description of death, and it is the happiness of loving. The point is that if such love does not require an object, it does not ultimately require a particular loving subject either, and thus, paradoxically, this evanescence of the individual mind is, as Andrej thinks, "the essence of the soul" (VM, 1022). At this very time, Natasha appears in the room, looking like a sort of sphinx (VM, 1024), and thus, implicitly, presenting to Andrej a riddle which is the riddle of death that is love and which Andrej solves eventually by his very act of dying. The process of reconciliation, the joy of forgiving both Kuragin and Natasha, is the very same process of entering into the realm of death, because one cannot forgive while one still wants things or nurses resentments, thus still enduring remnants of the will to live. The next stage is the disappearance of the will to love anyone or anything in particular. Andrej enters it when a fatal change comes over him which Natasha and Princess Mary interpret as a "sudden softening" that is a sign of approaching death (VM, 1083-84). W e now read that Andrej is "calm, aloof", and manifests " a n estrangement from everything in this world, terrible in one who is alive" (1085).23 7

In purely literary terms, this is also another use of Tolstoy's famous device of "estrangement". The rules of the living are no longer relevant to the man who has understood himself to exist in the realm of the dead.

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This "softening" came to Andrej after his dream about death entering through the door, when he suddenly awoke to understand that death is actually an a w a k e n i n g . In his mind, Andrej had already understood the essence of the question, the solution to the puzzle of the Sphinx. In fact, Andrej was thinking through these things from the very time when he was wounded. Tolstoy says: 24

During the hours of solitude, suffering and partial delirium he spent after he was wounded, the more deeply he penetrated into the new principle of eternal love revealed to him, the more he unconsciously detached himself from earthly life. To love everything and everybody and always to sacrifice oneself for love meant not to love anyone, not to live this earthly life. And the more imbued he became with that principle of love, the more he renounced life and the more completely he destroyed that dreadful barrier which — in the absence of such love — stands between life and death. (VM, 1087) After the "softening", these thoughts come into a clear two-part focus. The first part was: Love hinders death. Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. The second, and crucial, part is his ultimate insight: Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source. (VM, 1089) Then Tolstoy makes another point, very typical of his mode of writing. He adds that, although Andrej found these thoughts "comforting", they were "only thoughts". "Something was lacking in them, they were not clear, they were too one-sidedly personal and brain-spun" (VM, 1089-90). What Andrej needed was an emotional reality, a sensory, non-intellectual experience to give his thought meaning. This experience was his dream. Being " a particle of the general and eternal source" is like being a drop of water in the silvery globe of Pierre's own dream, where he saw that "Life is everything. Life is God." Andrej sees death as God, so that the two insights by the two lifelong friends balance each other out perfectly, each enhancing the meaning of the other. This is one more instance where characters created by Tolstoy arrive at a certain similar point of understanding by various ways, events and experiences, one of them being the process of d y i n g . 25

24

25

According to Tussing-Orwin (156), the notion of death as an awakening, comes from Schopenhauer who speaks of "awakening from the illusion of individuality to the undifferentiated source of all life". J o h n Bayley in Tolstoy and the novel (New York: Viking Press, 1966): 85, notes that in Detstvo [Childhood] "Death is an occasion for vitality", and that "This relish is replaced in Ivan Ilyich by the compulsion to confront and out-


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Andrej's profound insight is certainly not unique. W e may note, for instance, that the monastic vows of all religions that have this institution, when a monk, or a nun, become "dead to the world" in a sense, amount to a course of life in imitation of the actual process of dying as experienced in this instance by Andrej. In the Christian world, as well as in Andrej's particular case, imitatio Christi may well have this ultimate m e a n i n g . Andrej, however, enters still another unknown realm. The opening of his mind to what he calls the "Eternal and Unfathomable" (VM, 1087), the presence of which he had actually felt all his life, leaves behind both love and death as concepts — indeed, realities — that have become irrelevant and, at least in that sense, non-existent. Up to that point in the novel we see death as "something'' — a form of brotherhood, an alternate embodiment of love, a presence, like an object, of suffering and fear, a death dirge, an awakening, a light, even, or the formulation of an idea around a ritual, as with the Masons. But Andrej's profound detachment from everything, when he understood something important just like the factory lad did at his execution, and Nikolaj Levin's knowledge in his last moments, is a transcendence of death into not anything. Similarly, when Ivan Il'ich understood that there is no death, he did die, and Tolstoy does not say that he entered into any mystical realm, a paradise of any sort at all. And this death which is not anything, becomes love for not anything as both reach their ultimate point of non-existent perfection. Richard Gustafson said that all of Tolstoy's works show us the way to love. One could also say they all teach us the way to die and the better we understand how to die, the closer we come to the universal brotherhood and sisterhood out in some undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns. 26

face death itself, but the survivors are to be examined and judged by the same inflexible criterion — are they sincere? In War and Peace the question of sincerity does not arise. Death is a solution and a reconciliation, an episode in continuity." Tolstoy's personal physician Dushan Makovitskij notes in his diary for the year 1907 the following statement by Tolstoy: "Death is the desired completion of life for a person who lives a spiritual life: it is a liberation from passions and elucidation of the consciousness of godhead." See U Tolstogo. Jasnopoljanskie zapiski D.P. Makovitskogo,Vo\. 2(Moscow: Nauka, 1979): 347. ^Tolstoy himself once described the parabola of his life bending toward death as the ultimate good: "I find less and less evil in the world; more and more goodness, and when death comes it will be the highest blessing" (U Tolstogo, 1:200).

Caryl Emerson (Princeton University)

WHAT IS INFECTION AND WHAT IS EXPRESSION IN WHAT IS ART? Without a doubt, Tolstoy is as blatantly wrong about the motivations and the psychological grounds for artistic achievement — when he says that an artist is a person who knows how to represent his feelings in such a way that they would infect his fellow humans — as only he could possibly be. But what is wrong with respect to the spiritual motives of an artist remains true as a distinguishing mark of all art. ... Insofar as Tolstoy starts off with a false reason for creative activity, he succeeds (in one daring leap of logic) in pronouncing all art to be the means to achieve brotherhood among people. Lou-Andreas Salomé, "Leo Tolstoy, unser Zeitgenofie" [1898] 1

A m o n g the many things that strike people as outrageous in Tolstoy's aesthetic theory is his insistence that art is, at base, a subcategory of brotherhood. Hammered home with great force in the final five chapters of Chto takoe iskusstvo? [What is art?], the argument is as follows: works of art must be judged according to two axes, true/ counterfeit and good/bad. Along the true/counterfeit axis, the standard of success is simply communicative: art is true if it is "infectious" — that is, if one person succeeds in evoking in another person, by means of certain signs, feelings that he or she has experienced.

"Leo Tolstoy, our contemporary: A Study by Lou-Andreas Salomé", trans. Anna Tavis, appendix in Anna A. Tavis, Rilke's Russia: A Cultural encounter (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1994): 131-42 (esp. 140-41). 102

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This communication of emotion must be immediate and of whole cloth. Tolstoy has no patience with what he calls "counterfeit" art, which deals with mere surrogate stimuli: details or feelings that are derivative, imitative, cobbled together according to the teachings of critics or schools of art, insincere (that is, created to impress others or for poetic effect), or merely "interesting" (that is, based on ideas and thoughts rather than emotions). It follows that the true artist can experience, transmit, and infect others with a whole range of feelings, both noble and ignoble. Hence the second axis of judgement: good versus bad. Good art can be religious, reflecting an ethical ideal in a given time or place; or it can be universal, accessible to everyone and acting on people "independently of their state of development and education" (Chapter 10). Tolstoy believed that authentic, bad art will always be around and inevitably will infect us, but that we should strive wherever possible to create conditions for the right sorts of infection to occur — which, according to him, will induce in the recipient feelings of unity and brotherly love, since true, good art rests on principles [ H a i a j i a ] — " K O T o p w e M o r y T H /JOJDKHbl COCUHHHTb JUOfleH B OflHO BceMHpHoe 6paTCTBo".

2

It could be argued that a great deal is bleached out of art in this definition. There is the obvious complaint of the aestheticians, that at best Tolstoy is defining what art does, not what it is, and that "doing" is the realm of ethical behaviour, not art. Then there is the Bakhtinian objection: if the goal of art is brotherly union and a fusion of feelings, what role (if any) is played by the individualized creative response? Bakhtin's whole aesthetics is built on the assumption that the act of "looking in the mirror" is a sort of death to life, not its invigoration; when I peer at my reflection in the glass in order to see " h o w others see m e " , the image is always impoverishing and false because it is one consciousness pretending to be two. And does not Tolstoy's infection theory work by reflection? Can mere replication of an emotion give rise to enough of those rich, differentiated dialogic relations and alternative worlds that are among art's most precious contributions to life? There is also the Dostoevskian, anti-positivist, " u n d e r g r o u n d " objection. What sort of thinker, at the end of the nineteenth century, could in all seriousness write that "art, like speech, is a means of communication and therefore of progress, that is, it is a means of moving humanity forward toward perfection", or state without irony that "the evolution of feeling proceeds through art — [and] feelings that are lower, less kind-hearted and less necessary ... will be

Chapter 17 of Chto takoe iskusstvo?, in L. N. Tolstoy, Sobranie sochinenij v 12-i tomakh (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1983): 15:170. Subsequent references to this edition (whether cited in English or in Russian) will be identified by ChTI in the text.

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squeezed out by feelings that are kinder and more necessary" (Chapter 16)? And then: certain aspects of Tolstoy's mode of argumentation appear not just counter-intuitive but downright ominous. How, for example, can Tolstoy so confidently separate thoughts (which are, according to him, the wrong material for artistic contagion) from his approved communicative medium, which is emotions? Surely great works of art — and especially art in the genres that Tolstoy himself knew most intimately, those created out of words — are an inspired mix of both ideas and feelings.'' And why, indeed, is Tolstoy so wary of "interesting" ideas? At times, his logic recalls those other famous no-win/no-lose paranoid constructs, the Marxian and the Freudian, whose systems likewise depend upon varieties of "false consciousness" to press their claims and silence their critics, and whose trademark is also, all too often, a suspicious attitude toward the independent products of the m i n d . In fact, all angles of Tolstoy's definition of art have been examined — and found highly problematic. Take, for example, the idea of communication itself. Must it be a two-way activity? In Tolstoy's scenario, must the artist really listen to (and create for) a specific audience, or need he merely "make an experience public", that is, be willing to present i t ? Or consider the idea of transmission. What 4

5

Israel Knox, "Tolstoy's esthetic definition of art", Journal of Philosophy 27 (1930), as cited in Holley Gene Duffield and Manuel Bilsky, eds., Tolstoy and the critics: literature and xsthetics (Chicago: Scott Foresman, 1965): 101— 02: " . . . o n e is loath to apotheosize Tolstoy's schematic division of life into the realms of thought and feeling, of mind and art. It is too simple; the influence of his adored Rousseau is too evident. The reality of great art consists in the perfect blending of inspired thought and inspired emotion, in the luminous intuition which the imaginative reason fashions into a concrete, vivid communicable image." 4

Tolstoy's variant of this circular strategy works as follows: he admits (in Chapter 15) that "infection" can be detected only by "internal" signs and thus is difficult to confirm or disconfirm; but people who resist his definition on the basis of their own inner experience have simply "forgotten what the action of real art is" — because the signs of true art are, he insists, "perfectly definite to those whose feeling for art is neither perverted nor atrophied

(ChTl, 164-65).

^ e e the discussion in Lascelles Abercrombie, "Communication versus expression in art", British Journal of Psychology, 14 (1923): 68-77, as cited in Duffield and Bilsky, 114: "...the nonpracticing artist is a contradiction in terms. Let everyone have the same intuitions as artists; nevertheless a person is only called an artist when his intuitions become works of art: when he makes his experiences available for others to experience. ...if you abolish the notion of communication in art, you empty the meaning out of the word artist, and must find another word to contain that meaning: 'the man who can publish his experiences.'"

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does it mean to transmit a feeling intact to another p e r s o n ? Feelings, after all, arise from private inner experience; can we ever know whether or not the feelings aroused in a consumer of art are identical to the feelings in the heart of the artist? Anger in a primary creator might produce horror in us (or, for that matter, mirth), and what caused anguish for the artist can arouse our pity. In any event, surely not all aspects of an artist's creative activity or emotional reflection need be — or should be — s h a r e d / Because Tolstoy's stance on these matters is so stubborn, the temptation has been great to punish him for his stridency and o v e r s i m p l i fications by passing over, wilfully, those subtleties that do exist in his argument. For example, it is often overlooked by those who consider Tolstoy a puritan and a d e s p o t that, of Tolstoy's three criteria for ideally infectious art — individuality [ o c o 6 e H H o c T b ] , clarity [acHocTb] and sincerity [HcnpeHHocTb] — two stress precisely the selfishly individualizing (and not the altruistically homogenizing) aspects of the "artistic effect". In fact, " H C K p e H H o c T b " , as Tolstoy uses the word in Chapter 15, has n o t h i n g at all to do with a n o t h e r ' s needs, with the potential receptivity of one's art, or with the moral imperative to infect and e n n o b l e the world at large. Sincerity is present only when the artist is infected by his own artistic production; only when, as Tolstoy puts it, he "writes, sings, or plays for himself and not merely to have an effect on others". And Tolstoy goes further: when we, as spectators or readers, sense that the artist 6

'See John Hospers, "The Concept of artistic expression", Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 55 (1954-55): 3 1 3 - 4 4 ; as cited in Duffield and Bilsky, 116-19. Hospers considers various alternative metaphors rather than "transmission": deposition ("the artist has, as it were, deposited his emotion in the work of art, where we can withdraw it any time we choose"); conveying (which presumes an almost physical transfer of a quality, also problematic). Other critics have argued further that even if a sign of true art is the transmission of an emotion (however that is understood), all the same, Tolstoy's Chapter 3—that learned and irritable catalogue of art theorists who err in making beauty the centre of aesthetics — is still a massive polemical misfiring, because artistic striving is fuelled less by the conscious desire for beauty than it is by "the great primary instincts" of imitation, expression, construction and invention. So argues Vernon Lee in his essay "Tolstoi on Art", Quarterly Review, 191 (April 1900): 359-72, cited from the excerpt in Duffield and Bilsky, 60. Lee argues further that the instinct for beauty "is not a creative but a regulative impulse", that is, it does not launch us as much as it informs us when to stop: "The instinct for beauty is not, in all probability, one of the creative faculties of man. It does not set people working, it does not drive them to construct, to imitate, or to express, any more than the moral instinct sets people wishing and acting, or the logical instinct sets them reasoning. It is, even more typically than the moral and logical instincts, a categorical imperative, which imperiously decides whether given forms are to be tolerated, cherished, or avoided... " (Duffield and Bilsky, 61).

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is not writing, singing or playing for his own satisfaction [fljia c B o e r o y a o B J i e T B o p e H H a ] , then not only are we not impressed and infected by his art, w e are positively repelled (ChTI, 166). Recent scholarly treatments, by Rimvydas Silbajoris and Gary Saul Morson in particular, have done much to restore Tolstoy's nuance as an aesthetician. In this paper I would like to add to their revisionist work by examining one aspect of Tolstoyan aesthetics that I believe we, in our irritation, have too often passed over — a conceptual node that is more problematic, as well as more interesting, than all the above reservations. This is the paradoxical interaction in Tolstoy's theory of art between expression and infection. Let us consider first some problems that arise with the famous definition itself, first provided in Chapter 5 and then elaborated. Tolstoy implies that infection by emotion takes place instantaneously: w e know that art has worked its magic when a group of people is suddenly united " a s if by an electric flash" [nan a j i e K T p H i e c K O H HCKPOH] (ChTI, 175), in a fraction of a second. As Silbajoris puts Tolstoy's argument, art is "timeless and immeasurable — an unanalyzable event in the realm of the spirit". Apparently, infection does not spread out complexly through time. Thus it need not take responsibility for subsequent proliferating or individuating responses. It knows no anxiety of duration. And there is the added benefit that "infections" through art (unlike the more pathological contagion that serves as a model for the metaphor) do not result in the illness, deterioration or death of the patient; by definition, artistic infection can only relieve pressure among and within people, 8

9

%ee Rimvydas Silbajoris, Tolstoy's xsthetics and his art (Columbus: Slavica, 1991), and also Gary Saul Morson's thoughtful review essay "The Tolstoy questions: Reflections on the Silbajoris theses", in Tolstoy Studies Journal, Vol. 4 (1991): 115-41. They illuminate, for example, the debate between Tolstoy and Shakespeare as one over the proper relation of language to reality: in Tolstoy's opinion, a person suffers, believes, loves, and the reflection of these emotions becomes art — but in Shakespeare it all too often becomes a "game of words ... where thoughts arise either from sound repetitions or from verbal contrasts, and thus the artistically important relationship exists not between reality and language, but between a word and its shadow grinning foolishly at each other" (Silbajoris, 143). This animus against the play of verbal form is not, I believe, a matter of Tolstoy's often expressed dislike of poetry and its devices. Nor can it be explained by Tolstoy's passion for "realistic detail" (a virtue, or vice, frequently extracted from the practice of his huge novels). On the contrary, in Chto takoe iskusstvo? Tolstoy stresses that an abundance and superfluity of detail is a counterfeit move in art, for "abundance of detail makes the stories even more exclusive and difficult of comprehension to all people not living within reach of the environment described by the author" (ChTI, 178). 9

Rimvydas Silbajoris, Tolstoy's xsthetics and his art, 108.


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never intensify it. In sum: Tolstoy was a writer profoundly committed to process in all areas of his moral philosophy and literary practice. But in the realm of aesthetic theory, he had no patience with forms of art that require for their appreciation prolonged or repeated exposure, arduous training, new languages, complex techniques. A related bias toward synchrony can be detected in Tolstoy's psychology of art. If properly tuned up, feelings could be transmitted on the spot (unlike "thoughts", which presumably take some time to elaborate); emotions deliver, then depart. Secondly, if the creator-artist is sincere, then infection will occur on the spot and the receiver-consumer is guaranteed something whole and precise. But if we examine more closely the giving end of this transaction, w e note that Tolstoy takes precise expression more or less for granted. He appears to assume that all honest feelings are fully translatable, transmittable, and find easily accessible outlets. He is disinterested, it seems, in obscure, transitory, hybrid, contradictory or unidentifiable emotions, that is, the feelings that paralyse us because they are part bliss, part baseness, part dark and nameless flow — in short, those lingering and depressing feelings that can cause genuine insecurity, terror and anxiety in us, as opposed to the more straightforward impulses of hope, joy, anger, disappointment, banal jealousy, all of which we can more readily focus and discharge. It is as if Tolstoy returns, in this late treatise on art, to the hydraulic view of self-expression he had associated with the Rostov family in Vojna i mir [War and peace] — where honest expression was equivalent to a healthy, spontaneous overflow of narcissistic feeling, in equal part ecstasy and impulsive blind risk. In short: the inarticulate, self-cancelling, anaesthetizing and paralysing emotions, precisely because they resist compact isolation and ready expression, must have struck Tolstoy (a man who in life was no stranger to brooding and grim melancholy) as simply theoretically not real. A third and related point: much of the impatience with Tolstoy as a theorist of art, as w e have seen, has to do with his indifference to history, in the large and the small: his dismissal of changing social tastes, his contempt for the power wielded by genre systems and conventions, his unwillingess to let the effects of a new art form sink m, mature, or increase in infectiousness through repeated exposure. These are all simplifications at the receiving end. But the creating end is equally stripped of real time. In Tolstoy's treatise, the creative process and its concomitant anxieties get extremely short shrift. With the exception of a passing comment to " i y T b - i y T b " , to those 'minute degrees" required in the execution of art and to the fact that "art begins where the 'wee bit' begins" (Chapter 12; ChTI, 143) — expression is apparently expected to take care of itself. "It is quite impossible to teach people by external means to find these infinitely

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minute degrees", he writes (ChTI, 144); "they are found only when a person yields to feeling". In fact, people who are trained in techniques that might enable a purer, more precise expression (of feeling or of anything else) are mercilessly ridiculed in Chto takoe iskusstvo? Grown-ups who force young people to "twist and twirl their limbs" or to spend long hours at "scales and exercises", "singing solfeggio", or "pronouncing verses", are all but charged with child abuse (Chapter 17; 184-85); these children, we read, will grow up physically, mentally and morally deformed. Nowhere does Tolstoy suggest that creators or performers, of any age, might be grateful for a teacher's help with a recalcitrant passage, for a conductor's co-ordinating baton, for the years of practice put in to make sure that the impulse to artistic self-expression has some chance to succeed as infectious communication. Practice devoted to perfecting something is always only oppression and drudgery. Even when discussing the experience of accomplished adults in their chosen profession, Tolstoy generalizes on the basis of reflexes w e might expect from a spoiled child. H o w can this be explained? Tolstoy the literary artist insatiably "practised", rehearsed and redrafted things, both in his moments of inspiration and during the sober mornings after, in notebooks and over the margins of page proofs, driving his editors to d e s p a i r . In showing such contempt for "lessons" and "rehearsals", then, did Tolstoy have in mind only the fabulously, the instantly gifted, for whom no sustained practice or perfected technique is required to find exquisitely correct expression? Or perhaps his intent was not to describe a reality principle to which all must submit, but rather to touch the chord of some deep unconscious fantasy in each of us, something that echoes the valet Matvej's reassuring words to a disoriented Oblonskij in the opening pages of Anna Karenina, "Bee o6pa3yeTCH": the fantasy-hope that (at least in the glorious matter of art) work is unnecessary and pleasure immediate. If this is the case, of course, Tolstoy is renouncing in the realm of art the most prominent conviction in his adult moral universe: that conscious effort, conscientiously applied over time, will lead a person to g r a c e . 10

11

extent to which Tolstoy fussed over his own art is legendary. His inability to let go of his writings drove his publishers wild; but as Tolstoy wrote the exasperated P. I. Bartenev, after delays caused by page proofs that were returned filled to overflowing with corrections: "I am not able not to scribble [over these pages] the way I scribble" [He MapaTb TaK, nan a Mapaio, a He Mory] (cited in Boris Eikhenbaum, "Tvorcheskie stimuly L. N. Tolstogo" [1935] in B. Eikhenbaum, O proze (Leningrad: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1969): 78. n

F o r a persuasive discussion of the use and abuse of third-person reflexive verbs that avoid agency or responsible striving, see Curt Whitcomb, "Resist-

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In the final chapters of Chto takoe iskusstvo?, in covert polemic with Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk, Tolstoy suggests that the "artwork of the future" will simply not need to depend upon acquired technique. In that bucolic time, the aesthetic impulse will be broadened and ennobled by exclusive concentration on shorter and simpler genres. Or as he puts it, " t h e artist of the future will understand that to compose a fairy tale, a little song that moves us, a lullaby, a riddle that will entertain, a joke that will amuse ... is all immeasurably more important than to compose a novel or a symphony" — genres that are n o w falsely valued for their "bulkiness, obscurity and complexity of f o r m "

[rpoM03flKOCTb, HencHOCTb, H cjiowHOCTb

Only those modest folk genres can possess Tolstoy's triad of desired "Pushkinian" virtues: " K p a T K O c T b , acHocrb H npocTOTa BWp a w e H H J i " (Chapter 19; ChTI, 201). But one suspects this is a dodge. After all, lullabies, riddles, and fairy tales also have their mediocrity and their excellence. For Tolstoy in Chto takoe iskusstvo?, creative expression has simply ceased to be problem. He will not take its difficulties seriously, and he will not allot it any time. As Silbajoris (264) sums up Tolstoy's position, "true art is universally and fully present in every soul"; it is a "spark of divinity". Compared with this divine spark, the hard work of expression — that is, bringing what is not yet fully present into existence — is slow travel along a poorly lit road. Tolstoy, w h o certainly knew that work, puts it off to the side and concentrates instead on the receiver, on the anxieties and responsibilities of reception. If others are infected, this means that the art is real; in this equation, both creator-satisfaction and creator-anxiety are secondary. ipopMbi].

