marks of sane and classic art, and of Homeric art.[1] How pleasant it will be to translate universal sentiments into the pure lives of this art of the future! To write a tale or a song, to design a picture for millions of beings, is a matter of much greater importance—and of much greater difficulty—than writing a novel or a symphony. It is an immense and almost virgin province. Thanks to such works men will learn to appreciate the happiness of brotherly union.
“Art must suppress violence, and only art can do so. Its mission is to bring about the Kingdom of God, that is to say. of Love.”[2]
Which of us would not endorse these generous words? And who can fail to see that Tolstoy’s conception is fundamentally fruitful and vital, in spite of its Utopianism and a touch of puerility? It is true that our art as a whole is only the
- ↑ As early as 1873 Tolstoy had written: “Think what you will, but in such a fashion that every word may be understood by every one. One cannot write anything bad in a perfectly clear and simple language. What is immoral will appear so false if clearly expressed that it will assuredly be deleted. If a writer seriously wishes to speak to the people, he has only to force himself to be comprehensible. When not a word arrests the reader’s attention the work is good. If he cannot relate what he has read the work is worthless.”
- ↑ This ideal of brotherhood and union among men is by no means, to Tolstoy’s mind, the limit of human activity; his insatiable mind conceives an unknown ideal, above and beyond that of love: “Science will perhaps one day offer as the basis of art a much higher ideal, and art will realise it.”
