Reading Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” for the first time, a paragraph smack dab in the middle of the conflict between the armies of Napoleon Bonaparte and Emperor Alexander leaps into consciousness:
“To elicit the laws of history we must leave aside kings, ministers and generals, and select for study the homogeneous, infinitesimal elements which influence the masses,” writes Count Tolstoy. “No one can say how far it is possible for man to advance in this way towards an understanding of the laws of history; but it is obvious that this is the only path to that end, and that the human intellect has not, so far, applied in this direction one millionth of the energy which historians have devoted to describing the deeds of various kings, generals, and ministers, and propounding reflections of their own concerning those deeds.”
Here it is, spelled out plainly, the very reason that Tolstoy wrote this “War and Peace.” The author wanted to show the connection between every melodramatic subplot, every romance, every death, every duel, every peasant, merchant, soldier, housewife, and nobleman, and the unfolding conflict between French and Russian armies which marked the end of the Napoleonic conquests. It was “history from below” years before the French Annales school.
By some strange coincidence, as I was carried along by the swift current of Rosemary Edmonds’ Penguin Classics translation, I remembered reading a remark from Norman Podhoretz in an interview conducted by First Things relating to his new book, "Ex-Friends." He is a former editor of Commentary magazine, one of the Great Books and Great Man in History crowd. When asked by an interviewer about what kind of literature he liked, what sort of novels he read, and that sort of thing, Podhoretz answered to the effect that he liked the battle scenes in “War and Peace,” but that he did not want to read Tolstoy’s philosophy.
Now this may have been the received opinion of modernist critics who preferred Dostoyevsky, but came strange from the mouth of one who argues for the need to conserve the best the past has to offer. The impression was that Podhoretz believed this Great Book would be a still better book with his help as an editor. He would have excised the reflection and concentrated on the action. At the time, I was puzzled by the comment.
Surely, the philosophical sections of “War and Peace” are organically linked to its pitched battles, I thought. That is what gives the armed conflicts significance beyond that found in a video game. Why would such an eminent neo-conservative as Podhoretz, ostensibly committed to the Gods of Literature, make such a remark?
In “War and Peace” each historical event serves to illuminate a deeper point that Tolstoy wishes to make about the nature of Man, God, Love, and the Russian nation. Yet as one reads Tolstoy’s book, Podhoretz’s remark becomes understandable. For Tolstoy believes every human life is significant. There is a deep-seated humanism which cries out from every paragraph. Big shots are no better than peasants (often worse). Times of trial bring out the really important things in life. The expression of this philosophy must be disturbing to the author of “Making It.”
On the other hand, perhaps the flippant denigration of Tolstoyan thought was a correct calculation for a Famous New York Intellectual to make. To date, I have not heard any man or woman of letters pounce on Podhoretz for his failure to appreciate Tolstoy’s genius. After all, it is all a matter of taste, is it not? Podhoretz benefits from relativism's triumph.
Yet in another sense, it is a significant issue for the cause Podhoretz and his cohorts claim to champion. Without a doubt, Tolstoy is one of the Great Men, an author of Great Books. (Tolstoy’s legacy will live on long after the name Podhoretz has vanished from his own tombstone.) The book is magnificent in almost every way, and has served as a model for writers from around the world ever since -- even for Margaret Mitchell’s “Gone With The Wind.” If Podhoretz is right, Tolstoy set a bad example for literature! So, either the Great Men are not so great, or Podhoretz is wrong, and in close attention to the lives of ordinary men and women lies the secret of understanding history and literature.
This rumination served to conjure up the witticism of a friend during the Great Books debates. He told me that the advocates of a Great Books curriculum obviously had not read them. “For if they did,” he concluded, “they would not like them.” But I am sure that my friend never imagined that those who advocate the Great Books and Great Men would advertise their personal distaste for them.
In Tolstoy's own words:
And there is no greatness where simplicity, goodness, and truth are absent.
Alistair Cooke's Letter From America (BBC)