It is significant, I think, that in Tolstoy's thinking about art during the 1890s, such had not always been the case. In his earlier ruminations — those numerous unfinished drafts of treatises that preceded Chto takoe iskusstvo? — the creative process, in all its anguish and delicacy, was for Tolstoy a more central concern, and the achievement of brotherhood by means of art much more peripheral. Consider, for example, two of the more substantial surviving drafts, both with vintage-Tolstoy working titles: the 1896 draft O torn, chto nazyvajut iskusstvom [About what is called art] and from 1895-97: O torn, chto est' i chto ne est' iskusstvo, i o torn, kogda iskusstvo est' delo vazhnoe i kogda ono est' delo pustoe [About what is and is not art, and when art is an important matter and when an empty o n e ] . By 12

ing the effortless in Anna Karenina", in Tolstoy Studies Journal, Vol. 7 (1994):

32-43. 2

L. N. Tolstoj, Polnoe sobranie sochinenij (Jubilee edition) (Moscow-Lenin-

grad: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1928-58): O torn, chto nazyvajut iskusst-

vom, 30:243-70; and O torn, chto est' i chto ne est' iskusstvo, i o torn, kogda is-

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and large, both texts are less strident and less U t o p i a n in tone than Chto takoe iskusstvo?; and in both, Tolstoy is less morbidly distressed over the relevance and role of beauty in the aesthetic project. Although the later variant has increasingly angry declamatory patches, overall, Tolstoy arrives at his definitions through a sort of negotiation, an examination of alternative justifications for art. He does not bludgeon the reader with an "estranged" opera rehearsal or a contemptuous list of academic theorists, two of the blunter devices that constitute argumentation in the final finished treatise. My purpose here will be to consider how these earlier, somewhat more flexible treatments of the theme succeed at integrating "creative expression" with "audience infection" in a more linear, process-oriented way — one in which "brotherhood through art" is not achieved through a timeless spark but rather approached as something imperfect, unfinished and dialogic. I will then close on some speculations about w h y Tolstoy hardened up his stance, sealed out more voices, moved from persuasion to preaching, and actually finished — after decades of delay — a treatise on art. In the 1895-97 sketch, O torn, chto est' i chto ne est' iskusstvo, i o torn, kogda iskusstvo est' delo vazhnoe i kogda ono est' delo pustoe, Tolstoy outlines three criteria for judging art (/£, 30:449). Any given work will be, in various proportion, possessing content [coflepmaTejibHMH]; possessing beauty [ n p e K p a c H b i f i ] and from the heart, sincere [3aA y u i e B H b m ] . All three virtues must be present to some degree, and confusion (nyTaHHua) occurs when a single standard of judgement is applied. A theory of art is false, then, when one criterion is taken to an extreme at the expense of the other two: overemphasize content and art becomes tendentious; overemphasize beauty and one preaches "art for art's sake"; overemphasize an artist's sincerity, and one is left with nothing more than the "theory of realism" (30:450). Within this benign and sensible taxonomy, Tolstoy devotes considerable space to the problem of creative expression. True, the art-producing instinct is socially motivated, as it is in Chto takoe iskusstvo? — that is, an individual's impulse to create in a chosen artistic medium is intimately connected to his or her need to communicate this expression to others. However, in this earlier sketch, Tolstoy describes the exchange scenario not in terms of "flashes" or instantaneous identifications but as something fundamentally temporal, a gradual matter of negotiation and feedback, and central to the creative process itself. Here is how an artwork emerges, as described in this unfinished text from the mid-1890s (/£, 30:447): A person sees, feels, understands something that is for him absolutely new — something mat he has not heard about from anyone else. This kusstvo est' delo vazhnoe i kogda ono est' delo pustoe, 30:442-54. references to this edition are indicated by JE in the text.

Subsequent


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new thing strikes him, and he points it out to other people. But other people at first do not see, do not feel and do not understand what he is showing mem. At first mis state o f affairs upsets him, and, reassuring himself, he tries t o point out to a new set o f people what he sees, feels and understands from new sides; but his efforts are not successful. What is clearly comprehensible to him continues to be incomprehensible to others. So he confronts the question: does he see, feel and understand something that does not exist, or d o others not see, not feel, not understand what i n reality does exist? To resolve his doubts, he tries with all possible earnestness and effort to explain to himself this "something", s o that there cannot be the slightest doubt for his own self. And this elucidation for one's own self of that which only one person sees, feels and understands, is called spiritual creativity [flyxoBHoe TBopqecTBo]. What was previously unseen, unsensed, not understood, brought to such a degree o f clarity that it becomes accessible to people, is what is generally known as a n authentic work o f spiritual activity and i n particular a work o f art.

This long passage is unmistakably from the pen of the late Tolstoy, but the emphases are different from those in the final published treatise. Here, Tolstoy stresses the extent to which self-expression is hard work, literally, it is the work of art. To be sure, this labour is undertaken partly for the sake of "brotherhood" in the loose sense of the term — but more immediately, it is directed toward enriching others' world-views; it results from a desire to make available a new, once private insight to other persons for whom such insight was previously inaccessible, regardless of any subsequent fusion or identification between producing artist and consumer. Or, as Tolstoy puts the matter, the primary value is cognitive, content-oriented, intended to enlarge the horizon of our individual experience and the "spiritual riches" of humanity, for in this lies the " S j i a r o " — the blessing, the boon, the " g o o d " of art: B TOM JjejiaHHH flOCTyriHblM, nOHJITHblM H 3aM6THbIM jnOflflM T0TO, qTO n p e a m e 6 H J I O HcnocrynHO H M , B pacuitipeHHH H X Kpyro3opa, B y B c n e qeHHH jjyxoBHoro SoraTCTBa, KanHTaJia qejioBeqecTBa H C O C T O H T S T O

6jiaro,

KOTOpOe npHHOCHT JIlOAflM HCKyCCTBO, eCJIH TOJIbKO OHO HOBOC

(JE, 30:448) In this process, Tolstoy does not underestimate the high level of technique required to achieve this blessed "spiritual capital". "The artist must express the new content so that everyone understands it", he insists. "For this it is necessary to have mastered the craft so thoroughly that, while working at it, the artist thinks as little about it as the walking person thinks about the rules of mechanics" (JE, 30:450). In the second unfinished draft, O torn, chto nazyvajut iskusstvom, the case for art as a source of enrichment and alternative worlds is still intact. Tolstoy classifies the benefit of art alongside that of dreams — during which, he writes, "the legless and the decrepit can

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experience the pleasures of the dance" (JE, 30:253) — and also with our need for rest [ o T f l o x H O B e H H e ] , after the rigours of work. Art is " 3 a 6aBa", " n r p a " , " y B e c e j i e H H e " , which is precious to those who contemplate or consume it because the receiver in this case can be wholly passive; he need only "look, listen, and enjoy". (Thus an artistic transmission [xyaoHcecTBeHHan nepeaaia] between two people differs from a scholarly or an intellectual transmission, Tolstoy argues; the latter requires effort and a concentration of attention in order to understand — see JE, 30:251-52.) True, the consumer must agree to "consciously submit" to the infectious mood induced by the artwork — but this passivity and absence of work on the part of the receiver is what makes infection possible in the first place. Artists do the work; infectees, like fantasizers, must be vulnerable and offer no resistance. Halfway through the draft text, Tolstoy offers a provisional definition of art. " A r t " , he writes, "is a type of amusement by means of which a person, not acting himself but giving himself over to a received impression, experiences various human feelings and in that way rests from the labour of life" (JE, 30:253). There is much in this definition about pleasure, passivity, receptivity, the blessings of vicarious living, the need for relief from work — but very little about brotherhood. Tolstoy does not remain satisfied with this definition, however, and here, we sense, is his Rubicon. Surely, Tolstoy continues, this cannot be all there is to art. Now we begin to glimpse his mature aesthetic position, with all its accompanying rigidities. What will become Chto takoe iskusstvo? comes into focus in this earlier draft. The draft essay opens on the remark that during that year (1896) the author had seen his first performance of Wagner. Tolstoy had been appalled by its mindlessness, luxuriousness, by the whole synthetic quality of the opera and the shapeless pile of sounds that had replaced melody; with Wagner, he writes, European art "has reached a dead end, from which there is no way out" (JE, 30:245). In his final chapters of this draft, Tolstoy contrasts the artistic production of the common folk (embroidered towels, painted windowsills, maypole dances and choruses) with the artificially encapsulated a r t indulged in by members of his own social class — who need no fantasy-rest from work because they do not work. And even worse, their artistic tastes create the senseless labour that enslaves stagehands, orchestra lackeys, theatre attendants. Having now attached the themes of noble peasant and social exploitation to the idea of "artistic transmission", Tolstoy ends his text on an aggressive defence of the naive and untutored. The work of creative expression disappears from view; the rights of spontaneous reception are foregrounded. Tolstoy speaks o u t harshly against those who preach the teaching of new artistic forms: f o r although one can, indeed, learn [npHyiHTb] the new music, the problem with such instruction is that bad art can be taught as easily as good (see


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jE, 30:265) — and (here Tolstoy adopts the tone of the aggrieved, gifted, indulged child) " w h y should I believe that only you, and a few chosen ones, understand real art, whereas I, fool, must continue to study?" (30:267). Teaching art to people not only ruins the student, it perverts the creator as well. In fact, Tolstoy cautions, as soon as an artist "allows himself to say ' I ' m not understood'", he "writes himself a death sentence and severs in himself the main nerve of a r t " (30:266). By the time w e arrive at these last few pages of the draft essay, w e are fully within the familiar abusive realm that will become Chto takoe iskusstvo? A few questions in conclusion: Why, in Tolstoy's writing on art in the 1890s, does attention to the complexities of expression fade away, hostility toward beautiful form grow ever more intense, and the moment of "infection" become ever more instantaneous and dogmatic? W h y did Tolstoy replace the anxieties of the artistic process with anxiety over social class, with collective self-loathing, with antagonism, sarcasm, and the sense — so very apparent in the published text — that whatever w e might wish to call Chto takoe iskusstvo?, it is surely not itself an example of art, for it is permeated by every possible feeling except tolerance and infectious love. Several hypotheses, I believe, are worth considering. Perhaps, like Pushkin's Charskij in Egipetskie nochi [Egyptian nights], Tolstoy took the work of creativity for granted but considered it to b e a private matter and simply did not want to talk about it. At some level, all artists, even massive self-documentors like Tolstoy, might wish to appear as carefree Mozarts to the outside world. Or perhaps, from a theoretical point of view, Tolstoy feared that any sustained attention to the process of creation would compromise that instantaneous " d o t of infection" which, in his final version of the aesthetic plot, must transmit feeling in unmediated form from artist to receiver. And perhaps, up to and beyond Chto takoe iskusstvo?, the writing of fiction, with all its labour and illicit exultations, remained simply too pleasurable for Tolstoy to endorse — given his growing terror of and suspicion toward pleasure. In addition, Tolstoy surely knew, as Pushkin had known, what awful work was required to free art of everything that was superfluous in it and achieve the illusion of simplicity." All those reasons might play a role, but I would like to close on my own, rather more simple hypothesis with the help of one especially shrewd critic, Vasilij Rozanov. In an essay to honour Tolstoy's 3

Tolstoy s u g g e s t s a s m u c h in the final p a r a g r a p h s of O torn, chto nazyvajut iskusstvom: "The o t h e r c o n d i t i o n [ f o r a r t , in a d d i t i o n t o t h e t r a n s m i s s i o n of u n i v e r s a l feelings] is clarity and s i m p l i c i t y — t h e v e r y thing that is a c h i e v e d b y the g r e a t e s t l a b o u r [HaHOOJibiiiHM TpyjioM] and that m a k e s the w o r k of a r t maximally accessible to the greatest n u m b e r of p e o p l e " (JE, 30:270).

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eightieth birthday in 1908, Rozanov had this to say about Russia's greatest living writer: It seems to me that Tolstoy's artistry is explained to a great extent by the marvellous eye with which he was gifted by nature. I imagine this eye to be never sleepy, never drowsy, almost never shut and taking in all of the distant horizon, a spacious field. ... But in order to remember one thing well, it is absolutely necessary to forget something else. ... Tolstoy's unsleeping and broad eye, embracing a huge panorama, reveals its intelligence largely in the fact that it flings off everything unimportant, everything unnecessary, everything uninteresting to him, to Tolstoy; this is done in a moment, as if by magic. In Tolstoy's field of vision there are only a few objects; between and around them there is, as it were, black night (well forgotten, cast out): but these objects, in that night, gleam uncommonly bright. Then, with these several focal points for his attention, Tolstoy, as it were, drills down into them, by means of that eye, to the very bottom, to the "soul", and he becomes, as it were, hypnotized by his object, he becomes absolutely passive, impotent, without a will in relation to it. Objects live in him as they wish, as "themselves"... The qualities of that eye, its mirror-like qualities, its reflectivity, subjugate and paralyse Tolstoy's thought, Tolstoy's feeling... Tolstoy is very active as a thinker. H e thinks ceaselessly. But as an artist he is terribly passive... " 1 4

These sentiments on Tolstoy's all-seeing, but selective and somehow "passive" eye, are the usual Rozanov-like mix of eccentricity and insight. Tolstoy's life and works were indeed one huge accumulating avalanche of self-expression: too much intelligence, too much fame, too much energy, too many lusts, too many children, too many words. The only w a y to register an event amid all that plenitude was by renunciation. One could say that Tolstoy feared art, overestimated its influence on human character, and wished therefore to constrain it because he himself was so powerfully under the sway of aesthetic i m p u l s e s . (We would never expect such a banning or censoring reflex from a critic like, say, Mikhail Bakhtin, who did not have a single primary-creator's bone in his body and therefore could be so congenial and unproblematically ethical in his analyses of art; but Tolstoy had the selfish instincts of an artist from head to toe.) So why renounce the complex energies required to produce art? Because, for such a restless thinker as Tolstoy, possessed of such an eye, he must have craved nothing more than those moments when he was infected himself. Something immediate that nevertheless 15

" L . N. Tolstoj", in Novoe vremja, 28 August 1908, as reprinted in V. V. Rozanov, O pisatel'stve i pisateljakh (Moscow: Respublika, 1995): 2 9 9 - 3 0 6 (esp302-03).

4

See, for example, Israel Knox, "Notes on the moralistic theory of art: Plato and Tolstoy", International Journal of Ethics, 41 (July 1930), 507-10, as cited in Duffield and Bilsky, 103.

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held out the promise of infinite duration; some guarantee that the world had, for a moment, "got it right" and thus he was permitted " o T f l o x H O B e H H e " , a rest from his labour. Perhaps he even hungered after that passivity he had attributed to the ideal audience in his abandoned essay O torn, chto nazyvajut iskusstvom, the receiver of art who needed only to "look, listen, and enjoy". Tolstoy was of course not passive as an artist, there Rozanov is wrong; to the end of his days he was hyperactive and intrusive. But Tolstoy thrilled to the possibility that he could stand aside and be caught up, and this feeling of "being caught u p " is what Tolstoy meant by brotherhood [6paTCTBo]. In this sense, when Tolstoy came closest to renouncing what most of us call art, he was most thoroughly enmeshed in it.

Amy Mandelker City University of New York Graduate Center

TOLSTOY'S EUCHARISTIC AESTHETICS The priest, robed in a peculiar and very inconvenient garment made of cloth of gold, cut and arranged small pieces of bread on a saucer; these he put into a cup filled with wine ... and to the accompaniment of certain manipulations and prayers, these became the body and blood of God. These manipulations consisted in the priest's raising his arms at certain intervals, and, encumbered as he was with his cloth-of-gold robe, keeping them in this position, kneeling from time to time and kissing that table and all objects upon it. But the principle act came when the priest, having taken a napkin in both hands, slowly and rhythmically waved it over the saucer and the golden cup. ... Then the transformation was considered accomplished and the priest... was supposed to have swallowed a piece of the body of God and to have drunk a portion of His blood. [After the communion service] the priest took the cup back with him behind the partition and finished all the remaining bits of God's flesh and drank all the remaining blood. Then he carefully sucked his mustaches, wiped his beard and the cup and came briskly out from behind the partition in the most cheerful frame of mind, his calfskin boots creaking slightly as he walked. The priest performed his functions with an easy conscience, because he had been brought up from childhood to believe that this was the only true faith... Of course the priest did not really believe that bread and wine could become flesh and blood or that he had indeed swallowed a piece of God — no one could believe this — but he believed that it was his duty to believe... One of the most persuasive arguments in favor of this faith of his was that for 18 years he had received, in reward for his services, an income sufficient to support his family and educate his children in good schools." 1

In light of this infamous passage from Voskresenie which fuelled the Russian Orthodox Church's action to excommunicate Tolstoy, the topic of this paper might appear quixotic. I intend to argue that the actual dynamics of Tolstoy's theory of reception aesthetics as adumLeo Tolstoy, Resurrection [Voskresenie], trans. Vera Traill, 135-36. In the case of this and other translations, I have silently corrected where necessary. For all further bibliographical information, please see W O R K S C I T E D at the end of this article.

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brated in Chto takoe iskusstvo? [What is art?] (1896) in fact rest on a iew of art as sacrament; as possessing that real presence (ousia) he was at such pains to deny in the eucharist. I will show how easily Tolstoy's doctrine of "infection" or "contagion" [3apaweHHe] may be rewritten in theological terms, as the conveyance of grace uniting artist and audience in a brotherhood (koinonia) of Christian love / gape) effected by the real presence (ousia) of God in art. This dynamic process of art as sacrament can be cast in secular, theoretical terms as Wolfgang Iser's notion of the "virtual" dimension of the text; that intermediate realm between the text's determinative features and the reader's concretizing perceptions. For Tolstoy, as I hope to demonstrate, the ambiguous field of virtual reality is, in fact, mediated by divine grace. Tolstoy's aesthetics are, in fact, a summa theologica in which w e can discern several key doctrines of Orthodox Christianity. Tolstoy's aesthetics can be characterized, therefore, as iconological, sacramental, eucharistic, pentecostal and evangelical: iconological in elevating true Christian art and the notion of subtle theophany over standard mimesis; sacramental in a certain naive conviction concerning the capacities of infection; eucharistic in the emphasis on the resulting experience of communion or brotherhood; pentecostal in an implicit reliance on supernatural conviction and discernment; evangelical in the intention to exhort readers to the experience of observance, conversion and witness. v

a

As Gary Jahn has demonstrated so effectively with regard to Tolstoy's denial of Christianity as a mystery religion, the very precepts which he rejected in his theoretical writings were not only espoused, but promoted in his artistic works. Similarly, within the pages of Chto takoe iskusstvo?, Tolstoy mounts an attack against traditional religious art — an attack so caustic that it was suppressed by the censor, yet his account of the dynamics of religious art and its effects reflect what Jahn (in his essay in this volume) terms a "secret commitment" to orthodoxy. Throughout his post-conversion writings on religion, Tolstoy militates against official, institutional Christianity, whose traditional doctrines and practices he accuses of subverting and perverting the actual teachings of Christ. In fact, he labels state Christianity a form of "religious perversion" accomplished through the unscrupulous attempt to hypnotize and seduce vulnerable individuals undergoing life crises for the purposes of creating a power base and perpetrating social injustice: ... the chief purpose of religious perversion ... is not only to conceal the law of human equality, but to continue and affirm the highest inequality... (Cho takoe religija? [What is Religion?] 93)

Institutional Christianity becomes a negative social force, legitimizing the worst sorts of inhuman injustices, as described in Voskresenie (138):

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The prison inspectors and the wardens ... all thought that a man must believe this creed because the state authorities and the Tzar himself believed it. Moreover, they felt t h a t . . . this creed was a justification of their cruel duties. If there had been no such creed, it would have been harder for them, — indeed it would have been impossible — to spend all their energy in tormenting human beings, as they were doing now and with a perfectly easy conscience.

Tolstoy thus tars the official church with the same brush that blackens all institutionalized ethics which organize social injustice and make the image of Christ into something "that is usually hung in places where people are tortured" (Voskresenie, 178-79). The juxtaposition between the perverted religion of social convention and genuine Christian sentiment is illustrated in a later scene from Voskresenie where a carriage is halted in order to allow a column of prisoners to pass. The prisoners are viewed by a family with two children: " a carefully dressed little girl as fresh as a flower,... holding a bright sunshade, and an eight-year-old boy with a long, thin neck and prominent collarbones, wearing a sailor hat trimmed with a long ribbon" (321). Neither the father nor the mother made any comment, so that the children had to find for themselves some meaning in what they had seen. The girl, watching the expressions on the faces of her father and mother, decided that the people she had seen were of a different kind from her parents and their friends, that they were bad people who had to be treated in that way; so she only felt frightened, and was glad when the prisoners were out of sight. But the boy who had watched the procession intently, decided the question differently. He knew without any doubt, for he had the knowledge from God, that these people were men and women like himself and like other people, and that something wicked was happening. Something that ought not to be done to them; he was sorry for them and was frightened, not only of those who were shaven and chained, but of those who had shaved and chained them. That was why the boy's lips pouted more and more and he made ever greater efforts to keep back his tears, ashamed of crying at such a time. (Voskresenie, 321, emphasis added)

The two passages from Voskresenie I have cited exemplify two different, although related rhetorical strategies: the first, the use of ostranenie, hailed by the Formalists as the sine qua non of Tolstoy's artistry; the second, the inclusion of an observer in the text, whose nai'evete sometimes provides the pretext for the ostranenie (as with Natasha at the opera or Pierre at the Battle of Borodino). The presence of a viewer within the novel sets up a mise-en-ablme of determinative gazes that enlists and directs the gaze of the reader, and aligns the reader's response with that of the viewer in the text. This is the technique Tolstoy himself advocated in Chto takoe iskusstvo? in order to effect a compassionate response in his reader:


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The author wishes to transmit to the spectators pity for a persecuted girl. To evoke this feeling in the audience by means of art, the author should make one of the characters express this pity in such a way as to infect everyone. (Chto takoe iskusstoo?, 105)

The scene of the two children in Voskresenie, which, incidentally, was preceded by a long list of various charitable and sympathetic actions undertaken by compassionate and distressed observers, is a perfect — and obvious — example of the technique. The viewing of a spectacle functions in this passage from Voskresenie to transform the carriage window into a frame for that object Tolstoy is most concerned to place at the centre of his readers' gaze: the oppressed prisoner. His goal in so doing, as one critic has recently argued, is to effect the "process of social reform as a change in individual consciousness", that is, reading becomes a means of conversion as the audience is "confronted with the social victim as 'text' and produces meaning from the [reading] experience through empathetic feeling" (Smith, 3). Wolfgang Iser (398) has attempted to describe a poetics of conversion as follows: Text and reader no longer confront each other as object and subject, but instead the 'division' takes place within the reader himself. In thinking the thoughts of another, his own individuality temporarily recedes into the background since it is supplanted by those alien thoughts, which now become the theme on which his attention is focussed... In the act of reading, having to think something that we have not yet experienced does not mean only being in a position to conceive or even understand it, it also means that such acts of conception are possible and successful to the degree that they lead to something being formulated in us.

In this case, Tolstoy juxtaposes two gazes — that of the girl who, absorbing the social prejudices of her parents, cannot respond to the picture before her other than with disgust; and that of the boy who is deeply and empathically moved. Bracketing for a moment the textual assertion that his response is directly informed by God, w e also note (as Smith observes) that the boy's physical appearance reduplicates the pathetic emaciation of the prisoners — he is " b e coming like the image" he views in a genuine movement of obrazovanie; the ultimate formation in Christ proclaimed by the icondules. His scrawniness is in marked contrast to his sailor hat; a typically Tolstoyan detail that is rich both in its creation of "l'effet du réel" and in its potential for symbolization. The sailor hat is a ubiquitous outfit for a young aristocrat and thus suggests his affiliation both with the uniform of authority and the social class which enacts the oppression against the pathetic prisoners. It is an emblem of strength at odds with the delicacy of his physiognomy, the latter suggesting his pliable, natural self, in identity with the afflicted bodies of the prisoners. The reader is thus shown an example of wit-

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ness that becomes process — a conversion resulting in the inspiration of spiritual brotherhood and compassionate love. Ideological conversion — the successful infection of the audience with the sincere emotion of the author — is arguably Tolstoy's fundamental definition of art in Chto takoe iskusstvo? To this extent, Chto takoe iskusstvo? reads as a treatise on reader response criticism, and provokes the types of criticism summarized by Caryl Emerson in her essay in this volume — that Chto takoe iskusstvo? describes w h a t art does, not what it is. Within that system of thought, Christian art predictably is defined, not necessarily by its subject — that is, Christian subject matter cannot guarantee that a work will succeed as genuine Christian art, for example, Mikhajlov's painting of Christ — , but true Christian art is determined by its rhetorical effect on its recipients — that is, that they are successfully innoculated with Christian, brotherly love (agape). Thus, Tolstoy's doctrine of Christian art suggests that art affects its viewers as ousia, an infecting presence that obtains virtually between the artist's sincerity and the audience's receptivity: Christian art is only possible if it unites all people without exception ... and people may only be united by two types of emotion: emotions flowing from the consciousness of being God's children and brothers of all humanity, or very simple emotions ... that are not opposed to Christianity and which unite all people without exception... Therefore, the subject matter of Christian art is such feeling as can unite people with God and with one another. (Chto takoe iskusstvo?, 149)

Tolstoy's theory echoes Christ's teaching in emphasizing spirit over letter, and is eucharistic in its emphasis on communion and catholicity. It also relies on an implicit aesthetics of iconicity, reflecting the theological view that the icon is not a conventional form of art, but a directly carnate window onto divinity. There can be no failure of its Christian artistry and infective power, as Tolstoy himself asserts: "The churches and the icons in them are always comprehensible to everyone" (Chto takoe iskusstvo?, 97). Despite his persistent attack on official church "cults", as he referred to them, and his own abstention from the sacraments, in his discussion of how infection actually occurs, Tolstoy reiterates the doctrinal view of communion: the dispersal of the sacrament through a material vehicle and the conveyance of grace thereby which allows the broken body of Christ to be reassembled and reunited through the union of the communicants who thus become one koinonia, the body of Christ on earth. This reading can best be illustrated by reference to the passage from Voskresenie quoted above, which, although it does not describe the observation of a work of art, has much in common with other


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scenes in Tolstoy's novels which d o . As the boy considers the scene before him, Tolstoy interpolates an additional actor into his infection scheme — God — who directs the response of the boy to a correct discernment of the truth. This particular hermeneutic action of the Godhead is traditionally allocated to the third person of the trinity, the Holy Spirit, the advocate who "convicts the world of guilt in regard to sin and righteousness and judgement" (John 16:8). Thus, Tolstoy's aesthetic is also pentecostal, and thereby participates in the most fundamental of patristic notions that, in the possession of the Holy Spirit, the Christian brotherhood is divinized: "In the incarnation, divinity assumed humanity; in our baptism [which results in reception of the Holy Spirit — A.M.] humanity assumes divinity" (Piloxenus). That is, the reception of sacramental grace results in an internal transformation that begins the recipient's formation in Christ. Such a view implicates divine presence in representation, or as Victor Terras has stated, "The idea is that religious art should present a higher essence (pusia) than realist art, just as the sacred word (the Johannine logos) conveys a higher truth than ordinary communication." The Orthodox theology of the icon adapted the Neoplatonic notion of "inner vision" or "inner form" (endon eidos) as the basis of true representation, so that the icon is considered to carry a sacramental effect of revealing that higher truth to its recipient. The full equation of the icon with the eucharist is frequently voiced in Orthodox theology: "Icons reveal a reality ... [which is] the Kingdom of God, whose authentic first-fruits are present as a spiritual, material and physical reality in the Eucharist..." (Ouspensky, 29). The eucharist itself was considered to be an "icon" or "image" of Christ, who in turn was seen as the " i m a g e " or " i c o n " of God (Pelikan, Lossky). As Jaroslav Pelikan (125) defines it, "[T]he doctrine of the real presence [of Christ in the eucharist] ... led inescapably to a justification of the icons and of their worship", so that "the eucharistie presence [was] to be extended to a general principle about the sacramental mediation of divine power through material objects". C. J. G. Turner has demonstrated Tolstoy's active reading of major texts in Russian Orthodox Church writings, as early as the time of 2

3

Considerations of time and space do not permit further elaboration here, but I have attempted to illustrate this point in my book Framing Anna Karenina and in my article "Illustrate and condemn", Tolstoy Studies Journal, Vol. 8 (1996), in press. there is a truth to be revealed undercuts Tolstoy's theoretical attempts to deny that art represents any ultimate reality beyond its action of infection. See below.

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composing Anna Karenina (118-19). How close Tolstoy comes to traditional patristic iconosophical writings on representation may be seen by examining the following passage from St Symeon the Theologian (171-72): "Anyone who wants to tell something about, say, a house, a town or a place..., must have seen and learned its content thoroughly; only then can he speak with plausibility. For if he has not seen it beforehand, what could he say of his own devising?" This is, not surprisingly, close to Tolstoy's own description: 4

Art begins when one person, with the object of joining another or others to himself in one and the same feeling, expresses that feeling... And this, if only [the teller of the story] again experiences the feelings he had lived through and infects the hearers and compels them to feel what he had experienced, is art. (Chto takoe iskusstvo?, 50)

What is missing in Tolstoy is the means by which the teller of the tale possesses the sincere and true spirit of Christian love that is to be conveyed. This silence becomes audible if we read further in St Symeon (171-72): Thus, if no one can speak of or give a description of visible earthly things without having seen them with his own eyes, how then would anyone have the power to speak about God, things divine ... and the vision of God which appears ineffably in them? It is the latter which produces in their heart an ineffable strength. Human words do not allow us to say more about it, unless one is illuminated first by the light.

Tolstoy makes a weak attempt to escape the above schema by denying the presence of truth and its perception in representation in the Greek sense sketched above: "Art is not, as the metaphysicians say, the manifestation of some mysterious Idea of beauty or God ... but it is a means of union among m e n . . . " (Chto takoe iskusstvo?, 837). The astute reader is left wondering how, exactly, this union is effected. How does the creator of religious art obtain that sincere Christian emotion which elevates his art work over secular art, in order to accomplish the infection of his audience with genuine Christian love? Since this effect cannot subsist or rely upon the religious subject matter of the work of art, and since Tolstoy — after Anna Karenina — carefully avoids any Romantic or Platonic notions of inspiration, w e can only record what appears to be a view of art as sacramental — that is possessing the means of conveying actual grace through its material effects according to divine empowerment. As Rimvydas Silbajoris (116-17) has succinctly stated:

4

Turner convincingly suggests Tolstoy read Khomjakov's "An Essay in catechetic exposition of the doctrine of the Church", and shows that he had also certainly read Muller, Burnouf and at the least, Strakhov's reviews of Strauss and Renan.

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In Tolstoy's view, the universal accessibility of true art is an attribute originating not from the realm of aesthetics but from that of religious feeling. H e believed that everyone must have the same capacity to appreciate art because everyone's relationship to God is the same.

Silbajoris is paraphrasing Tolstoy: Such [religious] art should be, and actually has always been, comprehensible to everybody because every man's relation to God is one and the same. (Chto tdkoe iskusstvo?, 97)

The necessity for the action of divine grace to awaken the spirit of Christian love is demonstrated in Tolstoy's notorious rejection of renowned works of religious art: " T h e Sistine Madonna ... does not evoke any feeling, but only a torturous uncertainty whether or not I am experiencing with regard to it the kind of feeling which is expected" (cited in Silbajoris, 283). To this passage, w e might contrast Tolstoy's own ekphrastic depiction of an "unchurched" Madonna. In the drafts of the section of Anna Karenina where Mikhajlov's paintings are on view, instead of the painting of two boys fishing — which I have elsewhere argued can be seen as representing Tolstoy's category of successful Christian art — Anna views a painting of a nursing mother: 5

...[a]n Italian beauty sat on a doorstep and breastfed her baby. With one hand she was carefully holding his little hand, which he was pressing against her white breast; she fiadn't covered her other breast, but wanted to cover the bare breast and was peacefully and rapturously looking at a man with a scythe who had stopped before her and was admiring the baby. Whether he was her husband, lover, or stranger, he was obviously praising the child and she was proud and satisfied. (JE, 20:399-400)

In this depiction, familiar in religious iconography as the "Virgin of the R o a d " , the flight of the Holy Family to Egypt is easily recognized despite the localizing details; even the ambiguous characterization of Joseph's uncertain relationship to the mother and child is suggested in the phrase "husband, lover, or stranger". The fact that a scythe replaces the more likely staff or carpenter's tools might be read against the darker side of Anna's own sexuality, where Eros acquires the accoutrements of death. However, this is not the place to pursue that speculation. In what Michael Finke (124) has called " a clear case of infectiousness in art", Anna is deeply moved by the painting, returns home to occupy herself with her daughter, and repents of the way she has cooled towards her children. Although Tolstoy replaced this painting in the final version with one that would not prematurely affect the direction of the plot, this example from the draft of the novel confirms that great art, when viewed in Tolstoy's novels and as the^See Chapter 5 of my book Framing Anna Karenina.

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orized in his treatise Chto takoe iskusstvo?, always effects a positive change in the audience expressed in their experience of compassionate love for others (agape). The question remains, however, whether Tolstoy, at least implicitly, accepted the Orthodox view that representations could contain divinity or whether divinity could even be represented. This debate was central to the iconoclast controversies prior to their resolution in the second council of Nicaea. The iconoclasts had resisted the idea that Christ could be depicted, since any representation of his body would be inadequate to depict his divinity, while the iconodules argued that the very fact of his incarnation made this possible. Curiously, and perhaps not surprisingly, these debates are echoed in the discussion about religious art which takes place in Mikhajlov's studio in Anna Karenina. Golenishchev criticizes Mikhajlov's work because: "You have made him the man-God and not the God-man. But I know that was what you meant to d o . " "I cannot paint a Christ that is not in my heart," Mikhajlov said gloomily. "Yes, but... if Christ is brought down to the level of a historical character, it would have been better for Ivanov to select some other historical subject... Before the picture of Ivanov, the question arises for the believer and the unbeliever alike, Ts it God, or is it not God?' and the unity of the impression is destroyed." " W h y so? I think that for educated people," said Mikhajlov, "the question cannot exist."

Golenishchev did not agree with this, and confounded Mikhajlov by his support of his first idea of "the unity of the impression being essential to a r t " (Anna Karenina, 432). The attentive reader will have noticed the re-emergence of the same point later in Anna Karenina, when, after viewing Mikhajlov's portrait of Anna, Levin engages his hostess in a discussion of new illustrations of the Bible. Another guest, Vorkuev, attacks the "artist for a realism carried to the point of coarseness" (631). Golenishchev's arguments, whatever local derivation they may have had and apart from their consonance with Tolstoy's later critique of the Sistine Madonna, also accurately restate the iconoclast arguments against the representation of Christ. The attack on making images of Christ emerged, not just from the Old Testament prohibition in the Decalogue, but from the more immediate background of the Council of Chalcedon which had pronounced anathema on any doctrine that attempted to divorce the divine and human natures of 6

^The accusation of a coarse naturalism is also common in Russian Orthodox discussions of religious art, where the asceticism of the eastern icon is contrasted favourably to the fleshy naturalism of Western religious art.


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C h r i s t . In articulating the doctrine of God-manhood, that of two distinct but united natures, Chalcedon condemned as heresy any views that would deny either the divinity of Christ or his humanity. The two natures were indissolubly united, while distinct, according to the doctrine of perichoresis. The iconoclast theologians argued that any representation of Christ would by definition be only a depiction of his historical, physical self, and would thereby split the two natures of Christ by circumscribing him within only the human body. Mikhajlov's answer to Golenishchev, although simple and surly, actually expresses the incarnational and sacramental defence mounted by the iconophiles. That is, that the incarnation of divinity into humanity in fact sacralized all matter, so that an image of Christ would function as did the sacraments to convey grace through matter. In this way, receipt of the sacraments render the human body a "temple" of divinity. Mikhajlov's reference to a Christ in his heart is a simple statement of the theological notion that divinity could indeed inhabit human flesh: " G o d became man so that w e might become g o d s " (Athanasius). The image of the physical body of Christ would therefore be equally as effective an image of his divinity, since the former contained the latter in complete unity, according to the definitions of Chalcedon. In this sense, the physical body of Christ is defined as the image of God, while the eucharistic bread and wine is again an image of Christ with the capacity for endless replication in that it conforms its recipients into the brotherhood of his body. Mikhajlov's final rebuttal, that "for educated people the question cannot exist", might be read as a further assertion of orthodox precepts; for "o6pa30BaHHbie mow", the argument has been resolved. To summarize, without reading backwards from Chto takoe iskusstvo? to the aesthetics debates in Anna Karenina, we might still safely consider the abbreviated discussions on religious art in that novel as anticipatory of the later treatise. Tolstoy's later criteria for the success of Christian art minimize the issue of its subject matter and strangely articulate the Biblical precept for the evaluation of teaching and discipleship: "judge by the fruits" ("by their fruit you will recognize t h e m " — Matthew 7:20). The effectiveness of an art work in conveying and arousing Christian love — its success as a sacrament — becomes Tolstoy's basis for defining Christian art. As w e have just concluded, unity of representation — spirit and matter — is less important in Tolstoy's aesthetics than unity of the audience in brotherhood, yet his own words evoke the sacramental 7

My summary of the iconoclast controversy is based on the account and interpretation given by Jaroslav Pelikan, Chapter 3.

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power of the eucharist to establish the "communion of saints" (Nicene creed): .. .glad of the communion established [with the living, the dead and the unborn — A.M.], he feels the mysterious gladness of a communion, which, reaching beyond the grave, unites us with all men ... who have been moved by the same feelings and with all men of the future who will yet be touched by them. {Chlo takoe iskusstvo?, 151) Christian art ... should be catholic in the original meaning of the word, that is universal, and therefore should unite all men [in] the essence of the Christian perception ... every man should recognize his sonship to God and the consequent union of men with God and with one another, as it is said in the Gospel of John: 'That they all may be one, even as thou, Father art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be in us' (John 17:21). (Chto takoe iskusstvo?, 150)

Religious conversion for Tolstoy was a group matter: as one potential convert to Catholicism put it, "If I go, I'm going to take y'all with m e . " Or, as Richard Gustafson (12) has summarized it, "The sense of love as mutual, reciprocal, and communal, culminates in Tolstoy's firm belief that ' w e cannot be saved separately, we must be saved all together'. Tolstoy the Resident, who experiences the unity of all moments of ecstatic prayer and preaches the ideal of human relatedness, hopes for the universal salvation of all together". Revolutionary in substituting art for the sacraments of the established church, Tolstoy is extraordinarily orthodox in reiterating the patristic doctrines of sacramentality and iconicity. As we have seen, Tolstoy's own aesthetic practice, pre- and post-conversion, contains episodes illustrating the process of infection he defined in Chto takoe iskusstvo?: art as inhabited by ousia becomes the conveyor of grace, and, by divine guidance, transforms its recipients into communion (koinonia) with one another and through the development of brotherly love, into the body of Christ.

W O R K S CITED Emerson, Caryl, "What is infection and what is expression in What is art?". Lev Tolstoy and the concept of brotherhood. Ottawa: Legas, 1996. Finke, Michael, Metapoesis. The Russian tradition from Pushkin to Chekhov. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1995. Foucault, Michel. The Order of things. New York: Vintage, 1970. Gustafson, Richard. Leo Tolstoy. Resident and stranger. University Press, 1986.

Princeton: Princeton

Iser, Wolfgang. "The Reading process: A Phenomenological approach", in Twentieth Century Literary Theory, ed. Vassilis Lambropoulos and David Neal Miller. Albany: SUNY Press, 1987: 381-400.


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Tahn, Gary. " A Note on miracle motifs in the later works of Tolstoy", in The Supernatural in Slavic and Baltic literature: Essays in honor of Victor Terras. Columbus: Slavica, 1 9 8 8 : 1 9 1 - 9 9 . Jahn, Gary. "Brother or other: Tolstoy's equivocal surrender to the concept of brotherhood". Lev Tolstoy and the concept of brotherhood. Ottawa: Legas, 1996. Lossky, Vladimir. In the Image and Likeness of God. Crestwood, New York: St Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1983. Lotman, Iurii. "The Text within the text", trans. Jerry Leo and A m y Mandelker. PMLA 109 (May, 1994): 377-84. Mandelker, Amy. Framing Anna Karenina. Tolstoy, the woman question, and the Victorian novel. Columbus: Ohio University Press, 1993. Ouspensky, Vladimir. Theology of the Icon, Vol. 1. Crestwood, New York: St Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1992. Pelikan, Jaroslav. The Spirit of Eastern Christendom (600-1700). tian tradition, Vol. 2. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, n.d.

The Chris-

St Symeon, the Theologian. Cited in Ouspensky. Silbajoris, Rimvydas. Tolstoy's aesthetics and his art. Columbus: Slavica, 1990. Smith, Karen. " A Comparison of Resurrection and Uncle Tom's Cabin". Comparative Literature Studies, forthcoming. Terras, Victor. Personal communication. Tolstoj, Lev Nikolaevich. Polnoe sobranie sochinenij (Jubilee edition). -Leningrad: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1928-1958.

Moscow

Tolstoy, Leo Nikolaevich. Anna Karenina, trans. Constance Garnett. York: Doubleday, 1965.

New

• Resurrection, trans. Vera Traill. New York: Signet, 1961. • What is Art?, trans. Aylmer Maude. New York: Macmillan, 1960. - . "What is Religion?", in A confession and other religious writing, trans. Jane Kentish. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1987: 81-120. Turner, C. J. G. A Karenina companion. University Press, 1993.

Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfred Laurier

C.J.G. Turner The University of British Columbia

BLOOD IS THICKER THAN CHAMPAGNE: THE BONDS OF KINSHIP AND THE MARRIAGE-BOND IN ANNA KARENINA When I was an undergraduate the mottoes of the two main Christian student societies were oddly contrasting: one motto was in Latin: "That all may be o n e " ; the other was in Greek: "You are all one in Christ Jesus" (both come from the N e w Testament). What the one society proclaimed as a goal the other society stated as a fact; and between them they are emblematic of the tensions and paradoxes of realized eschatology: the kingdom of God is among you here and now, but the kingdom of God is also to come. One of the factors in the greatness of the greatest of Russian writers, Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, is that both of them knew this tension, both of them recognized it with their minds and experienced it existentially in their lives: the tension between a unity with others that is palpable but that also vanishes. Theoretically it ought to be most palpable in marriage; but w e are only too familiar with the sad story of Tolstoy's marriage. And it was as Dostoevsky contemplated the corpse of his first wife that he was stimulated to note down some of his own agonized thoughts about human disunion. 1

F. M. Dostoevskij, Polnoe sobranie sochinenij (Leningrad, 1972-90), 20:17273: "To love a person as one's self according to Christ's commandment is impossible. The law of personality on earth binds us. The I prevents i t . . . it has become as clear as day that the highest, final development of the personality must indeed reach the point ...where man finds, recognizes and is by the whole force of his nature convinced that the highest use that he can make of his personality, of the fulness of the development of his I, is, as it were, to annihilate this I, to give it up entirely to each and everyone without partiality or compunction. And this is the greatest happiness... Marriage and giving in marriage is, as it were, the greatest rejection of humanism, the complete separating off of the couple from all (little remains for everyone). The family, that is the law of nature but nevertheless an abnormal, egoistic (in the full sense of the term) state." Translations (from Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Schopenhauer) are my own.

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The problem (as Dostoevsky saw it) of marriage is part of the problem that Richard Gustafson has so correctly defined in Tolstoy: Tolstoy as resident but also as stranger in the world, as longing to belong to a community while perpetually unable to conform, aristocratically aloof and idiosyncratic to the end, yet as coming to seek a unity based, if not on a common truth, then at least on a common search for a common truth. And the problem of marriage — of marrying or not marrying, of maintaining or destroying a marriage, of children and of what Tolstoy called "the family i d e a " — the whole area of what our modern jargon calls "interpersonal relations" is without question the central theme of Anna Karenina. It begins with the bold aphorism that "All happy families are like one another, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own w a y " . It also quotes from the marriage-service the creation ordinance endorsed by Jesus Christ that "The two shall become one flesh" (AK, V.6:386). When I was first contacted about this Symposium on Tolstoy and "brotherhood", m y naive and literal mind turned first to literal brotherhood, to brothers like the Levins and to sisters like the Shcherbatskijs, and thence to a question that has teased me for some time: given that a number of marriages are depicted in Anna Karenina and that most of them are more or less fragile, is it true, or is there a sense in which it is true, that its protagonists are closer to their siblings than to their spouses? Only later did I realize that I ought to have inserted a cautious question-mark into my original title. But first I should point out that this excludes from my discussion of "closeness" the parent-child relationships that are so significant in Anna Karenina, and that it also de-emphasizes the factor of unity of purpose (the "common search"), that became so important for the later Tolstoy, in favour of factors such as mutual understanding and mutual sympathy. Sympathy (compassion, pity) seems to me a particularly significant index of human relationships in Tolstoy, partly because it appears later as the only testimony to the conversion of Ivan Il'ich (JE, 26:112-13) and partly because it was recognized as the only basis for morality by Schopenhauer, whose 2

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R. F. Gustafson, Leo Tolstoy: Resident and stranger (Princeton, 1986): 8-22. | . A. Tolstaja, Dnevniki, Vol. 1 (Moscow, 1978): 502. ^References to Tolstoy will be included in the text: those to Anna Karenina, identified by AK in the text, will give first the part and chapter, followed by the page in the Literaturnye pamjatniki edition (Moscow, 1970); those to the rest of Tolstoy will give the volume and page of the Polnoe sobranie sochinenij (Jubilee edition) (Moscow-Leningrad, 1928-58), identified by JE in the text. 'Genesis 2:24; Matthew 19:5. Most clearly in A. W. Schopenhauer, Die beiden Grundprobleme der Ethik (Berlin, 1860): 277: "...pity, i.e., the utterly immediate participation, indepen-

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influence on Tolstoy was particularly strong at this time. Indeed pity — or, rather, the failure of Mitjukha Kirillov to have pity — is an important part of the revelation to Levin at the end of Anna Ka renina (AK, VIII.11:665). When one tries to connect the concept of "brotherhood" with Anna Karenina one thinks first, in all probability, of Levin's repudiation of the term with reference to the Western and Balkan Slavs, the irony with which the term is normally used. And this is indeed a part of the elaborate system of parallels and contrasts that w e can find in the novel. Levin's repudiation of a special relationship with "brother Slavs" contrasts with his affirmation of a special relationship with his blood brothers; and, of course, his special relationship with his half-brother Sergej both parallels and contrasts with his even more special relationship with his full brother Nikolaj. Both originally entered the design of the novel to parallel and contrast with Levin himself; but, instead of their remaining a kind of Tweedledum and Tweedledee, we find that Sergej deteriorates, is distanced, and becomes only a half-brother, no longer a Levin but a Kozn y s h e v . Emblematic of these tensions is the way in which each is introduced into the novel: Levin is first shown taking a little offence at being introduced by Stiva Oblonskij as "the brother of Sergej Ivanych Koznyshev" (AK, 1.5:21); while the final version retains something of a draft in which Nikolaj speaks sarcastically of those "bright sparks who bid us not recognize relationship by blood, but as soon as I saw you something tugged at my heart" (JE, 20:171). 7

At the first meeting between Sergej and Levin (AK, 1.8:27-29) we see things mainly through Levin's eyes: he knows that Sergej's question about the farm is motivated more by politeness than by interest; he had meant to ask Sergej's advice about marriage but now feels that he cannot; each of them feels that the other looks at things from the wrong angle ("He Tan CMOTPHT"). The differences in their views are illustrated when they next meet at the beginning of Part 3, dent of every other consideration, first in the suffering of another and thereby in the mitigation or removal of this suffering, in which in the end all satisfaction and all well-being and happiness consist. This pity alone is the real basis of all free justice and all genuine love of humanity. Only insofar as an action springs from it, has that action moral value." Anne Henry, in Schopenhauer, ed. E. von der Luft (Lewiston, New York, 1958): 205, writes of "la pitié russe, forme dérivée par Tolstoï de la sympathie schopenhauérienne". Max Scheler, in the course of criticizing Schopenhauer's concept of compassion (in which the stress is put on suffering), recognizes that Tolstoy is "in many respects a representative of ... [the] type of personality which ... finds its exact expression in Schopenhauer's ethics"—The Nature of Sympathy (New Haven, 1954): 53. See Ja. S. Bilinkis, O tvorchestve L. N. Tolstogo (Leningrad, 1959): 306; cf. Tolstoj, AK, VI.1:464.


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where Sergej visits Levin at home in the country. They argue at cross-purposes and at length; so that, in the mowing-scene that is inserted into their encounter, Levin is represented as feeling closer to an "old m a n " than to his brother (AK, 111.5:218). And yet very soon we find evidence both of Levin's closeness to his brother when Sergej is infected by his gay mood and, before long, evidence of Levin's distance from the peasants when his negotiations with them demonstrate that the degree of understanding between them is very limited (111.29:289-90). This kind of half-brotherly relationship between Levin and Sergej persists throughout the novel. In spite of the foundations for a friendship and in spite of Levin's feeling after his conversion that "With my brother I shall no longer have this sense of distance that there has always been between u s " and his "permanent and now particularly strong desire to be on friendly and, even more, simple terms with his brother" (AK, VIII.14:671-72), he nevertheless finds that this distance and coolness remain; and, curiously, their differences come out here (VIII.15-16:674-77) with respect to the concepts of sympathy for one's neighbour and unity of mind and purpose [CUHHOMbicjiHe]. In the final chapter of the novel (VIII.19:683) Levin claims that he is willy-nilly united with others in recognition of "the laws of the good"; but at the end of the preceding chapter (and on the same page) Kitty knew him well enough to recognize implicitly the distance between him and Sergej by saying: "You are so good with Sergej Ivanych — when you choose to b e . " The distance that I have been emphasizing between Levin and his half-brother is there, it seems to me, largely for the purpose of contrasting with the closeness that pertains between Konstantin Levin and his full brother, Nikolaj. For with Nikolaj Tolstoy seems to be at pains to show Levin's closeness: not an intellectual closeness, since they are scarcely closer in their ideas than are Levin and Sergej, but an instinctive, emotional closeness. When Levin calls on Nikolaj in Chapters 24-25 of Part 1 he claims to "know his soul", to "love and therefore to understand h i m " (AK, 1.24-25:76-77); the way that he jerks his head is " s o familiar" to Levin (78). Levin pities him and proposes that he should come to their old home (79, 82). When, at the end of Part 3 (111.31-32:294-99), Nikolaj does visit their old home, Levin loves him, feels pity for him, understands what he means, but finds his company difficult, partly because Nikolaj in turn understands him "through and through" [ H a c K B 0 3 b ] . They have memories in common and, in avoiding the subject of death, they share a lie. 8

e of the prayers at the wedding-service that had so impressed Levin was that they should be confirmed in "eflHHOMbicjiHe" (AK, V.4:383).

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These two men were so akin and close to one another that for both of them the slightest movement or tone of voice said more than could be said in words. (295)

On the third occasion when they meet on the pages of the novel (AK V.17-20:412-25) and Nikolaj dies, it is Kitty who pities and therefore understands Nikolaj — indeed, at times she is the only one to understand him — whereas it is twice stated that Levin no longer experienced pity for his brother (418-22). Levin now understands Nikolaj's past life and way of thinking, but, as often in Tolstoy, the approach of death has put a distance between them such that Levin can no longer sympathize with his brother but can only envy him (420-22). W e are even told that Levin "loved his dying brother more than anyone else" (423): how, then, does this love compare with his love for the young wife who had insisted on being with him at this critical juncture? Few critics have resisted the temptation to suggest danger-signals in Tolstoy's account of the marriage of Levin and Kitty; some, perhaps influenced by the subsequent history of Tolstoy's own marriage, have gone so far as to see it as flawed from the start and inevitably headed for disaster. Yet there can be little doubt that Tolstoy intended to idealize it, just as he shows the love-lorn Levin idealizing his wife-to-be. To do justice to this tension would require more space than I have at my disposal, so I can do no more than pick out a few of the major signs of the presence or absence of mutual understanding, mutual sympathy or unity of purpose. Mutual understanding in the sense of the interpretation of tones and gestures is ubiquitous in Anna Karenina as a means of communication both between author and reader and between characters. But it is, of course, particularly obvious between Levin and Kitty. As early as the scene of Levin's abortive proposal we read that Levin 9

...looked at Kitty. She had already had time to look at Vronskij and glanced at Levin. And solely by the look in her involuntarily shining eyes Levin understood that she loved this man. (AK, 1.14:48)

In the scene of Levin's successful proposal we read even more: There was nothing out of the ordinary, it seemed, in what she said, but what ineffable significance there was for him in every sound, in every movement of her lips, eyes, hand, as she said it! Here there was a petition for forgiveness, and trust in him, and affection, a tender, timid affection, and a promise, and hope, and love for him. (AK IV.9:326)

Here Tolstoy is going beyond the communication by gesture of immediate circumstances into the communication of deeper meanings and 9See, for example, M. V. Jones, "Problems of Communication in Anna Karenina", in New essays on Tolstoy, ed. M. V. Jones (Cambridge, 1978): 85-108.


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motives. And this further level of mutual understanding is illustrated twice over on one page of the same scene: first Kitty understands Levin's badly expressed thought about the reasons for arguments, then Levin understands her fear of being left unmarried (AK, IV.13:336). This process then reaches its culmination on the next page in the incredible interpretation of initial letters written in chalk. Such is the idealized picture of mutual understanding that is an essential part of the novel Anna Karenina. And yet it is also essential that w e should have our doubts about it. After all, was Levin correct, or in what sense was he correct, in seeing that Kitty loved Vronskij? Part 3 is remarkable in that Levin and Kitty exchange not one word and only one glance — and that glance may be a total misinterpretation. First we are told that "She had recognized him, and a surprised joy lit up her face" (AK, 111.12:237); when they meet again later she appears to have forgotten all about it (IV.11:331). Had she forgotten, or is she teasing Levin, or has Tolstoy forgotten, or had Levin misinterpreted her look in the first place? When they are engaged Levin does not foresee the horrific effect on Kitty of reading the diaries that he felt bound to hand over to her, and he does not foresee it because he "failed to put himself into her place" (IV.16:345). On the eve of their wedding Kitty claims to "love him because [she] understand[s] the whole of h i m " (V.2:376); but we have only just been told that she "did not understand and did not want to understand ... his business in the country" (V.l:370), and later she exhibits the same total lack of understanding of his intellectual and philosophical interests. At the wedding itself Tolstoy tells us that Levin was wrong in thinking that Kitty was with him in appreciating how profound and apposite were the prayers and that the feeling that linked them "alternately drew them together and pushed them apart" (V.4:382). All this inevitably led to the tensions and quarrels of the first weeks of their marriage that are attributed to the fact that "they did not yet know what was important for each other" (V.14:406-07). As against our doubts, Tolstoy tries to reassure us that, fundamentally and ultimately, all is well with the Levin-Kitty marriage. At their engagement she is described as "his happiness, his life, his very self" (AK, IV.15:342). At the end of their wedding he "felt that they were already o n e " (V.6:387); and soon after the wedding he found himself no longer able to tell "where she ends and he begins" (V.14:406), so that, when he shouts at her, he feels that he is "hitting out at himself" (V.16:411). And, so that this identification should not be just of him with her, we find her identifying with him and "seeing him not from without, but from within" (VII.1:563). Their mutual understanding and sympathy is shown as sometimes threatened, but not lost and even ultimately strengthened as they

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pass through pregnancy, labour, childbirth, childcare and child -worship. There are, indeed, two major threats to it that arise before the novel is concluded. One is Levin's jealousy, which is to be contrasted to Anna's destructive j e a l o u s y . There are, I think, two factors that make Levin's jealousy, if not constructive, then at least not destructive; and they are oddly contradictory factors. In the first place, the burden of course falls on Kitty, who takes her husband's jealousy seriously and, bolstered by an element of happy pride, is able to treat it with understanding and sympathy (VI.7:483). The other positive factor seems to me to be the network of friends and other interests that enable even Levin, at least sometimes, to see the funny side of it. The other threat to their marriage is Levin's development of a new philosophy of life which he is unable to share with Kitty, so that in the very last paragraph of the novel he concludes that there will always b e " a wall between [his] soul and others, even [his] w i f e " (VIII.19:684). Most critics see this as a well-nigh insuperable barrier to a successful marriage and, indeed, I should find it difficult to conceive of a good marriage in which two widely different philosophies of life were embraced. But I note that Malcolm Jones has held that "It does not matter that Kitty is not [Levin's] equal in intellect... [since] the underlying emotions are shared". 10

11

I have been trying to suggest that the closeness between Levin and Kitty is rivalled, parallelled and perhaps in some ways surpassed by his closeness to his brother, Nikolaj, if not to his half-brother, Sergej: neither relationship is smooth, both are fundamental. What has not always been appreciated is that the famous comparison drawn by Levin between the birth of his son and the death of his brother (AK, VI.14:597), especially since it comes before the actual birth, is not only a parallel between birth and death but also a parallel between the major actors of the two scenes, Kitty and Nikolaj. T h e relationship between Kitty and her sister Natalie is never emphasized, but her closeness to Dolly is evident particularly in the early chapters of Part 2 when Kitty has been made unwell through being jilted by Vronskij (AK, 11.2-3:106-10). She is described as Dol-

10ft

should, however, be noted that at one point in the drafts Levin's jealousy leads him into momentary thoughts of murdering Kitty (JE, 20:478), which would add support to Mark Aldanov's contention that their marriage has much in common with that of the Pozdnyshevs in The Kreutzer Sonata — Zagadka Tolstogo (Berlin, 1923): 39-56. ^ J o n e s , 107: "It does not matter that Kitty is not his equal in intellect. She understands intuitively what it is that is disturbing him, and Levin is confident that she understands his feeling of happiness when he finds a solution to his spiritual unrest. The details may remain his secret, but the underlying emotions are shared."


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ly's "best friend" (106; primarily reflecting Dolly's point of view), polly sees it as her task to counsel Kitty, whose habits and temperament she knows well. Conversely, Kitty knows how to be cruel to polly and understands the effect of her own words on her. Much, however, is communicated again by gestures and tones, so that in the end Dolly understands that Levin had made an unsuccessful proposal and Kitty stays to help nurse Dolly's children through scarlet fever. Later we find that Dolly and Kitty are in "constant and frequent correspondence" (V.16:410) and that Dolly was relying more on the relatively inexperienced Kitty than on their mother to look after her children when she went to visit Anna at Vozdvizhenskoe (VI.16: 509). Dolly tells Levin that she loves Kitty "as [her] own children" (111.10:232): from what we know of Dolly, this is the highest ranking — it is certainly an appropriately lower ranking that she gives to Anna when she says that she loves her "as a sister" (IV.12:333). But it does also suggest that Dolly's love could be maternal as much as sisterly: she is, after all, appreciably older than K i t t y . Dolly's relationship with her husband, Stiva, is where Anna Karenina begins. It is an opening that is widely admired for the skill and apparent ease with which it introduces the novel's main themes and characters. It is an episode that effects a change in the situation in the Oblonskij household that is notoriously "in a mess" according to the novel's second sentence, since Dolly had not previously been aware of her husband's infidelities. But it is not so clear that it effects a change in attitudes of man and wife. Their marriage is a curiously reciprocal arrangement: much later in the novel Dolly tells us that she loves her husband but does not respect him (AK, VI.16: 511), whereas Stiva had told Levin in effect that he respected but could no longer love Dolly (1.11:40-41); Stiva pities Dolly at the beginning (1.2:9), and Dolly pities Stiva at the end (VIII.7:658). Neither, it seems to me, was really able to imagine life without the other, although, often enough, Dolly has to resign herself to the absence of her husband or of money or both. The way that Dolly reconciles herself to Stiva's wanderings (contrasting with the more possessive attitudes not only of Anna towards Vronskij but also of Kitty towards Levin) argues a confidence that makes me think that Anna is not totally wrong when she claims to know that men like Stiva draw a sharp line between their lawful wedded wives and their other women (1.19:65). For Stiva, too, when his first advice to a perplexed and vindictive Karenin is that he should talk with 12

^Dolly is introduced as being only one year younger than her thirty-four-year-old husband (AK, 1.2:9), while Kitty is an eighteen-year-old debutante (1.12: 42). Tolstoy, however, keeps notoriously loose track of chronology and seems for the most part to envisage an age difference of rather less than fifteen years.

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Dolly (IV.8:321), she is still the same "amazing w o m a n " that she had been when he was advising Levin and when, incidentally, he had anticipated her in saying that she "loves Anna as a sister" (1.10:38). Stiva and Dolly are husband and wife, and they remain so. They are bonded partly by their full quiver of children: Stiva is not wrong in thinking "She loves my child ... how can she hate me?" (1.4:16-17). But they are often not together and they may never be really close, since Stiva will continue, at least in some blatant ways, to deceive Dolly, however sincerely he may claim that lying is "contrary to his nature" (1.3:12, 14). Lying is one thing that Stiva has in common with his sister, Anna, who discovers in herself a "facility for lying" (AK, 11.9:126), and later derives pleasure from exercising it (111.17:252). Her initial appearance in the novel, when Stiva meets her in at the railway station and she is introduced to Vronskij, seems to stress her closeness to her brother: the first thing that strikes Vronskij about her is the manner in which she greets Stiva; and they share an emotional reaction to the death of a railway worker that Vronskij has to be pushed into acknowledging (1.18:58-60). And, in the sequel to that scene, Anna assures Dolly more than once that she knows and understands Stiva and then "winks gaily" when telling him to go and seal their reconciliation (1.19-20:63-66). Yet, when Dolly remarks that "How like Stiva you said that!" (what she had said, incidentally, was "But really, really, I am not guilty, or only a little bit guilty"), Anna hotly denies it: "I am not Stiva" (1.28:88). Much later we learn that their similarity, at least in looks, is sufficient to make Serezha uncomfortable when he meets his uncle (VII.19:608). This is, in fact, one of the more puzzling relationships in the novel, one of the least susceptible of definition. Obviously, there is a closeness between them, and even a likeness, that makes it possible to see the initial introduction to Stiva as an adequate introduction also to Anna. Equally obviously, however, there are big differences between them: Anna has one adulterous affair, is totally and permanently absorbed by it, and feels guilty about it; Stiva has many adulterous affairs, treats them all lightly, and does not feel guilty about them — "or only a little bit". What is most odd about their relationship is that there is no sign of the kind of fund of common memories that we know to have linked Levin to his brother Nikolaj or to have been shared by the Shcherbatskij sisters. 13

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. N. Kuprejanova argues that Anna's kinship to Stiva is more than a matter of blood, in Istorija russkogo romana, Vol. 2 (Moscow-Leningrad, 1962-64): 341-42. It has also been observed that, for number and variety of smiles, Stiva is second only to his sister in Anna Karenina, so that "If readiness to smile can be considered a family trait, then Oblonskij is unmistakably Anna s brother"; see M. Pursglove, "The Smiles of Anna Karenina", Slavic & East European Journal 17 (1973): 45.


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It has been suggested that the lack of a stable home-background is one factor in the destabilization of marriages in Anna KareninaM If so, the fact that Tolstoy deprives Anna of any childhood memories at all must make her all the more v u l n e r a b l e , although she does her best to make up for this lack by, for example, establishing an easy relationship with Levin " a s if he had known her from childhood" (AK, VII.10583). W e do, of course, learn that Karenin is appreciably older than Anna (although the age-difference is not necessarily much greater than that between Dolly and Kitty); and it has been suggested that, since, when Anna becomes pregnant, no-one doubts that it is Vronskij's child, sexual relations had ceased between her and K a r e n i n (but there are broad hints in the text that this is not so). Rather, the Karenin marriage seems hitherto to have provided a comfortable and stable home for both of them, so that, at the beginning of the novel (1.29:89), Anna is only too thankful to be returning to her husband from her brother, which would seem to imply a greater closeness to Karenin than to Stiva. Nevertheless, if I am to argue my thesis then I need to emphasize the danger-signals in Anna's relationships first with her husband and then with her lover. And Anna has scarcely arrived home before she is sensing an element of pretence in her relations with her husband (AK, 1.30:93), confirming an impression already received by Dolly. At first she understands him and can smile at his weaknesses (1.33:99); and later she is able to mimic him — his thoughts, his words, his tones, his manners (11.23:163; IV.3:305). She claims to know and to understand Karenin, but almost immediately the narrator waxes lightly ironical about "Anna, who thought that she knew her husband so well ..." (IV.3-4:306-08). Indeed, not much later (IV.17:348-49), she is claiming to be the only one to know him and that she knows only good of him (she is at this point semi-delirious after giving birth). In fact there is no sign, even when she weeps before him, that she knows, what his secretary and office-manager know, that he is peculiarly affected by the tears of a child or a woman (111.13:237-38). It is, perhaps, not surprising that each should experience fear before the other and before what was happening to them (11.29:182). 15

16

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Ê.g., by R. F. Christian in Tolstoy: A Critical introduction (Cambridge, 1959): ^The final version seems deliberately to omit an episode in the drafts where Anna is reminded of her past by the visit of an aunt, with whom she had been living when she married Karenin and who is accompanied by her son, whom Anna also remembers (JE, 20:287-94). 6

C . A. Manning, "Tolstoy and Anna Karenina", PMLA, 42 (1927): 511.

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Namely, the impression that "there was something false about the whole structure of their family life" (AK, 1.19:62).

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What horrified Karenin was that Anna should have a private life that was closed to him: when she begins to deceive him, to close off from him a part of her soul that had "always been open to him before", to erect "some kind of a w a l l " around her feelings and her conscience, he is nonplussed because, we are told, .. .to put himself in the position of another in thought and feeling was an activity foreign to Aleksej Aleksandrovich; he regarded mis mental activity as harmful and dangerous fantasizing. (AK, 11.8-9:125-29)

He responds by more than ever closing down his emotional responses, hearing Anna's words but not her tones, until and except the great forgiveness-scene in Part 4 when his emotions break through so that he feels a "deep sympathy" and pity for Anna — pity, too, for Vronskij and Serezha, and pity also for the baby (AK, IV.19:354). Anna, too, opens up, telling her husband: "I neither want to nor can have anything hidden from y o u " ( I V . 1 9 : 3 5 7 ) . So much the greater, then, is the shock when the end-result of this new openness is the shared realization that she cannot stand him, physically or in any other way. H o w different is Anna's relationship with Vronskij? Jones has suggested that there are both parallels and contrasts in Anna's two relationships: no deep understanding is achieved first because of "Karenin's reluctance to probe into the soul" and then because of Anna's failure "to entertain openly her own emotional p r o b l e m s " . The parallel is that in both relationships emotions are not shared in the way that they are shared between Levin and Kitty; the contrast is that the responsibility for this failure lies in the first instance with Karenin and, in the second, with Anna herself. But it seems to me questionable whether there is any great emotional failure between Anna and Vronskij and, if there is, whether the responsibility for it is not his at least as much as it is hers. At first they appear to understand one another very well indeed, with or without words, and there are many signs of erotic electricity passing unhindered between them. But, although they continue, in many instances, to interpret correctly one another's tones and gestures to the very end, they also begin to fail to communicate, in a typically Tolstoyan touch, from the time of their first sexual intercourse. When he visits her before the races he senses that something is the matter with her, but she at first refuses to tell him about her pregnancy; she makes a mistaken assumption about what he is thinking, and he finds it difficult to bring her to a serious discussion of matters, partly because he 18

19

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A l m o s t at the end of her life she will ask "What kind of secret can there be between Stiva and m e ? " (AK VH.25:625). J o n e s , 102.


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does not understand the importance to her of Serezha (AK, 11.22— 23:161-64). Later, she will not even tell him about her plans to visit Serezha because she knows that he would speak coldly and that she would hate him for it (V.29:448). Even before that w e find her thinking of him as " a man who is alien to her, independent, with whom she cannot share her life" (111.16:251); and he briefly wonders whether it would not be "better not to tie himself d o w n " (111.22:269). Curiously, just after he is said to pity her, she is said — for the moment — to pity Karenin (111.22-23:270-72). Vronskij gives her a lying excuse for being late (IV.3:303), but, after the forgiveness-scene, feels that he has " g o t to know her soul" at the cost of losing her (IV.18:351). But he has not lost Anna, and in Part 5 they go off to a happy time together in Italy: she feels more and more in love with him "since he had united with h e r " (AK, V.8:391-92). By the time, however, that they are back in St Petersburg he is finding her volatile, "irritable and impenetrable" (V.28:447). Before her disastrous visit to the opera he is unable to interpret Anna, is ironical to her, gives her a cold look; and afterwards he is twice said to feel both "irritation and pity" for her (V.32-33:457-63). When Dolly visits Vozdvizhenskoe Vronskij confides in her that there are things that he cannot speak about with Anna, and indeed he seems unaware that she is practising contraception. And so it goes on, until their relationship is marked most of all b y an "irritation that separated them but had no external cause", it was "internal", but neither of them could express its cause, because every attempt to do so only exacerbated it (VII.23:619). That same twenty-third chapter of Part 7 had begun, like the whole novel, with an aphorism: In order that anything should be undertaken in family life, either complete dissension is needed between the spouses or loving agreement. When the spouses' relations are vague and neither one thing nor the other, nothing can be undertaken. (AK VT1.23:619)

This effectively sums up the relationship between Vronskij and Anna as neither one thing nor the other, neither loving agreement nor complete dissension. In terms of my earlier definition of "brotherhood", they have neither complete mutual understanding and sympathy, nor are they totally without mutual understanding and sympathy. The aphorism sounds to me extremely doubtful as a general statement, perhaps even silly, and I question whether even Tolstoy, with all his idiosyncrasies, could have entertained the notion for long. But it is effective as an introduction to a general summation of the state of affairs between Anna and Vronskij. Actually, I would suggest that much the same is true of the novel's opening aphorism, of which most critics hold that it is not borne out b y the

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novel and some call it simply " s i l l y " . It is effective as an introduction to a novel about couples, about their relationships and about the success or failure of their marriages. But I question whether Tolstoy attributed to it — at least for long — any validity as a general truth. Tolstoy's aphorisms function above all as a literary device for, like politicians, professors and other pundits, he knew that it was possible for an outrageous statement to spark fruitful discussion. Having noted the importance for Tolstoy, as for Schopenhauer, of the concept of pity, I have made occasional use above of passages in the novel where w e are told who pities whom (the most common terms for the concept are forms of the adjective " w a j i K H H " and its cognate verb " j K a j i e T b " ) . If one looks at all the occurrences of the concept, then a couple of facts in particular may be observed. One is that Anna is represented as pitying herself as often as she is said to pity everyone else put together, at least if one includes a passage that speaks of her smile "of sympathy for herself", where the word used is " c o c T p a f l a H H e " (AK, VII.24:624). The other noticeable fact to emerge from a general survey of the concept of pity is that Levin pities several people, including "the gambler Mjaskin" and the old marshal of the nobility (IV.14:340; VI.28.-549), and is outspoken about his pity for Anna ( V I I . l l : 5 8 7 - 8 9 ) , but he is not said to pity Kitty. On the contrary, when he hands over to her his diaries we are told that he had "failed to put himself into her place", where the word used is " n e p e H e c T H C b " that misses the note of "suffering with" but is even more graphic about the notion of "conveying or transferring oneself" into another (in this instance, Kitty) or into another's thoughts, feelings, soul, mood or point of view (each of which terms occurs at least once in Anna Karenina with this verb). Perhaps one may hazard the conclusion that Levin contrasts with Anna in that he is not given to self-pity and that, having swiftly begun to see Kitty as a part of himself, he regards her too as not to be pitied but to be worked on and improved. 20

2 1

This exploration has, I believe, shown that, as in life, so in the novel do relationships vary and differ greatly, and that Tolstoy seems often to set them up in order to contrast them one to another. Mutual understanding based on the automatic and accidental responses of love is most obvious in the first months of the relationship between Anna and Vronskij. But mutual understanding based on the 2

° F o r example: J. M. Armstrong, The Unsaid "Anna Karenina" (Basingstoke, 1988): 26; J. D. Bayley, Tolstoy and the novel (London, 1966): 189; A. D. P. Briggs in New essays, ed. Jones, 114. See also R. L. Jackson, "On the ambivalent beginning of Anna Karenina" in Semantic analysis of literary texts, ed. E. de Haard (Amsterdam, 1990): 345-52. is used again only a few pages later of the "obvious sympathy" for Anna in the eyes of her maid Annushka (AK VII.27:633).


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knowledge of a common past is strongest between Levin and his brother Nikolaj, is present also in the Shcherbatskij sisters, but the common past itself is oddly deficient between Anna and Stiva. For those for whom the bonds of a shared past are important it is natural that the sibling relationship, being of longer duration, should rival the marital relationship; but it should be noted that the mutual knowledge that comes from a shared past is also stronger between Anna and Karenin than between her and Vronskij. Pity is shown by and for several characters, including a number of minor ones — it is shown by Christ for Pilate in Mikhajlov's painting (AK, V.1L399), but Anna tends to direct it to herself and it is not used to describe Levin's feelings for Kitty. Unity of purpose is less in evidence than is pity: Levin's intellectual and spiritual search seems to have little in common with Sergej or his professorial friends, nor are his agricultural projects readily shared by the peasants; Kitty is at one with him in deciding to go straight home after the wedding, but shares neither his intellectual nor his agricultural interests. Children and their education, which so concerned Tolstoy when he was writing Anna Karenina, comprise the main common purpose in the novel: in this is virtually the only relevance of the third Shcherbatskij sister and her husband, L'vov (VII.4:571-72). When a married couple has children their joint parenthood means that the bonds of kinship are superadded to the marriage-bond. This kind of double bond had not yet been experienced by Dostoevsky when his first wife died, but it was well known to Tolstoy by the 1870s and it seems to be what he had in mind when he spoke of "the family idea" in Anna Karenina. The given bond of literal brotherhood is inescapable, while the unity that is sought in marriage is elusive; it is, however, enhanced by the presence of children, as Tolstoy seeks to show in Levin and Kitty and as seems to be operative not only between the Shcherbatskij parents but also between Stiva and Dolly. One contrast is given in the childless marriage of Svijazhskij; but the main exception is, as in so many ways, Anna, both of whose relationships are blessed with issue, but neither is happy and each is "unhappy in its own way".

Richard F. Gustafson Barnard College, Columbia University

TOLSTOY AND THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY* This conference, which we are all so privileged to attend, is a sign of a changing attitude to Tolstoy. For a good part of this century, at least in the West, Tolstoy has been ecnpsed by writers who have seemed more compatible with our modern, modernist, and even ost-modernist world view. Tolstoy was respected and even read, ut to us Dostoevsky seemed the great representative of Russian culture and, as the author of Zapiski iz podpol'ja [Notes from the underground], one of the first truly modernist writers Even Gogol' seemed more our contemporary than Tolstoy. In Russia Tolstoy was canonized, but only after he had been declared dead and mummified: the Orthodox Church excommunicated him, the Symbolists dismissed him, and Lenin declared him a great novelist but a poor thinker. With this conference we mark the shift away from these attitudes and call ourselves to rediscover Tolstoy. Of course, a number of people have already been preparing for this shift in attitudes, and many of them are here this evening. Lidia Dmitrievna Gromova-Opul'skaya has, among other things, served as the editorial custodian of Tolstoy's texts, keeping him alive literally if not actually. Galina Yakovlevna Galagan opened up the discussion of some aspects of Tolstoy which were not quite roper in Soviet times. Our host, Andrew Donskov, has added to our nowledge of the relationship of Tolstoy to the Doukhobors and asked us to look again at Tolstoy's drama and the representation of peasants in his literary universe. Rimvydas Silbajoris turned our attention again to Tolstoy's theory of art, long dismissed. Donna Orwin has returned to questions of Tolstoy's complex intellectual development and its relation to his fiction. Gary Saul Morson has asked us to reconsider the very way we read Vojna i mir [War and peace], as Amy Mandelker has done with Anna Karenina. And many others have contributed to the beginning of this reappraisal. The question then is what more needs to b e done and why? In my opinion the shift in attitudes needs to move in two directions, to a reassessment of the position of Tolstoy as a writer of fiction and to a re-evaluation or Tolstoy as moralist and religious thinker. The twenty-first century needs to reconsider the relationship of Tolstoy to modernism in general (he was highly admired by

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'Presented at the century".

OPEN FORUM

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such central figures in modernist literature as Proust and Joyce). This task would entail a wholesale reappraisal of the relationship of realism to modernism. Of course this too has already begun, for example, in the important work of Lidija Ginzburg. The greater task, in my opinion, is to recover and reassess Tolstoy as a moralist and religious figure. I say the greater task, because this has been so unfashionable, both in the West and in Russia. I hope that my own work will be of use in this process. It is especially important that Russian scholars give serious attention to this aspect of Tolstoy, for we need a complete and nuanced treatment of Tolstoy's philosophy based on an analytical reading of his own work and placed in the context of Russian religious thought. I should add that, in order to et it right, both these directions in Tolstoy scholarship will need to e grounded in a clear understanding of the history of the reception of Tolstoy, for which w e now have the analytical tools. Much of what we think Tolstoy means is based on interpretations by people who were less than objective and often unsympathetic, if not downright hostile.

f

The theme of this conference is "Tolstoy and the concept of brotherhood", and it is not inappropriate to ask how this aspect of Tolstoy might be relevant for the twenty-first century. First of all, it seems obvious to me that we would have to throw out Tolstoy's eighteenth-century notion of fraternité, and as a minimum adopt the idea of unité, as the French translators for this conference have already done. Any concept of human solidarity (to use Solov'ev's term) appropriate for the next century needs to address what was so quaintly called the "woman question" in ways fundamentally different from Tolstoy's. Indeed we need a serious study of Tolstoy s attitude to and representation of women, which is more complex than is usually assumed. Incidentally, it is important to note that in our discussions at this conference so far the concept of fraternité has been considered with no reference to égalité. Perhaps the best direction for the consideration of Tolstoy's understanding of human solidarity would be to explore his conception of "lejioBeiecTBo" [humanity]. It is at present fashionable to dismiss such notions as "essentiahst". Certainly Tolstoy himself had a heightened sense of people's class, gender and ethnic origins. But Tolstoy believed in an essential human element and liked to dramatize those moments when a character discovers the fundamental humanity of another human being, even an enemy, as when Nicholas Rostov finds out in the famous hunting scene that his hated neighbour Ilagin is a human being just like him, or when he finds out in the battle with the French that the young Frenchman he has wounded is just another vulnerable human soul, as he is discovering himself to be. Tolstoy sees human beings embodied, but he also sees that their human being transcends this embodiment. The problem will be how to describe or define this essential humanity. I will return to this issue shortly. For the twenty-first century I think we also have to expand the notion of brotherhood beyond the realm of the human. Not the eight-

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eenth-century idea of fraternité, but a sense of the unity of all creation. W e know of course that Tolstoy valued the natural world and scorned the urban dwellers who lived isolated from it. And we know of his relationship with his horse and his love of animals. In the age of ecology which we are entering, these values will be especially important. Just as Tolstoy's attitudes to war have been significant for such giants of twentieth-century moral reassessment or war as Mahatma Ghandi and Martin Luther King, Tolstoy's call to vegetarianism will be heard loud and clear in the next century. For some this will be the result of a heightened moral sensibility, such as Tolstoy attempted to awaken with his article Pervaja stupen' [The First stev]; they will not want to act like the lady in Vojna i mir who "faints when she sees a calf being killed, because she is so kind-hearted that she can't look at blood, but enjoys eating the calf served up with a sauce". For others, perhaps the majority, this will be the result of pure self-interest, as the realization that the conception of human solidarity entails an attitude to our bodies and to nature that in the end will call forth a new kind of diet. Human ecology and natural ecology will require it. As a minimum, the size of the world population will demand it. As I consider Tolstoy's moral and religious ideas in the context of the next century, there are several things I would stress. Tolstoy wrote within the Christian tradition. But he came to believe that all religions taught the same set of truths. Now at its most absurd, Tolstoy reduced the world religions to the basic moral and metaphysical truths Tolstoy himself believed in. This manner of approaching the issue of a world religion is inappropriate in its method, but admirable in its intention. As the world becomes more aware of itself as a global community, it will be essential to focus on what we all share in common. This present moment, which seems to be an age of difference, will pass. However, we should not forget the lesson of the late twentieth-century resurfacing of all the nineteeth-century issues of division — race, class and gender. In our attempt to discover our unity, we must not hide from our diversity. Rather we must seek to discover what we share so that we can celebrate our creative uniqueness. In the next century, as we can already see now at the end of this century, this will be a central issue for all the major religions of the world. One of the features of Tolstoy's stance is his heightened sense of moral courage. He had an eye for evil in all its guises. Yet what I find is that most students quickly tire of Tolstoy's moralistic stance, especially in his non-fiction. The fact is that we live in an age that has become numbed to evil. A colleague of mine has just written a book on The Death of Satan, and he is right, we see so much evil on the television screens in our living room every day that w e accept it as par for the course (except when we are its victims ourselves). The twenty-first century will need not some post-modern Tolstoy, but precisely this Tolstoy, the seer of our evil ways, and most especially of the human capacity for nasilie [violence]. I should like to recall what I consider to be one of the important truths in Tolstoy's world view. It is, as I have argued, the central

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moral and religious theme of his novel Voskresenie [Resurrection]. Whatever outrage Tolstoy may have had at evil in all its guises, he came to see that the first step in correcting those evils begins with one's self. The first cause of evil is not the evils of the social and )litical system, which are ever apparent and never to be justified, or is it any conception of some original sin, the results or which I see to be the cause of the present evil. Rather the first cause of evil is the evil I am doing right now in my assumptions about others seen as the enemy, assumptions which are made not from an honest encounter with those others, but from some protective need of my own, grounded in my insecurity, fear and guilt. I then use those assumptions to bolster m y sense of self, m y nationality, culture, religion, race or gender at the expense of those others. Tolstoy calls us to a renewed sense of responsibility for the evil in the world by asking us to confront first of all ourselves, to clarify our sense of self with all our self-interested needs and projections so that w e can truly encounter others. I think this truth is important not just for individuals, but for the races, ethnic and religous groups, and the nations of the world. Such clarification of self may not be sufficient to save the world for the next century, but I fear that it cannot be done without it. Now in this conception of the clarification of the self we come upon one of those issues already raised in this conference, the presence of certain assumptions of Tolstoy's that we no longer feel make sense. By way of closing, let me open up what I feel will be the kind of discussion we will need if we are to develop Tolstoy's thought in the twenty-first century. In his treatment of the self Tolstoy speaks of two selves, the personal (animal) self and the common or divine (spiritual) self. He seems to imagine the personal self to be connected to the body, while the divine self is not. What results is an apparently reified dualism of body/spirit that goes against our understanding of human experience. Whether or not Tolstoy really believed in such a reification is not clear. But we might approach the issue in a slightly different way. W e might ask quite simply what is it we all have in common, for what is spiritual Tolstoy understands as what we have in common. And we might call what w e share our humanity. For Tolstoy the first thing we have in common is our mortality. In the encounter with this mortality his heroes discover their fundamental humanity. In the face of death all sense of the "animal self" is revealed for what it is, and upon freeing himself from this essentially self-interested mode of being, the hero is automatically overcome with an outpouring of love for his fellow man. The "personality" is conceived as a limitation or barrier to the "spiritual self" which is imagined as an ever-flowing divine love for all. This understanding of the two selves accounts for Tolstoy's way of treating the significance of encounters with death. W e may find it difficult to accept this metaphysical analysis, but we can accept with Tolstoy that we all share our mortality. In the face of death we all discover our fundamental vulnerability. W e could even say that this vulnerability is an essential, although not a unique human characteristic. What is uniquely human is that we can know we all share it. This

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knowledge, often experienced more through feeling than abstract analysis, leads us to our sense of connectedness. W e also have in common what Heidegger calls our "facticity". W e all find ourselves cast into this world, into a body, a gender, a sexual orientation, a race, a class, a culture, a nation, an historical moment. This world into which each of us is cast is what separates us. W e are each dealt a different hand, to change the metaphor, and our particular life consists in playing that hand. How we play the hand we are dealt is the moral issue of our life. But we are all playing different hands. What we share is the state of being cast into a world, the state of being dealt a hand to play. What we have in common, then, is a radical unfreedom. To close, I might add a Fedorovian twist to the Heideggerian notion of " f a c t i c i t y . W e do not just find ourselves cast into a world, but we are in debt to that world. W e are in debt to the parents who gave us birth, to the language and culture w e have inherited, to the nation and social system of which we find ourselves a part, to the whole of humanity to which w e belong, to the natural and cosmic world from which we emerge and to which we return. Thus we are not just cast into the world, but cast into a state of duty to that world. How w e exercise that duty, and we all do exercise it in one way or another, is what constitutes the moral aspect of our life. W e are radically unfree in our being cast and indebted, yet called to exercise our freedom in dealing with this unfree heritage. For Tolstoy the moment at death is explored as a moment of discovery of our common vulnerability and mortality. There is no one moment in life, however, that as it were automatically forces into the awareness of these other commonalities. The Tolstoy of the twenty-first century, though, might well write narratives which explore not the uniqueness of my own heritage, but moments of discovery that what we share is the existential state of having inherited and being indebted. Such stories would foster the human solidarity Tolstoy called "brotherhood".

George Gibian Cornell University

TOLSTOY AND THE NEXT CENTURY: FAMILIARIZATION AND RESIDUAL MYSTERIES* A writer from M o s c o w , Valerija Narbikova, gave a talk at Columbia University in New York this past winter on the subject " V i H T e j i f l H y i e H H K H " [Teachers and pupils] as applied to relationships between writers. During the question perioa, I asked her what she and the group of literary people around her thought of Leo Tolstoy, in the context of her theme. She answered that to her friends and to herself, Tolstoy existed only as a myth [MHCD]. " W e can't read him any more. They teach him in schools but nobody is able to finish reading Vojna i tnir [War and peace] to the e n d . " Only after the seminar was over, when I stood up and turned around, did I notice that a huge portrait of Leo Tolstoy was hanging on the wall behind me — unseen by me but facing Narbikova all through her presentation. Tolstoy at the end of the second millennium? Whose Tolstoy? Dismissed by which neo-surrealist clique, admired by what readership? In which country, in whose translation into what language? Discussed by professors of Russian literature on the North American continent, or by high school boys and girls in rural Kenya? Yet amidst this vast array of questions, we have come here, I think, not to bury Tolstoy but to praise him. And to question various responses to him. He has tremendous reach, and the skill and power to make his readers relish his writings even when they run counter to the convictions and habits of mind prevalent in the readers' own age, or some of their deep-seated prejudices, the broadly shared presuppositions and orientations of a later age. He did so many things so well that it would take many hundreds of pages to give even a mere summary of all the devices and qualities of his writing which critics in various countries have identified and illuminated. Perhaps somewhere some publisher should publish a dictionary or encyclopedia called Leo Tolstoy's Art: A Complete Alphabetical Concordance and Compilation of all Formal, Artistic and Thematic Devices of his Writings, demonstrated by all the various Methodologies ever employed anywhere.

Presented at the OPEN F O R U M on 'Tolstoy at the threshold of the twenty-first century".

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Is it not arrogant to try to assess a writer such as Tolstoy against what w e think our age demands — to line him up and say: here he corresponds to what our contemporaries seek, but there he does not? It would be even more presumptuous, however, to proceed with a presentation of one's views on what in Tolstoy is (or is not) meaningful and alive today without such a setting forth. Tolstoy's reception is a matter of the interplay between what is known or his biography and his works, on one hand, and the basic outlook and sensibility of the age — its openness or closedness to the Tolstoy in front of it, its selective receptivity and its blindness or deafness — on the other. It may be said that there are in fact two Tolstoys whose reputation and influence survive at the end of this century, at least among the broad reading public: Tolstoy the man, and the Tolstoy in his literary works. Certainly for a number of specific audiences, or constituencies, Tolstoy the preacher and activist (in his later years) was equally as important and renowned as his literary works — renowned for his >acifism, his anarchism, his moral zeal, his humanitarian crusades, ndirectly and selectively, the legacy of this Tolstoy still plays a role in a number of areas of the world. More important in the present context, however, is Tolstoy the belletrist, who reaches most readers through his first two major novels —and in Germany through a third, Voskresenie [Resurrection] — as well as through many of his shorter works. These may be said to constitute the flourishing, living Tolstoy.

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Our assessment of Tolstoy's significance at the threshold of the twenty-first century will hinge on what we believe to be the main changes in the world since his time. Whether overtly and consciously or tacitly and unconsciously, we shall base our interpretation on what we think are the major trends or forces operating in our own time and then place the image of Tolstoy against them. What is it that affects our sensibility, our consciousness, at the present time? I suggest that we may detect seven categories of major motive forces in our age: 1) Great changes in the way in which we view human psychology. People are believed to be complex, their mental life fluid, dynamic, contradictory; the subconscious plays a great role. W e are prone to look for symbolic disguises, repressions, hidden memories, unconscious forces. Love can be seen as being very close to hate. Childhood and infancy are given great importance. 2) A far greater awareness of the ways of life in many different countries. Swift travel and transportation of goods and instant communication of information affect the consciousness of most of mankind. People in poor countries can watch on their television screens the life of the rich in other countries. 3) Relativism, scepticism and nihilism in the moral sphere of lifeThis is expressed in the widespread belief that there are no general moral or ethical standards, that the ways of all cultures are equally valid.

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4) Intense nationalism. W e see a great upsurge of the feeling that one's national identity has paramount importance. 5) Intense religious revivals. Not only in Muslim countries, but everywhere in the world, various "enthusiastic" religions have become tremendous forces in their respective societies. 6) Demand for social justice. This continuing demand is backed up by an expectation of, and readiness to struggle for, what is viewed as an inalienable right. 7) Consumerism. In some societies a large portion of one's time, energy, thinking and emotional drive is absorbed by the concerns of buying more and more material goods. I believe the reception of Tolstoy's works will be to some extent affected by how a given interpretation will agree with or run counter to such attitudes or preoccupations. Still another factor to be taken into account is that the many important authors who have written since Tolstoy's time have unavoidably altered the sensibilities, literary preferences and reading habits of several new generations of readers. Our acquaintance with their writings has altered the prisms of expectations and interpretations with which we view Tolstoy (along with other writers of the past). Reading Tolstoy eighty years after James Joyce wrote Portrait of the artist as a young man is different from reading Detstvo [Childhood] at the time when Tolstoy lay dying at the Astapovo station. One could name many, many writers who could be said to affect the way we regard Tolstoy. In the Western world the list would certainly include Proust and Kafka, Lu Shun for the Chinese, while some Japanese friends have cited Ogai Mori and Kawabata in this connection. A related factor is the omnivorousness of the contemporary reader. W e live in a world dominated by no one style nor even a small number of styles of writing. People today read a far broader range of books and magazines, to say nothing of the many different films and TV programmes they watch. There are incredible contrasts between the various kinds of " g o o d " novels, trash, travel literature, computer books, sports and gardening publications and so on. Nobody, of course, reads more man a tiny fraction of these books — there is simply not enough time — but even that fraction is far more heterogeneous than would have ever been imagined in Tolstoy's time. The mere fact that so many different books are available — we know they exist, w e have heard about them, perhaps second- or third-hand — changes the basis of our receptivity towards Anna Karenina and Khaazhi-Murat, compared to the context, the frame of reference available to a Russian reader one hundred years ago. It may be a platitude in academic studies, but all those works called poema or novels in verse', chronicles, sketches, notebooks and confessions arose out of nineteenth-century Russian literature's attempt to liberate itself by straining against the confining bounds of Western European literary genres. But in our time such a crossing of boundaries and merging of contours has already been far exceeded, and on a

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worldwide scale. There are many mainstreams now, let alone the many eccentric byways. How does this macro-picture contribute to our viewing Tolstoy differently? To mention only a few ways: we may note, for example that all his meticulous attention to details of manners and furnishings of life — e.g., Ivan Il'ich's curtain and ladder, Anna Karenina's lamp, her English novel and page-cutting knife, as well as the contents of her little red bag — all these masterful touches no longer startle us. All good teachers of "creative writing" lead their students to make concrete indications of class and social codes as well as the distinctiveness of individual characters within these. Most writers today can do this very well, even if in different contexts, and even if not quite so well as Tolstoy. Again, Tolstoy's invention (or at least his early use) of the stream-of-consciousness technique — as with Anna Karenina in her last go-around, or in some passages of his Sevastopol'skie rasskazy [Sevastopol tales] — may be seen as a precursor of its far more extensive use by a number or writers all over the world. There is no longer a sense or novelty in the mere fact of Tolstoy's having used it (chronological priority interests only those engaged in historical enquiries); today's questions focus on how well it is done, what its specific qualities and distinctive features are, and what it does within the particular context. Similarly, Tolstoy's famous ostranenie [defamilíarization] has also lost its cachet of novelty and originality. Its very purpose — to detour around outworn stock responses — is attenuated when the technique itself has become a household property. On the other hand, Tolstoy's moralism, his didactic urge to uncover hypocrisy, attack pride, insincerity, snobbishness, cruelty, lack of compassion and desires for material possessions — such an attitude, to say the least, evokes mixed reactions today. To some, the moralism appears too blunt, too didactic, too much in the way of unseemly value-judgements, while others welcome it as an ethical and religious inspiration all too absent in today's culture. W e are indeed more sensitive than previous generations to Tolstoy's magisterial assurances. How do we react to them? Compared to nis English contemporary, George Eliot, Tolstoy makes many fewer editorial comments in his fiction, but those vast generalizations he does insert (such as the one on happy and unhappy families) are all the more impressive because they are rare ana because of their placement. Tolstoy's prevailing self-confident voice, however, exists not in isolation, but as an opposite pole, in tension with another essential feature of his works: the mysteries he leaves unsolved. On the one hand w e have the absolute assurances of an omniscient narrator, while on the other there are lakes and islands of mystery left behind in the form of unanswered (and sometimes unasked) questions, part of the inexplicable, the residually puzzling side of human life. The simple syntax of the narration — such as that at the end of Anna Karenina, for example, with its plain, blunt declarative sentences — confidently asserts knowledge of that which is knowable. Yet significant questions remain: Why was Anna the kind of person

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who could not live without society? W h y did Anna and Vronsky dream similar dreams? Why was Anna a woman with an excess of vivacity and Varenka a prime example of insufficiency? The narrator does not ask such questions about residual mysteries — rather, he leads the reader to deduce them as something inherent, implicit in the text. W e feel it is right that the author left them unsolved. On the other hand, we are struck by Tolstoy's unabashed emotionality, the use of simple direct words (no pussy-footing, no shilly-shallying, no obliqueness, no meditation) aimed straight at the target, without hesitation. W e are impressed and arrested by the contrasts. Such shameless emotionality and blunt, bare-bone statements teeter on the brink of sounding simple-minded — they almost frighten the reader with the hint o f the possibility that they are too primitive, lacking in discrimination, subtlety, nuance. In fact, they are not nuanced (shadings and subtleties come from elsewhere in the novels). They beg the question: Has Tolstoy earned the right to make such stripped-down and apparently artless assertions as "Ivan Il'ich's life was most simple ana most ordinary, and therefore most terrible". Would not other writers hesitate to sum up matters in this way? Tolstoy's fiction lives today because in various ways he so draws us into his works that a hundred and fifty years later, in cultures with very different mental sets (and this applies not just to readers in Canada, France and the United States, but also in Japan, China, Latin America and elsewhere), we feel that this speaking voice has something to say to us. It includes us as his proper audience. I suggest calling this Tolstoyan effect an "author-reader sobornost' [commonality] . He manages to make us feel — even when he is talking about such exotic milieus as mid-nineteenth century Chechnya or Dagestan, the St Petersburg nobility or the Napoleonic wars, and even when he puts forth precepts that are rare and unfashionable today (such as those on sexual morality and the accumulation of earthly goods) — that as a speaker he is very near to us, and we are close to h i m . He wraps us up in a cloak or fraternity — of a social brotherhood. He makes his readers feel that " W e are not 'they', w e are part of the narrator's ' w e ' — we are all linked together, there is a bond between us". There is, he gives us to understand, a unity [ejumCTBO] encircling us, despite all the obvious cultural chasms that would claim to divide us. He does this, first of all, by persuading us of his intelligence — and by his modesty. To speak of modesty in regard to Tolstoy may seem like a paradox, but it is not. He hides his tremendous analytic powers under the tone of a fireside chat, as if saying: "This is all MOKfly HaMH', between you and me. We belong to the same group. We are all familiar with all this, or at least you will be familiar with it when I have finished narrating and describing it. It is (or it will become) something cozy, something we can assume we all know together."

Josef Metzele University of Ottawa

THE CONCEPT OF "BROTHERLY LOVE IN TOLSTOY'S LATE PROSE This paper will deal with the artistic transformation and incorporation of the ethical concept of brotherly love into the late narratives of L. N. Tolstoy. It will focus on selected prose passages, in which either the narrators or characters expound their attitudes towards the ideal of brotherhood of men or act according to the materialization of this ideal state. I hope to demonstrate that ethical and religious virtues, already presented and treated in Tolstoy's early works, are of increasing importance in his late prose and plays. In his early fiction, characters exhibiting Christian values — brotherly love in particular — are usually members of the lower ranks of society. In some of his late works, which reflect Tolstoy's reformed (modified) Christian thought, members of the higher ranks of society prove their ability to become Christians according to Tolstoy's anti-dogmatic and "rational" Christian ethics. Brotherly love and non-violent resistance to evil [ H e n p o T H B J i e H H e 3 J i y HacHJitteM] stand out in the hierarchy of ethical imperatives which constitute Tolstoy's Christian ethics. Brotherly love [jnoSoBb K f j j i m K H e M y ] is not identical with the concept of brotherhood of men [ 6 p a T C T B o ] . It is also different from the process of uniting people [cnHHeHHe], by means of which the ideal state of harmony could be achieved. According to Tolstoy, one of the means of achieving and propagating the policy of brotherhood of men is art (i.e., the ethical function of art). Tolstoy's philosophical thinking manifests itself in dualistic concepts. Accordingly, his main literary technique of presentation is that of contrast. Thus, values such as brotherly love, truthfulness, reconciliation, forgiveness, humility and others are diametrically opposed to vices such as enmity, cruelty, hatred, individual or collective aggression, and hypocrisy. 1

•Êthics as a discipline studying the principles of right or wrong human conduct implies a disparity between the ideal man or world and real man or world. As for the positive virtues and ideals, one can distinguish character traits such as honesty, courage, truthfulness, patience, orderliness, dilligence, responsibility, modesty, chastity and integrity, as well as social ideals such

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Tolstoy's occupation with ethical issues started long before his spiritual crisis, which in turn was followed by a religious conversion. In his diaries of 1855 he envisages a n e w religion, emphasizing the process of unifying people: Biepa pa3roBop o S o w e d [BeHHOM] H Bepe HaBeji MeHU Ha BejiHKyio rpoMaflHyio Mbicjib, ocyiuecrBJieHHio KOTopofi a lyBCTByio ce6n c n o C06HWM nOCBHTHTb )KH3Hb. — MblCJIb 3 T a — OCHOBaHHe HOBOH pejiHT H H , cooTBeTCTByiomeH pa3BHTH» q e j i o B e i e c T B a , pejiHrHH XpHCTa, H O oiHUieHHOH O T Bepw H TaHHCTBeHHocTH, pejiHTHH npaKTHqecKOH He ooemaioiiieH 6yjiym.ee 6jia)KeHCTB0 Ha 3eMJie. O A H O noKOJieHHe 6yaeT 3aBeuiaTb Mbicjib 3Ty cnejiyioiiieMy H norjia-HHCyjib (panaTH3M H J I H pa3yM npHBeayT e e B HcnojiHeHHe. rjeiicTBOBaTb co3HamejibKO K c o e AHHeHHio jnoaefi c pejiHraeH, B O T OCHOBaHHe M U C J I H , KOTopax, n a f l e j o c b , yBJieqeT Menu.

[Yesterday a conversation about the Divine and the faith led me to a great, most astounding idea, to whose realization I could dedicate my lfe. This idea is the founding of a new religion, corresponding to mankind's development: the religion of Christ, but cleansed of dogma and mystery — a practical religion which does not promise salvation in future, but salvation on earth. One generation will pass this idea along to the next and one day either fanaticism or reason will bring ittofruition. To work consciously for the unification of people through religion is the fundamental idea, which, I hope, will grasp hold of me.P

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This quotation demonstrates that Tolstoy's Utopian future-oriented vision is deeply rooted in Christian thought: the ideal state is distant not in space, but in time. After his spiritual crisis in the early 1880s — which cannot b e considered a radical break with past views, but rather a return to earlier views — Tolstoy provides in his religious writings solutions to a number of existential problems. Having studied the major representatives of Western and Eastern philosopy without finding satisfactory solutions to his problems — pivotal problems of the meaning of life and the search for truth — Tolstoy turns to Christianity. The teachings of Jesus Christ, the Sermon on the Mount in particular, form the point of departure for his ethics. After a thorough study of the Scriptures, Tolstoy concludes that life should b e a process of moral perfection according to five com3

as freedom, equality, justice and tolerance. Religion and philosophy classify both the virtues and the vices — viz., the "seven deadly sins": pride, covetousness, lust, anger, gluttony, envy and sloth. L. N. Tolstoj, Polnoe sobranie sochinenij (Jubilee edition), 47:37-38. Further

bibliographical information is given in WORKS CITED at the end of this article. Subsequent references to the Jubilee edition will be identified by JE in the text. Translations from the Russian are my own.

'in his religious treatise V" chem moja vera? [What I believe] (1884) Tolstoy es-

tablishes a set of rules which sums up his creed: (1) do not be angry, (2) do not lust, (3) do not swear oaths, (4) do not resist evil with force and (5) love all persons without distinction.

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mandments which he adopts from the teachings of Jesus Christ. Moreover, the virtues of simple truthfulness and love lead people to happiness. Apart from love (Greek agape, Latin caritas), the pillars of Tolstoy's Christianity also constitute the virtues of humility [ c M H p e H H e ] and forgiveness [ n p o u i e H H e ] . Tolstoy's Christianity comprises the equivalence of concepts of truth, God, love and reason. As he states in his theoretical treatise O zhizni [On Life] (1886), God is love; and love is the only rational activity. At the core of Tolstoy's theory lies the fundamental ethical opposition between good and evil. The complexity of brotherhood as an ideal or Utopian concept can be documented with regard to a number of related concepts and its integration into different political and religious schools of thought. Thus, brotherhood implies the individual's striving for perfection [ c o B e p u i e H C T B O B a H H e ] as well as society's striving for a state of harmony — a concept which is opposed to enmity, hatred and their related aspects of (individual or collective) aggression. At its core, it also propagates communalism, and is directed against egotism, siding unequivocally with the good. Brotherhood can be considered both a social value and a religious ideal — i.e., a virtue of the individual. As a state of harmony, brotherhood shows a direct link to positive, Utopian visions which are to improve the fate of the individual and those of a society, and finally the state of mankind. As for these visions, one may distinguish leftist (or communist) Utopias as well as Christian Utopian concepts, conservative ("lost paradise") as well as progressive ideal states. The history of philosophy, religion and literature provides numerous models of both ideal and possible worlds as well as methods of achieving them through striving for moral perfection. They all involve brotherhood and related components such as freedom, equality, solidarity and responsibility, which function as constituents for alternative states either based on or sharply contrasting with reality. The history of Russian ideas 4

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Plato's four cardinal virtues: prudence, fortitude, temperance and justice, as well as the three theological ("supernatural") virtues o f Christianity: faith, hope and love. 5

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T h e German scholar Martin Doerne (1969) discusses similarities and differences between Dostoevsky and Tolstoy, pointing out common Christian Utopian principles and motifs in the works of these two great Russian thinkers. Note also Andrzej Walicki's study (1975). P l a t o discusses a model of an ideal state in his Politeia [The Republic]. St Augustine distinguishes a heavenly and an earthly state in his Civiias Dei [City of God]. The first m o d e m construct o f an ideal world is offered by Sir Thomas More in his Utopia,(On the Highest state of a republic and on the new


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of the last three centuries reflects a distinct recurrent controversy about achieving Utopian s t a t e s . In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries the search for the ideal world was reinforced by Russian Christian and Marxist p h i l o s o p h i e s , accompanied by a gradual increase in the number of positive Utopias, dystopias and treatises dealing with this topic. Already by the nineteenth century unity of peoples was a prominent objective among Russian p h i l o s o p h e r s . " Significant contributions to this ideal may be found especially in the writings of three outstanding representatives: Nikolaj F e d o r o v i c h F e d o r o v , Vladimir Sergeevich Solov ' e v and Semen Ljudvigovich F r a n k . 7

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Island of Utopia, 1516), which established a new literary genre. Utopia as a literary theme was introduced into Russian literature in the 18th century. 7

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I t also provided representatives (character types) of political or religious thought, who were to embody the ideal man or woman, striving for the ideal state of the world. Apart from superfluous men [jiHUiHHe J H O J I H ] , nineteenth-century Russia's politics and literature witnessed a battle between new people [HOBbie J U O A H ] , representing the left (i.e., the nihilists and narodniki) and good people [flo6pwe J U O H H ) representing the right,(i.e., the ideal Christians). Utopian tendencies appear in the works of Aleksandr P. Sumarokov (Son: Schastlivoe obshchestvo [The Happy society: A Dream], 1759), M. M. Shcherbatov (Puteshestvie v zemlju ofirskuju [Journey to the land of Ophir], 1 7 8 3 / 8 4 ) , Faddej Bulgarin (Neverojatnye nebylitsy, Hi stranstvovanija po svetu v 29-om veke [Probable fantasies, or Wanderings around the world in the twenty-ninth century], 1824), Vladimir F. Odoevskij (God 4338-j [The Year 4338], 1838), Nikolaj G. Chernyshevskij (Chto delat' [What is to be done], 1862), Valerij Brjussov (Respublika juzhnogo kresta [The Republic of the Southern Cross], 1907), Nikolaj Fedorov (Vecher v 2217 godu [One evening in the year 2217], 1906), Aleksandr Bogdanov (Krasnaja zvezda [Red Star], 1908 and Inzhener Menni [Menni the engineer], 1908), Aleksandr Chajanov (Puteshestvie moego brata Alekseja v stranu krest'janskoj utopii [The Journey of my brother Aleksej to the land of Peasant Utopia], 1920), Takov Okunev (Grjadushchij mir [The Future world], 1923), Evgenij Zamjatin (My [We], 1927) Anatolij Kim (Lotos, 1980 and Nefritovyj pojas [The Nephrite belt], 1981) and Vladimir Vojnovich (Moskva 2042 [Moscow in 2042], 1987). F o r a comparative overview over the concepts of unity, see Gustafson, 4 5 7 63. In the last chapter of his study, Gustafson discusses the pertinent views of thinkers such as Aleksej Khomjakov (1804-1860), Nikolaj Fedorov ( 1 8 2 8 1903), Vladimir Solov'ev (1853-1900), Sergej Bulgakov (1871-1944), Nikolaj Berdjaev ( 1 8 7 4 - 1 9 4 8 ) , Father Pavel Florenskij (1882-1952?), Simon Frank (1877-1950), and Nikolaj Losskij (1870-1965).

pin his major work Filosofia obshchago dela [The Philosophy of the common cause] (1906) Nikolaj Fedorov proposes a total unity [BceenHHCTBo] of the dead and the living; cf. also his concept of "cooopHocTb". I n his lectures Vladimir Solov'ev envisages a state of world harmony based on the principles of "BoroqejioBeqecTBo" [Godmanhood] as well as of "Codpwi" [Sophia] — the universal feminine principle of love and reconciliation be-

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It is interesting to note that one of Tolstoy's main contemporaries and rivals, Dostoevsky, comes to similar conclusions in his proposal to build a world of harmony by means of brotherly love. In his story "Son smeshnogo cheloveka. Fantasticheskij rasskaz" ["The Dream of a ridiculous man. A Fantastic story"] (1877) the main protagonist addresses this objective as follows: 'TjiaBHoe — JIIO6H apyrnx Km

ceSfl, BOT ITO rjiaBHoe, M 3TO B e e , fxwibiiioe DOBHO HHHero He Ha.no..."

[What is most important is brotherly love, that is what counts, and that is all that is necessary...]. Dostoevsky himself (26:148) reiterates this view in his famous Rech' o Pushkine [Discourse on Pushkin] (1881). He explicitly propagates the idea of "6paTCTBo" (fraternitas), of universal Christian love (caritas), heralding Russia itself as both a saviour and a unifying force: 12

...CTaTb HaCTOUIUHM pyCCKHM M H M C H H O 6y.neT 3H81MT: ... yKa3aTb HCxofl eBponeiicKOH TOCKe B CBoefl pyccKoii a y u i e , Bceq&noBeqHOH H BceCOeflHHflK>meH, BMeCTHTb B Hee C 6paTCKOK) JUOOOBHK) Bcex HaUJHX 6 p a T b e B . . . H H 3 p e i b OKOHiaTejibHoe C J I O B O B C U H K O H , o6mefi rapMOHHH, SpaTCKoro OKOHqaTejibuoro c o r n a c m i B c e x njieMen n o XpHCTOBy eBan rejibCKOMy 3aKOHy!

[... to become a true Russian will mean to show ... a way out of the European melancholy in the Russian soul which is all-human and all-uniting, to bring all our brothers into it with brotherly love ... and pronounce the final word of a great, universal harmony, of a final brotherly accord of all peoples according to Christ's evangelical law!] (Dostoevsky, 26:148)

A similar notion, one as ambiguous as "brotherhood", is that of love. From a Christian point of view, one may distingush love of God, love for God and love among people (caritas). As for brotherly love, its artistic manifestation can be seen both in characters' concrete acts (e.g., forgiveness, hospitality) and in narrators' and characters' evaluations of this ideal. There is no doubt that the majority of Tolstoy's later works are dominated by religious themes and motifs. But characters' qualities and specific situations matching the ideal of brotherly love can also be found in his early works, as well as in his major novels Vojna i mir 13

tween human beings; cf. also his poem " M y ne bessmyslenno sobralis'" ["We did not come together without reason"] (1892). ^ H i s dominant philosophical concept is that of total unity [BceejtHHCTBo]. 12

Dostoevskij, 25:119. In his novel Podrostok [A Raw youth] (1875) Dostoevsky presents the pious and simple Makar Dolgorukij, a true Christian and a representative of brotherly love, as well as Versilov's U t o p i a n dream. The most outstanding representative of the "good people" in Dostoevsky's works is Prince Myshkin.

" T h e German scholar Käte Hamburger (1961) strongly opposes Tolstoy's concept of brotherly love; cf. also Chapter 3.3 of her book Das Mißlingen der Liebe [The Failure of love] (Hamburger, 1961: 94-40).


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[War and peace] (1866-69) and Anna Karenina (1873-77). Note also the housekeeper Natal'ja Savishna in Detstvo [Childhood] (1853) and the old coachman Serega in the story Tri smerti [Three deaths] (1856) as characters who follow the commandment of brotherly love, exhibiting attitudes of selflessness in the ritual of giving away possessions. Similar characters are Platon Karataev, the Freemasons and Pierre Bezukhov in Vojna i mir. Tolstoy's short story Bog pravdu vidit, da ne skoro skazhet [God sees the truth, but waits] in Azbuka (1871-72) is one of those literary works which fulfil Tolstoy's own ethical and poetic requirements (such as brevity, clarity, simplicity). The narrative (which, incidentally, does not belong to the cycle of Narodnye rasskazy [Stories for the people]) focuses on two significant turning points in the life of the merchant Aksenov. Sentenced to lifelong exile in Siberia for a crime he did not commit (killing a fellow-traveller at an inn), Aksenov turns to religion. By and by he learns the facts of the murder from the murderer himself — Makar Semenov, who happens to end up at the same prison camp. Aksenov's spiritual transformation changes his whole mental outlook: he spares Semenov from punishment, suppresses his own hatred and renounces vengeance. He does not even report Semenov's attempt to escape. His manifestation of the virtue of brotherly love is rewarded when the murderer realizes his own guilt and asks Aksenov for forgiveness. Aksenov's true Christian virtues as well as Semenov's conversion (prompted by his own conscience) are evident in the final dialogue: — MBaH J I M H T P H I , npocTM!

Koraa M C H H K H V T O M C C K J I H , MHe J i e r q e qeM T e n e p b Ha Te6fl CMOTpeTb... A T W eme n o w a j i e j i M C H H — He CKa3aji. IlpocTH M C H H paflH XpHCTa! IlpocTH T U M C H H , 3nonea OKaaHHoro.

SbiJio,

["Forgive me, Ivan Dmitrich. Then, it was easier for me, when they were beating me with a whip, than to look at you now. And you felt pity for me, you didn't give me away. For Christ's sake, forgive me. Forgive me — me, a damned criminal."] (JE, 22:431)

The behaviour of the two main characters' documents the renunciation of hatred, violence and vengeance (in favour of forgiveness) as one of the fundamental elements of the ideal of human brotherhood. Chem ljudi zhivy [What men live by] (1881) belongs to the cycle of stories Narodnye rasskazyA* Like the preceding narrative, this In his unpublished Ph.D. dissertation "L. N. Tolstoj's Stories for the people on the theme of brotherly love" (1972) Gary Jahn lists the following short stories as fulfilling the requirements of brotherly love: Bog pravdu vidit, da ne skoro skazhet (1881), Chem ljudi zhivy (1881), Gde ljubov', tarn i Bog [Where love is, God is] (1885), Dva starika [Two old men] (1885), and Tri startsa [Three hermits] (1886).

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cycle was intended to communicate Tolstoy's Christian ideals. Chetn ljudi zhivy transgresses the boundary between the real a n d the unreal through its use of fantastic elements, describing an unusual encounter between a poor cobbler and a stranger, who in the end turns out to b e the Archangel Michael, sent to earth because of his disobedience to God. The title anticipates the themes of the search for spiritual " f o o d " and the ideal of brotherhood of men, or brotherly love. The narrative is built around two thematic oppositions: (a) between good and evil, and (b) between brotherly love (which emanates from God) and death. Good is associated with brotherly love, while evil is equated with death. The plot centres around the transition from one pole of these oppositions to the other, accompanied b y a search for knowledge. The key expressions of the fundamental elements and transformations are presented in introductory biblical quotations — God, selfless love, brother, need, death, mercy, pity [Hyacaa, nojuo6HTb, nowajieTb] ( 9 , 1 3 ) — which serve to anticipate the plot. Note, for example, this quotation from I John 3 : 1 4 included in the epigraph to this story: " M M 3HaeM, I T O Mbi nepeujjiu H3 ciuepTH B }KH3HI>, noTOMy I T O JUO6HM SpaTbeB: He JUOGAIUHH 6paTa npeSbiBaeT B cMepra (1 nocji. Moan. III.

14/' [We know that w e have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death] (JE, 25:7).

The fundamental opposition of good and evil is personified by the Angel of Death and his main rival "ApxaHreji M H x a m i " [the Archangel Michael]. Moreover, the devil is personified by a fat,haughty aristocrat [6apHH], as contrasted with meek and positive characters such as Semen, his wife Matrena and Mikhajla (the Archangel in disguise). Spiritual and economic transformations are intertwined: the poor couple, rewarded for their altruism, gradually become wealthier, and Archangel Michael (who must first become a human being before he finally regains his heavenly status) learns, through revelation, the essential lesson that brotherly love is inherent only in human beings. The story itself exhibits characteristics typical of biblical narratives — parables in particular (e.g., the Good Samaritan). Note, for example, the tri-partite structure manifest in the angel's search for answers to three fundamental questions ( J E , 2 5 : 2 3 ) : (a) What ability do human beings have? [ 4 T O ecTb B juoaax?] To love, (b) What do human beings lack? [Hero He H&HO JiioflflM?] The foreknowledge of their hour of death, (c) What do men live by? [MeM JHOAH )KHBW?] By love — a n d this answer m a y be seen as the culmination of the epistemological search. T h e plot unfolds on two levels — realistic a n d metaphysical ("fantastic"). The angel who is sent down to earth learns about men's a n d women's qualities, such as brotherly love, charity, selfless-


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ness, forgiveness and hospitality. He meets three good Christians ["flo6pbie JHOHH"] who manifest these abstract ideals through concrete actions. The cobbler Semen appears as the Good Samaritan, who takes care of the naked angel, shares his clothes with him, offers him shelter and finally a job. Although, initially, his wife Matrena (the second of the "good people") turns out be hostile towards the unexpected guest, once her drunken husband manages to convince her that this is an opportunity for a good deed, she herself undergoes a conversion. Suppressing anger, she gives in reluctantly, but soon realizes that she and her husband are profiting from their guest's presence not only materially, but spiritually as well. The third good human being is a rather wealthy merchant's wife who, taking pity on twin girls after they become orphans, adopts them and raises them for six years. Her special affection for one of the girls who is lame is a direct response to Christ Jesus' commandment of brotherly love (following the example of his love for outcasts — the lame, the poor, the sinful). The story brings home the message that good defeats evil through brotherly love, and that in turn good creates good. The narrative concludes with three fundamental truths discovered by the Archangel Michael: (a) people live by love, (b) God is love and (c) people need not know all that God knows. The short story Gde ljubov', tarn i Bog (1885) deals with a number of motifs — the search for meaning in life, God's will associated with necessity or fate, as opposed to man's will, the reassessment of man's past life; solutions to man's crises, man's fate comprising the poles of suffering and happiness, religious answers to existential questions, all culminating in the motif of brotherly love, which is exemplied in concrete acts of offering hospitality to strangers, of giving away possessions. Gde ljubov' tarn i Bog focuses on the life of the poor cobbler Martyn Avdeich. The third-person narrator introduces him and acquaints the reader with his tragic past life: the premature death of his child and the recent death of his wife. The narrator's exposition anticipates a significant turning point in Martyn Avdeich's senior years: "ABnem H B c e r j t a 6HJI l e j i o B e K xopoumii, HO n o f l c r a p o c T b CTaji OH 6ojibiue o nyuie CBOCH j i y M a T b H oojibuie K Bory IIPHGJIHwaTbcfl" [Avdeich was always a good man, but as he grew older he began to think more about his soul, and began to come closer to God] QE, 25:35). The decisive turning point coincides with his religious conversion, beginning with a conversation between Martyn and a "wanderer" [cTpaHHHK], who tells Martyn Avdeich that God will give meaning to his life and help him overcome his suffering (indeed, Avdeich, left all alone following the deaths in his family, often wishes for his own death). The " w a n d e r e r " advises him to read the Gospels to

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learn to live a religious life. In carrying out his advice Avdeich arrives at an understanding of t w o fundamental religious questions: What does God want from m a n ? [Hero x o i e T Bor OT l e j i o B e i c a ? ] a n d : How should one live for God? [Kan Haao jma Bora % H T b ? ] In reading the New Testament, Avdeich is forced to undergo a critical reassessment of his former life. He comes to the conclusion that he has not been living in accord with the teachings of God, with the commandment of brotherly love in particular. He hears God's voice telling him (JE, 25:38) to expect a visit from God the following day. It is on this following day, while Martyn is working in his cobbler's shop and waiting for God, that three encounters take place — (a) with an old man, (b) with a young woman and her child, a n d ( c ) with an old woman a n d a boy — which confirm his spiritual conversion. The first of these involves Martyn's offering hospitality to an old soldier named Stepanych. Martyn tells him about his wondrous experience of hearing God's voice as well as about Jesus' life, selecting events in which sinners acted according to God's commandments. During this conversation Avdeich adresses Stepanych three times as " 6 p a T e u Tbi MOH" [ y o u , my brother] (JE, 25:39). Martyn points o u t to Stepanych that Jesus preferred the "simple people" [npocTofi Hapoji] such as the the p o o r , the humble, the meek, the merciful [ m t u i n e , CMHpeHHbie, K p o T K H e , MHjiocTHBbie] (25:40). Then, as Martyn continues to wait for God, he sees a poor woman a n d her child freezing o u t in the cold. He invites her to come into his basement s h o p . She tells him about her misery, misfortune. Avdeich takes pity o n her, a n d provides her with food and clothes. In the third encounter Avdeich witnesses a quarrel between a woman and a boy following the boy's attempted theft of an apple. Avdeich settles the argument by demanding that the boy ask the woman's forgiveness (which he does). Then he gives the boy one of her apples, promising to pay f o r it, but she forgets to ask for the payment before she leaves. The story ends with the motif of God's revelation. As in the preceding narrative Chem ljudi zhivy, in which the Archangel Michael reveals his identity, God Himself makes known to Avdeich that He has indeed visited him, in disguise — first as the old soldier, then as the poor woman with her child and finally as the old woman and the boy. The motif of revelation serves the function of resolution and of strengthening Avdeich's belief in God. 15

The short story Upustish' ogon' — ne potushish' [A Spark neglected burns the house] (1885) demonstrates the consequences of an absence of brotherhood among people. Here a state of harmony is de15

U n l i k e Dostoevsky's "underground man" [noAnoJibHUH qejioBeK ], who proclaims to be an "evil m a n " [3J10ÌÌ q&noBeKJ, the cobbler belongs to the group of "good people" [ao6pbie JIIOAM ] .

Tolstoy's ìate prose

161

stroyed b y the hatred which arises between two neighbouring families, leading to a hideous crime of arson which damages half the village. The two families repeatedly miss the opportunity for forgiveness, but justice prevails in the end: their peace and happiness give way to punishment and misery. As with many of Tolstoy's narratives, the religious message is conveyed right in the title — in this case an abstract saying which the author transforms into a concrete plot: a chain-reaction of evil culminating in violence and destruction (unlike Tolstoy's other stories which show how good can create good). This is also a story of conflict between two generations. The forces of evil are represented by the protagonists Ivan Shcherbakov and his opposing neighbour Gavrilo Khromoj, together with their families. The representatives of brotherly love, on the other hand, are both of an older generation, namely, Ivan's father and an old judge who fails to reconcile the two main adversaries. In advocating good, he repeatedly uses key words such as: " 6 p a T " , " 6 p a T e u " , " n o - c o c e j i CKH", "npomeHHe", "noMMpHTbca", " c o B e c T b " and " n o M H J i o B a T b " .

Furthermore, the narrative demonstrates how the absence of brotherly love, the willingness to forgive, reconcile and give in inevitably leads to punishment. The final turning point in this narrative is the old man's death, which restores the previous state of harmony by causing Ivan to realize his guilt and ask his father for forgiveness. His father reminds him again to live a religious life. The story Dva starika (1885) is about two friends who have decided to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem before they die: a rich peasant named Efim Tarasovich Shevelev and his less wealthier [ H e o o r a T b i f i ] companion Elisej Bodrov. After walking for several days together, their paths diverge when Elisej decides to stop and help a poor family in Ukraine. Efim Tarasovich waits several days for him, but finally decides to continue the journey alone. Elisej, for his part, finds he simply cannot leave a family suffering from hunger after selling all their possessions for food. Elisej, acting in the role of the Good Samaritan, saves the family not only from starvation, but also helps them buy a horse and a cow and maintain a house and farm. He manages to do all this within a very short period of time, spending eighty-three of his hundred rubles. His selfless act wins over the poor people's hearts. Though he had intended to follow his friend Efim, he stays on another couple of weeks with the poor family, revealing his attitude towards brotherly love in the following thought: " A TO n o f i j i e u i b 3 a Mopeiu XpHC/ra H c n a T b , a B caMOM c e 6 e noTepfleuib. Ha.uo c n p a B H T b J u o ^ e H ! " [And if you go to seek Christ beyond the sea, you will lose yourself. People must be helped!] (JE, 25:90). While Elisej ends up returning to his home village, Efim continues his pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where he is surprised by three miracu-

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lous visions of his friend Elisej, though he is never able to get hold of him, and has not been told anything about his friend's fate. Upon returning home after a year of travelling, Efim sees Elisej the way he saw him in his visions in Jerusalem: praying and holding his hands like a saint — an impression reflected in the formation of a hive of bees: floHieji E(pHM iepe3 ceHH ... C M O T P H T — C T O H T E H H C C H 6e3 C C T K H , 6e3 pywaBHU, B Ka<J>Tane cepoM non 6epe3KOH, pyKH pa3Ben H r j i a j ( H T KBepxy, H JiucHHa SjiecTHT B O B C I O rojioBy, KaK O H B MepycajiHMe y rpo6a r o c n o f l H * C T O J U I , a ... BOKpyr T O J I O B M 30ji0Tbie nqejiKH B BeHei; CBHJIHCb...

[And Efim walked through the h a l l . . . he looks, and sees that Elisej is without a net, without gloves, wearing a grey caftan, standing under a birch-tree. Stretching out his hands, he looks up, and his bald head is shimmering all over in the same way he stood in Jerusalem by the Saviour's tomb, and ... around his head golden bees were woven into a halo...] (JE, 25:98)

W h e n Efim finds out about Elisej's selfless behaviour and understands his motives, he comes to the realization that concrete acts of brotherly love are more important than the pilgrimage of a pious Christian. Tolstoy's late narrative Khozjain i rabotnik [Master and man] (1894-95) focuses again on the existential aspect of the meaning of life, and the main character's aberrations during his search for this existential aspect. After an unsuccessful journey, the merchant Brekhunov realizes that the meaning of life is manifested in living for and loving others, and that brotherly love is attained through sacrifice. Before the rich merchant and his servant Nikita set out for their journey, the former promises Nikita he will take care of him: "Tbi MHe cjiyjKHWb, H a T e 6 a He o c i a B J i i o " [You are my servant, and I shall not forsake you] (JE, 29:4). But Brekhunov, true to his name (brekhun — "liar") does not prove very trustworthy; in fact he only exploits Nikita. It takes a "borderline situation" — i.e., his facing death by freezing — to bring about Brekhunov's conversion to the ideal of brotherly love. In contrast to Nikita, Brekhunov's character changes, gradually, from an exploiter to a friend. At the beginning of the journey the merchant acts according to his social position, secure in his conviction that he is superior to his dependent servant. The main objective of his life is the accumulation of wealth — a motif which also leads to the dangerous and fatal journey. The master's superior social status becomes meaningless, however, as soon as he finds himself in a dangerous, life-threatening situation, allowing the fundamental equality between the two human beings to come to the fore. The process of conversion begins as Brekhunov, noticing Nikita's poor clothing, becomes aware of his responsibility for his worker: "He 3aMep3 6w MV)KHK; n j i o x a oaejKOHKa Ha HeM. Euie OTBeTHuib Ha Heiw" [He


163

had better not freeze to death; his clothes are poor. I would be responsible for him] (JE, 2733). The mental transformation intensifies as Brekhunov covers Nikita's body with his own and thus saves his life. In his final dialogue with Nikita, before the merchant falls asleep and dies, Brekhunov at last addresses Nikita as " 6 p a T " — a term used repeatedly by Nikita throughout the narrative — thus finally abolishing the inequality between " m a s t e r " and " m a n " . The proximity of death has worked its equalizing effect on the life of the merchant, whose spiritual transformation is demonstrated in the ideal of " S p a T C T B o " at the very climax of the story. H e becomes aware, even if only very late, of the existence of spiritual values, as he awakens in a dream-state which precedes his death. Unlike the single conversion of the merchant Brekhunov, the main character of Tolstoy's narrative Otets Sergij [Father Sergius] (published 1911; written between 1890 and 1898) is obliged to go through two conversions in order to realize the true meaning of his life. This story resembles the vita genre typical of medieval literature. Following an unhappy love affair in his younger years and, in his old age, a fatal crucial encounter with his cousin Pashen'ka, the main character decides to change his life. In fact, the whole story is about a lifelong search for the meaning of life, which he has been prevented b y sexuality from finding — either in the past or in the present. Stepan Kasatskij's main aim in life before his conversion was directed towards self-perfection, towards striving for excellence [oTJiHiHTbCii] — an objective which entailed climbing up the social ladder, causing social inequality and superiority, and resulted in Kasatskij's personal failure. Following his first conversion h e finds meaning in life as Father Sergius by allowing his moral attitude, which n o w approaches the ideal of brotherly love, to be determined by "cMHpHTbefl" [humbling one's self] instead of "oTJimHTbca" and exchanging government service for service to God. After living life as a hermit, however, Father Sergius comes to the conclusion that living a religious life for God's sake has still failed to satisfy his search for the meaning of life. H e realizes that being forced to live the life of a saint — to play the role of a benefactor — has distracted him from his true objective in life. He finds the solution to his dilemma in a dream: he must visit his cousin Pashen'ka to confess his sins. This woman comes close to Tolstoy's ideal representative of a true female Christian character: she is selfless, endowed with brotherly love and eager to reconcile people, thus fight-

ing against evil: "Ona He Morjia Kfly jiioflbMH" [She could not physically endure un-

kind personal relations] (JE, 31:39). After Father Sergius' visit (confession) h e realizes the true meaning of life:

164

JosefMetzde <no a aonweH 6un 6biTb H ieM a He 6 M J I . R noA npefljioroM B o r a , O H a WHBeT AJia B o r a , Boo6paw a a , I T O oHa MtHBer w juoAefi. FlauieHbKa

»HJI

AJI*

HMCHHO T O ,

JUOACH

tPashen'ka is exactly the person I was supposed to be but was not. I lived for people pretending to live for God, she lives for God, thinking that she lives for people.] (JE, 31:44)

Father Sergius' social decline at the end of his life means a moral rise. Although he is sent to Siberia he continues to practise brotherhood, taking care of beggars and ill people. Tolstoy's late novel Voskresenie [Resurrection] (published 1899; written between 1889 and 1899) deals with the conversions of a Prince Nekhljudov, exemplified mainly in his relationship to Katjusha Maslova. These conversions lead to Nekhljudov's realization and propagation of radical Christianity as a pivotal school of thought, and as the solution to man's existential problems, manifested through social injustice, aggression, hatred, and exploitation and degradation of man by man. Nekljudov's radical Christianity is opposed to the teachings of the official Russian Orthodox Church as well as to those of other denominations (this is evident, for example, in the attitudes of an old prisoner Nekhljudov converses with on the way to Siberia and later visits in prison camp). Nekhljudov's radical Christianity is also opposed to the political system of tsarist Russia, showing greater similarities with socialist or communist ideologies; in its demand for aboliton of private property it even comes close to anarchy. As it is often the case in Tolstoy's works, the narrator's arguments centre around fundamental contrasts such as good versus evil, inequality versus equality, altruism versus selfishness, love versus hatred, suffering versus enjoyment, sin versus repentance, appearance versus reality, the ideal Utopian state versus conditions of reality, and above all justice versus injustice. This dialectical principle also dominates the opposition of the absence of brotherhood versus striving for brotherly love. The combining of actual characters' lives with the lengthy digressions of the narrator, typical of Tolstoy's poetics, can be detected in the treatment of the rather abstract theme of brotherhood and its actual concretization through the actions of the main (and minor) characters. Brotherly love is thus presented from several different perspectives. The first major demonstration of brotherly love is integrated into a religious context. In the first part of the novel, in the scene immediately following the Easter ceremony, the quality of Christian charity gains the upper hand, demonstrating how two related pillars of brotherhood — altruism (giving away possessions, in this case alms) and equality (a temporal abolition of social differences) — coincide. In this emotional scene members of different social classes, beggars and noblemen, are united symbolically through a religious ritual:

Tolstoy's late prose —XpHCTOc BOCKpece! — cKa3cUia MaTpeHa, HCb, c TaKOH

MHTOHauHeii, KOTopau

165

CKJIOHHH

roBopHJia,

ITO

rojioBy

H

yjibi6a-

HbiHie Bee paBHbi.

["Christ is risen!" said Matrena, bowing her head and smiling, her tone of voice indicating that now all people were equal] (JE, 32:65).

She says this as she kisses Nekhljudov. In emphasizing two of Katjusha Maslova's qualities, Nekhljudov points out her attitude of "love for a l l " : ...iHCTOTa fleBCTBeHHOCTH J U O S B H He TOJibKo K HeMy, — H O J I I O S B H K O BCeM H K O BCeMy, He TOJlbKO K XOpOUieMy, qTO TOJlbKO eCTb B Mupe, — K TOMy HHiueMy, c KOTopbiM o u a nouejioBajiacb. [.. .the purity of maidenhood of her love not only for him, but the purity of love for all people and for everything, not only for the beautiful that exists in the world, — for the beggar, whom she kissed.] {JE, 32:65)

Examples of lack of brotherly love are found in the descriptions of the unjust judicial system and its related manifestations of inhuman behaviour by representatives of church and state, as well as in the portrayal of various scenes of violence, degradation and exploitation. Nekhljudov's radical Christianity manifests itself in the narrator's descriptions of human cruelty and in his conclusions as to the dorninant perverted state of reality: Bee aejio

B TOM,

3aK0H, H He

— qio

npH3HaiOT

JUOAH

STH

npH3HaioT 3aKonoM T O , qTO He ecTb eCTb BeqHblH, HeOTJIOlKHMblH

3aK0H0M TO, qTO

3aKOH, caMHM BoroM uanHcaHHbiH B cepauax juoflefi. [The point is that people accept as law what is not law, and do not accept as law that which is a n eternal law which cannot be put off, written by God into the hearts of people.] (JE, 32:303)

The narrator's conclusion contrasts the treatment of human beings as objects (seen as an omnipresent reality) with brotherly love: C BemaMH M O I K H O oSpamaTbCfl 6e3 J I I O S B H : . . . HO c juoAbMH Hejib3ii 0 6 pamaTbca 6e3 J I I O S B H . ... M 3 T O He MoweT 6biTb HHaqe, noTOMy qTO B3aHMHan BeqecKOH.

juo6oBb

Me>Kfly jiwflbMH ecTb

OCHOBHOH

3aK0H

H6nTb

Bora

BO

6JIHWHHX, JIK)6MTb BparOB CBOHX. Bcex npoHBJieHHax.

Bee JUOOHTb — JIK)6HTb JlioSHTb qeJioBeKa aopororo M O W H O

qejiOBeiecKoio jiioooBbio, H O TOJibKO BparoB M O W H O jiio6HTb ;iio6oBbio BowecKO». M O T 3 T o r o H HcnuTaji T a K y » p a j o c T b , K o r j a H n o q y BCTBOBaji, qTO J I B 6 J I I O 3 T o r o qeôBena. (VM, 2 : 3 9 4 )

Criticism has likewise failed to provide a full in-depth analysis of Pierre's association with freemasonry, from his induction into the

212

Munir Sendich

brotherhood to his final disillusionment. An early critic, Virginia Crawford (1898), for example, makes only passing mention of Pierre's association with the movement, noting that Pierre's enters into "conversation with one Basdaiev [sic!]", that Pierre becomes a freemason, practises philanthropy, and "tries to ameliorate the condition of his s e r f s " . ' Another prominent critic of the early period, Edward Steiner (1908), gives an equally cursory account of Pierre's meeting with a freemason — one who "attracts him by his ethical views, which are to him a revelation and which he a c c e p t s " . Similarly, Harry J. Mooney sees Pierre's "Masonic episode" as the attainment of a "sincere but somewhat superficial sense of his profligate past, and his determination upon rejuvenation and the ideal of brotherly l o v e " . More recent critics follow the same suit of detachment. David Sherman (1980), for example, commenting on Pierre's and Andrej's conversation on the ferry, notes that "Andrej appears to agree to join Pierre's Masonic lodge ... and their conversation instead ends on a note of i r o n y . " This ironic interpretation of the freemasonry is echoed in William Rowe's (1986) comment that the initiation "is described in a tolerant but parodie manner", as something Tolstoy considered "admirable enough in its aims but rather ridiculous in action". According to Richard Freeborn, Pierre's "search for truth with the aid of freemasonry produces several chapters of quietly excruciating t e d i u m " . Gary Saul Morson, on the other hand, writes that Pierre "is attracted to Bazdeev and the Freemasons because of their pretensions to a system of spiritual purification", concluding that Pierre "knows that Masonic mysticism is n o n s e n s e " . Criticism has also dismissed Pierre's disappointment with freemasonry along with its notions of " p a B e H C T B O , SpaTCTBO H JIK>6OBI>" (VM, 1:489) and its vain struggle for " H c n p a B J i e H H e p o j i a l e j i o B e i e c K o r o " (1:557). Nor is there any more definitive scholarship on Pierre's embrace of Karataev's values of brotherhood, including Karataev's maxim in respect to the French — and by extension all 3

40

41

42

43

44

45

39

Crawford, 292-93.

^ S t e i n e r , 182. 4 1

42

43

44

4 5

H a r r y J. Mooney, Jr., Tolstoy's epic vision. A Study of "War and peace" and "Anna Karenina" (Tulsa: University of Tulsa, 1968): 62. D a v i d J. Sherman, "Philosophical dialogue and Tolstoy's War and peace", Slavic and East European Journal, Vol. 24, No. 1 (1980): 20. W i l l i a m W. Rowe, Leo Tolstoy (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1986): 56. R i c h a r d Freeborn, The Rise of the Russian novel (Cambridge, Mass., USA: At the University Press, 1973): 242. G a r y Saul Morson, Hidden in plain view. Narrative and creative potentials in "War and peace" (Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1987): 155-211.

War and peace" in English literary

criticism

213

other nations — " " r o u t e J H O J I H H x y j i b i e H jioSpbie e c T b " (VM, 2:453). Similarly, criticism has failed to note the linkage between Tolstoy's reference to Karataev as "lacTHiia u e j i o r o " (2:453) and the identical views held by Pierre: "Pa3Be H He l y B C T B y i o B cBoefi j i y i i i e , H T O H c o cTaBJiHio i a c T b 3Toro orpoMHoro r a p M O H H i e c n o r o uejioro" (1:490). The linkage is indeed an important feature of the concept of brotherhood in Vojna i mir, as is Princess Mary's " G o d ' s people" view of brotherhood, which has also escaped more detailed study, notably "God's people's" notion of universal love and self-sacrifice: O c r a B H T b c e M b i o , poflHHy, B e e

KHM H M e H e M

c

3a5oTU

o MHDCKHX

H H K qeMy, x o j i H T b

Mecia

Ha MecTO,

MOJIHCb 3a T e X , K O T O p b i e r O H H T , H 3a Tex,

He

Sjiarax

JIJIH

B nocKOHHOM

aejia*

Bpejia

TOTO,

pySnuje,

JUOJDIM

H

K O T O p b i e nOKpOBHTeJIbCT-

ByiOT: B b l U i e 3 T 0 H HCTHHbl H JKH3HH H e T HCTHHbl

H

)KH3HH.

(VM,

1:612) Finally, criticism has overlooked many other, more fleeting manifestations of brotherhood, such as Pierre's encounter with Davout, which serves to define Tolstoy's most cherished ideas of human relationship among all men, enemies included: B 3 T O M B3rjmfle, F I O M H M O

Bcex

yanoBHH BOHHM

H

cyaa,

Mewjiy

A B y M f l n i O A b M H ycTaHOBHJiHCb q e j i o B e t e c K H e oTHoiueHHJi. 3Ty

oflHy

MHHyTy

BO Beuiefi H

CMyTHO nepeqyBCTBOBajiH GecqHCJieHHoe

noHHJiH,

(VM, 2:446-47)

I T O OHH

o6a

06a

STHMH OHH B

KOJiHiecT-

jieTH qejioBeqecTBa, I T O OHH

SpaTbs.

One may detect, no matter how remotely, the ideal of brotherhood in the rain's appeal to all human beings ( « J U O A H » ) engaged in the battle of Borodino to finally stop slaughtering and butchering each other: "JJoBOJibHo, jioBOJibHo J I I O J I H . IlepecTaHbTe... OnoMHmecb. MTO B U jiejiaeTe?" (VM, 2:269). Karataev's memorable tale about the fate of an old merchant suffering in Siberia — " 3 a C B O H jia 3 a J I I O . I I c K H e r p e x H " (2:565) — after being wrongly accused of a murder — also mirrors the concept of brotherhood, particularly in the real murderer's voluntary repentance ("3a6ojiejio y Hero c e p j m e " [2:565]) over the sins he had inflicted upon an innocent victim. Similar brotherly love toward other men, Russian and foreign, is scattered throughout Vojna i mir. One recalls Andrej being kissed on the lips by the doctor after his operation at Borodino: "Kan TOJibKo

KHH3b AHjipeH o T K p w J i rjia3a, .noKTop HarHyjicfl Haji H H M , noiiejioBaji e r o B ry6bi H n o c n e i i i H O o T o i u e J i " (VM, 2:263). Brotherly love is fur-

ther reflected in Andrej's soldiers' fondness for him ("Ham KHH3b", the soldiers call him), in Andrej's attitude toward Captain Tushin and in the old Count Bolkonskij's kindness toward and love for Pierre. Again, Tolstoy's views of brotherhood reverberate clearly in Natasha's prayer during the summer of 1812, right down to their religious underpinnings:

214

Munir Sendkh «MHPOM, — Bee BMecTe, 6 e 3 pa3JiHiHa C O C J I O B H H , 6e3 BpaHtnw, a c o e AHHeHHbie 6paTCKoio jiioSoBbio, — SyfleM MojiHTbCii», — flyMaJia HaTaui a. (VM, 2:77)

Here, the word "MHDOM", as Sergej Bocharov comments on the text, has a special meaning for Tolstoy — judging by variant drafts: "(1) MHpOM, CO BCCMH OflHHaKOBo"; (2) " f l y M a f l , KaK OHO COeflHHfleT ce6n B oflHO c MHpoM K y i e p o B H n p a i e n " ; (3) "MHPOM 3HaiHT HapaBHe c o BCCMH. co BceM M H P O M " . And "MHPOM", in its meaning of "Becb 46

CBCT", echoes Rostov's "Vivat die ganze Welt!", mentioned above. Rostov's call for the unity of the world, along with Natasha's prayer ("MHPOM — B e e B M e c T e " ) appealing to mankind to stand together, expresses the innermost nuclei of the concept of brotherhood in Vojna i mir. Another essential component of the concept centres o n the frequent use of the word "JIIOJIH" in the novel — by both Russian and French soldiers, even by Kutuzov, and, of course, by Karataev (cf. his famous "Toace JIIOJIH H xyjibie H aoSpbie e c T b " [VM, 2:453]). In addition to Karataev, three other persona? — Pierre, Andrej and Princess Mary — convey the ideas of the concept of brotherhood. Princess Mary's belief in "happiness in forgiving", for example, echoes in Andrej's all-encompassing and forgiving love. Andrej's maxim "love is life" resounds in Pierre's "life is everything". Thus Tolstoy incidentally created a sort of moral polyphony. Indeed, his concept of brotherhood proclaimed profound religious principles which were to form the cornerstone of many of his future works, fiction and treatises alike. Finally, the notion of universal love and brotherhood conceived by Tolstoy i n Vojna i mir continues to thrive not only in the works of other w r i t e r s but in religious movements as well. One immediately thinks of the movement of Canadian Doukhobors and their universal brotherhood — that of " X p H C T H a H C K a a 0 6 u i H H a B c e M H p H o r o 47

BpaTCTBa".

4 8

^ S e r g e j G. Bocharov, *Vojna i mir* L. N. Tolstogo, 3rd ed. (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1978): 84. 4 7

4 8

S e e , for example, Sarla Mittal's Tolstoy: Social and political ideas (Meerut, India: Meenakshi Prakashan, 1966). S e e Andrew Donskov, ed., Leo Tolstoy-Peter Verigin: Correspondence, p r e pared and with an introduction by L. D. Gromova-Opul'skaja, published together with an English translation by John Woodsworth (Ottawa: Legas, 1995): 94.

Alexander F. Zweers University of Waterloo

IVAN BUNIN'S INTERPRETATION OF TOLSTOY'S CONCEPT OF BROTHERLY LOVE In the modest secondary literature on the relationship between Ivan Bunin and his highly revered older colleague Lev Tolstoy it has been the younger writer's admiration for Tolstoy's narrative techniques that has in general been stressed up to the present. Although this approach is not surprising when one takes into consideration Bunin's repetitive reference to Tolstoy when condemning modernism and the two authors he most disliked (Dostoevsky and Aleksandr Blok), it should not be forgotten that when, Bunin published his lengthy essay on Tolstoy in 1937 after a long period of soul-searching, he called it "Osvobozhdenie Tolstogo" ["Tolstoy's liberation"]. The title itself indicates that Bunin had set himself the task of exploring the older master's spiritual achievements rather than the qualities of his narrative techniques, however highly he valued the latter. It is symptomatic that in his 1967 disseration the Soviet critic R. S. Spivak calls his study I. A. Bunin i L. Tolstoj but adds in brackets nabljudenija nad sootnoshenijami khudozhestvennykh stilej [ o b servations about the relationship between their artistic styles]. Although Spivak speaks about "Osvobozhdenie Tolstogo", he does not subject it to any analysis and, apparently, does not consider it a major source for a proper evaluation of Bunin's understanding of Tolstoy. It should be noted that Bunin analyses Tolstoy's liberation primarily as a religious act, which turns out to be in agreement with the precepts of Buddhism as well as Christianity. It is very possible that Spivak considered it too risky — in a period when critics were supposed to hail the merits of socialist realism — to deal with the subject in detail. In addition, although Bunin's literary style could be freely admired, a critic was supposed to mention that the writer had not understood the October Revolution. But earlier, in 1960, A. K . B a boreko had told the Soviet public about the major thrust of Bunin's treatise in his article "Bunin o Tolstom" ["Bunin on Tolstoy"], published in Jasnopoljanskij sbornik. The two major Western studies on the topic deal with Bunin's integral literary output and (for that 215

Alexander F. Zmeers

216

reason) pay only scant attention to "Osvobozhdenie Tolstogo". Sergej Kryzhitskij writes: The title of the book is misleading, and though the term liberation is not clear and Bunin's reasoning often contradictory, and though Buddhist interpretations are sometimes mixed with pantheistic and Christian, the book is nevertheless a valuable addition to the voluminous literature on Tolstoy. Tjucev's well-known dictum about Russia — Umom Rossiju ne ponjat' ("One cannot understand Russia by applying one's reason") — can be applied to Tolstoj, as in fact, Bunin does to a certain extent. 1

However, it should be taken into consideration that Bunin turns out to be intimately familiar with Tolstoy's works — including the artistic and the moralistic, the writer's diaries and the pertinent critical literature. Moreover, in order to prepare himself thoroughly for his demanding task, Bunin conducted many interviews. In fact, throughout the text, rather than attempting to press his own conviction upon his readers, Bunin quotes a variety of sources, and invites them to draw their own conclusions. Consequently, Bunin often makes it difficult for his readers to follow him, but in reference to the title of his treatise he is quite specific. Following Buddhist philosophy, he writes, for example: "Liberation means taking the materialistic blanket off the spirit. Liberation means self-abnegation." And this can be considered an apt definition of Tolsty's lifelong strivings. In his book Ivan Bunin. A Study of his fiction, James Woodward translates the title of the treatise not as "Tolstoy's liberation" but as " T h e Emancipation of Tolstoy". Although the difference between the two translations may seem slight, it is worthwhile to consider it for a moment. Emancipation would seem proper given the premise that Tolstoy had become convinced that his lifelong strivings for self-perfection had finally been crowned by a victory over selfish desires, i.e., a personal internal victory over opposing forces. It will be argued, however, that this was not the case; hence Woodward's translation cannot be considered an improvement. 2

3

Bunin's awareness of his incapability of emulating the grand master in any respect must have been the major reason that he refrained from explaining Tolstoy's prolonged internal struggle, preferring instead to describe the stages of it. As to "explaining" Tol1

2

3

S . P. Kryzhitskij, The Works of Ivan Bunin (The Hague-Paris: Mouton, 1970): 197. The writer's name is also given as "Kryzhicky" and "Kryzytski". I . A. Bunin, Sobranie sochinenij v 9-i tomakh, Vol. 9 (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1965-67): 50. Subsequent quotations from this edition are indicated by volume and page numbers in brackets in the text. All translations from the Russian are mine. J a m e s W o o d w a r d , Ivan Bunin. A Study of his fiction (Chapel Hill, North Carolina, USA: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1980): 268.

Ivan Bunin's interpretation

217

stoy, there was probably an unconscious unwillingness on Bunin's part to do so. Note the following comment by Vera Vladimirovna Shmit, who met Bunin in Tartu in May 1938: I vividly remember two things which made a deep impression on me. What he said when quoting a passage from Tolstoy's Kazaki [The Cossacks]: "I should not write like him for anything in the world..." His childish, enthusiastic love for Tolstoy, so surprising in an old writer, struck me. During his whole life he was confronted with the writer whose level he could nonetheless not reach whatever and however much he wrote, and he said so much at that moment. 4

Shmit is right in her assessment, but at the same time, Bunin must not have felt inclined to write as his famous predecessor since he was aware of major differences in their outlook on life. Spivak correctly observes: In Tolstoy's literary works the ethical criterion is the leading one of the two basic ones — the aesthetic and the ethical... Young Bunin's ideal consists in balancing a contemplative and an active approach to the world, and as far as artistic expression is concerned, a relative harmony between aesthetic and ethical criteria. In Bunin's later works the ethical approach to life loses its independence and dissolves in contemplation? "Osvobozhdenie Tolstogo" obviously belongs to the later period of Bunin's literary output, and Spivak is right that any form of didacticism is alien to the works of this period. On the other hand, while Bunin the artist was not inclined to offer his readers any moral lesson, the essay makes it abundantly clear that Bunin not only embraced wholeheartedly Tolstoy's moral and religious stand, but also that, had he not felt inhibited by the prescriptions of his own artistic dictates, he would have followed Tolstoy in preaching brotherly love as well. In this respect it is worth considering two letters which Bunin wrote in 1938 to the poetess Marija Vladimirovna Karamzina, a well-educated woman. Their correspondence began in 1938 when Bunin responded to Karmazina's request for her beloved author to evaluate a few of her poems. In a letter from Estonia written 2 July 1938 she wonders, after reading "Osvobozhdenie Tolstogo", what Tolstoy and Bunin had in common. In his reply of 20 July Bunin writes: What do I have in common with Tolstoy? He is very, very close to me not only as an artist and a great poet but also in respect to his religious 4

5

V . V. Shmit, "Vstrechi v Tartu" ["Encounters at Tartu"], Literaturnoe nasledstvo, Vol. 84, No 2 (Moscow: Nauka, 1973): 335. R . S. Spivak, I. A. Bunin i L. Tolstoj (Nabljudenija nad sootnosheniem khudo-

zhestvennykh stilej), avtoreferat (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo Moskovskogo universiteta, 1967): 3.

Alexander F. Zweers

218

feelings [HO H KaK pejiHruo3Hafl ayiua]... Nobody used more beautiful, incomparable words about immortality in all of world literature than he. 6

Later that year Karamzina commented in another letter to Bunin: "I read your Tolstoy. I marked your excerpts from his diaries about Nature. But neither he nor anyone else needs to liberate himself from that kind of joy. That is no d e l u s i o n . . . " Bunin explained in reply (3 September): 7

Why do you ascribe to me what I say about Tolstoy? "Neither Tolstoy nor anyone else needs to liberate himself from that kind of joy", you say. But he did not yearn to liberate himself from this joy (which I consider, along with all his spiritual goods, as a divine presence in him), but from its carnal appearance. 8

At this point a question might be raised as to how Bunin personally related to God, or, in more general terms, to the divine powers and, in addition, to the concept of brotherly love. While it is not justifiable to identify Aleksej Arsen'ev (the hero of Bunin's only novel, Zhizn' Arsen'eva [The Life of Arsen'ev] with the author, one may conclude, on the basis of parallels between the novel and a 1917 poem cited below, that Bunin endowed his hero with his own religious experience. In the novel, describing his first youthful endeavours to discover the surrounding world — for example, an approaching thunderstorm, the adult Arsen'ev remarks: " O h , how I already felt this divine splendour of the world and God reigning over it, having created it with such material fulness and strength!" (Bunin, 6:18). The following major entry is more sceptical: When and how did I acquire my belief in God, a conception of Him and a feeling about Him?.. God is in heaven, at an inconceivable height and having inconceivable powers, and in the incomprehensible blue that is up there, above us, infinitely far away from the earth: that became part of me from my very infancy... (Bunin, 6-26) On 29 August 1917 Bunin wrote the following poem: KaK MHoro 3Be3,n Ha

Becb HeoocKJioH

B

CHHeBe! TpaypHOM ySope.

TVCKJIOH

HX

CTenb BbwoneHa. TycTaH nbiJib B TpaBe. HepHeeT can. 3a H H M — oSpbiBbi, Mope.

MOJiqHT. Becb MHp M O J I I H T — 3aTeM, I T O B MHpe Bor, a Bor O T Bena H6M. Cawycb Ha KaMeHb Tenjioro 6ajiK0Ha. O H 03apen MorHJibHO, — SjiejiHbiH C B C T OHO

""Pis'rna k M. V. Karamzinoj (1937-1940)", Literaturnoe nasledslvo, Vol. 84, No 1 (Moscow: Nauka, 1973): 670. 7

"Pis'ma...", 673.

8

"Pis'ma...",673.

Ivan Bunin 's interpretation

Pa3JiHT O T 3Be3«.

He cjibiuiHO Aawe 3BOHa

H O I H W X UHKafl...

Jla,

219

B MHpe H K H H M yiacTbu.

CBOHM;

[No, my friend, do not trust your doubts. They should not disturb you. Art can never be An aimless amusement, an empty thing... And if you succeed in dropping Just a spark of happiness into the crowd, Nobody can tell you That you do not have compassion for your neighbour.] (6:319) The close to o n e hundred letters written b y Bunin to Pashchenko during the period 1890-1894 may be considered the principal source for the 1933 novella Lika, which was later incorporated by the author (as the fifth " b o o k " ) into the 1953 edition of Zhizn' Arsen'eva. Comparing the poem and the novel, it can be said there is a fundamental difference between the outlook on life of Alesha Arsen'ev and the young Bunin. O n the basis of the deep love he claims to have for Lika, Alesha feels justified to enjoy whatever extramarital amusements come his way. Consequently, Lika does not feel inclined to provide Alesha with yet another spark of happiness and leaves him in the end.

220

Alexander F. Zmeers

While the grim outlook on life and the desperate tone of the poem are absent in the passages quoted from the novel — which is understandable, since Arsen'ev is expressing his boyhood feelings — the comparison clarifies that from infancy Bunin believed in a God who is basically inaccessible to human beings, residing in an inconceivably remote heaven. Tolstoy's most concise formulation of his beliefs is found in his answer to the Holy Synod's decree of 24 February 1901 announcing his excommunication: "I believe in God w h o m I understand as spirit, as love, as the beginning of everything. I believe that He is in me and I in H i m . " Thus it is not difficult to establish the incompatibility of the two authors' concepts of God: Tolstoy believed that God was within him, Bunin that He was inconceivably far away. In the same paragraph in which he defines his belief in God, Tolstoy also states: 9

I believe that the true salvation of mankind lies in the fulfilment of God's will, and His will is that men should love one another and, consequently, treat one another as they would want others to treat them.... I believe that the meaning of each individual's life lies, therefore, only in increasing love within one's self... (JE, 34:251-52)

In Chto takoe iskusstvo? [What is art?] Tolstoy had already formulated his thoughts as follows: The religious consciousness of our time in its most general practical application is the realization that both our material and spiritual salvation, the individual as well as the general, the temporary as well as the eternal, consists in the brotherhood of all people, in our unity through love. (JE, 30:154)

One may look in vain for similar statements in Bunin's writings. On the other hand, one need only recall the opening paragraphs of Zhizn' Arsen'eva to realize the importance of the theme of love for the grown-up Arsen'ev (alias the writer Bunin; though up to the end of the second paragraph the narrator's identity is not clearly established). He reflects that if he had been born on a desert island he would not have suspected the existence of death: " H o w lucky I would have been!" I feel like adding. But who knows? Perhaps it would have been a great misfortune. And would I indeed not have suspected it? Are w e not born with a sense of our mortality? And if not, if I had not suspected it, would I have loved life the way I do and did? (Bunin, 6:7)

Bunin's use of the term "love of life" obviously implies love of the surrounding world and, consequently, of our brothers living in that

^L. N. Tolstoj, Polnoe sobranie sochinenij (Jubilee edition) (Moscow-Leningrad: Khudozhestvennaja literatura, 1928-58): 34:251. Subsequent references to this edition will be identified by JE in the text.

Ivan Bunin's interpretation

221

world. W e may therefore conclude that the two writers were not so far apart after all in their understanding of brotherly love. They were however separated by the fact that any form of preaching, so germane to Tolstoy, was alien to Bunin. In his artistic works w e hear the voices of either of the narrator or the main characters, while in his essays it is the writer himself who speaks. For that reason, " O s vobozhdenie Tolstogo" should be taken as an account of Bunin's personal understanding of the writings and personality of the author he revered most, i.e., Lev Tolstoy. Bunin ( 9 5 1 ) confirms this himself in his essay: " I n my early youth I had completely fallen in love with him, that is, with the image that I had created for myself and that tormented m e with the longing to see him in reality". And, it might be added, this attitude never changed. While he thoroughly acquainted himself with Tolstoy's writings and conducted many interviews with a view to obtaining a better insight into his character, his essay is still based on that dream-image of his youth. In his essay Bunin basically characterizes what is known as "Tolstoy's conversion" correctly: his renunciation of personal gain and happiness and worldly riches in favour of the commandments of Christ — especially the rejection of violent resistance to evil and brotherly love for all mankind. In his high esteem for Tolstoy, Bunin (9:36) went even so far as to compare him to the greatest martyrs of all time: "Thinking of that [i.e., his flight from Jasnaja Poljana and his death at the railway station — A.Z.] and of the long years of immense suffering preceding that, you cannot help thinking of the ways of Job, Buddha and even the Son of man Himself". Surprising as it may seem, in writing these words Bunin may have been thinking about Tolstoy's declaration in his will: . . . i f p e o p l e want t o o c c u p y t h e m s e l v e s w i t h my w r i t i n g s , then t h e y s h o u l d s c r u t i n i z e t h e p a s s a g e s in w h i c h , I k n o w , God's p o w e r w a s s p e a k i n g t h r o u g h m e , a n d m a k e u s e o f it in their o w n lives. There w e r e m o m e n t s w h e n I felt I w a s t h e t r a n s m i t t e r o f God's will [noma H qyBCTBOBaji ce6« npoBojiHHKOM B O J I H B o K H e f l ] . 10

Could these words mean that at moments Tolstoy felt himself to be a worldly Christ? Bunin evidently accepted that concept. It was but a momentary feeling, however; in his constant attempts to perfect himself Tolstoy tried to humble himself by (for example) wearing only peasant garb. One contradiction concerning Tolstoy's clothing is aptly pointed out by the Dutch Slavist van het Reve: " . . . w h i l e he indeed dressed in later years as a man of the people, his wife saw to A . L. Tolstaja, Otets, Vol. 2 (New York: Izdatel'stvo im. Chekhova, 1953): 145. Aleksandra Tolstaja mentions that her father wrote his will in his diary on 27 March 1895, but did not sign it until 23 July 1901. The wording in the Jubilee edition (53:16). is slightly different: "...qyBCTBOBaJi,

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