I am reading War and Peace. I finished Anna Karenina a while back and loved it, far, far more than I thought I would, and decided I needed to read as much Tolstoy as possible. Tolstoy’s reputation, from what I had been told and read in little summaries of his work, is that of a moralist: a nonviolent Christian anarchist, a real soil and earth “the Russian peasant is mythically, religiously connected to the Russian land he works” kind of guy. I was expecting to be preached to, especially in Anna Karenina, whose central plot revolves around an adulterous society woman. I was not excited to read that kind of stuff; I was expecting moralizing, being yelled at. I expected Anna Karenina to be a vile character that I would hate, a representative harlot. Of course, that wasn’t the case at all – Anna Karenina is alive, a living person, and you can tell Tolstoy loved his character by the end, he could not hate her even if his intent may have been to make something of an example of her. Of course he couldn’t hate her, it’s not possible, because the true artist is rendering life, and he cannot render life unless he loves it, loves it feverishly; he cannot render true life unless he loves all of it, back to front, from the most despicable parts to the most beautiful. This isn’t the same as not wanting change – Tolstoy certainly wanted that – but a far more profound thing. You cannot defeat an enemy unless you understand him, and to understand him requires that you love him. When Achilles and Priam meet in his tent, they both weep, and perhaps I am being romantic but I cannot imagine it otherwise: Achilles lament was not only for Patroclus, but for Hector too. Chekhov writes in a letter to a critic objecting to his depiction of the “dregs and scum” of life that to a chemist, nothing on earth is unclean, and that the muck heaps of the world play a very respectable part in the landscape of life. You have to love it.

Tolstoy is one of those authors who draws you into life. He pulls you towards life; he depicts it with such beauty, such charm, that you cannot help but want to enter into the world. He revives in me a lust for life, a desire, desperate, to live. He enters the minds of his characters with such ease that you do not even notice, you think with them, you understand them. His characters are alive, really, I know everyone says that about authors but it’s true, with Tolstoy they become like people you’ve met yourself. It is impossible not to become sympathetic to their wishes, their dreams. It is impossible not to understand.

War and Peace is very different to Anna Karenina. Anna Karenina is a society novel, concerned with the goings on of the Moscow and Petersburg upper classes. War and Peace is a truly historical novel. It’s broader in scope, following not just social life, as most of Anna Karenina is taken up with, but warfare, politics, philosophy, religion – and most importantly the movement of history. And in War and Peace, history is the history of Napoleon.

Napoleon is not really a traditional character in War and Peace (at least thus far.) He’s appeared very briefly in a few scenes, but always at a distance – you don’t enter into his mind as you do with the other characters, you are never thinking his thoughts. He is rather a force, an environment, almost a setting for the novel. He is always present. The thoughts and actions and inner worlds of the characters in this novel revolve entirely around Napoleon. And not just the characters but all of society in War and Peace, the entire military apparatus, Petersburg, Moscow, all of Russia, Austria and Prussia, all their will and thought revolves around Napoleon. Napoleon imposes on the psyche of the world like an immovable, inconceivable mass, he strides across the earth like a God, and all around him everyone can only react. He is indomitable. He is pure will. There is no action in the novel that is not informed by the reality, the ens reallisimum, as Nietzsche calls him (a swipe at Kant, I believe) of Napoleon. The most real being – Napoleon. There is a scene where Prince Andrei, who is fighting in the Wars of the Third Coalition, suddenly clutches his head at the sheer brilliance of Napoleons moves, at his extraordinary genius. He has a sort of breakdown. Napoleon, by the sheer force of his existence, has imposed himself on Prince Andrei’s reality; he cannot be avoided.

The novel expresses historical reality; while he lived, Napoleon was history. There was no difference between Bonaparte and history. It is incredible; the enormity of this thought is overwhelming. I’ve not had in all my readings of history (which in all honesty have been limited) such an impression as is given in this novel: Napoleon is history. Napoleon is the world. It did not matter if you agreed or disagreed with him, worshipped him or hated him or even were indifferent, your relations to the world were defined by his existence. Napoleon acted; all others could only react. Now too it is possible for me to understand what Nietzsche meant by good Europeans, Nietzsche’s desire for a single, united Europe, his hatred of nationalism, all of which once confused me – Nietzsche’s vision was a vision of a united Europe under a Napoleon. Under an emperor deserving of the title. Nietzsche’s vision was of a man who was strong enough to conceive of such a Europe.

I saw the world spirit on a horse – man, I get it.

The novel is brilliant, brilliant, and it will be some time before I’ve read and processed it all. I’m about 500 pages in now. The things a brick, 1200 something pages, so it’ll be a bit but I promise a longer report of some kind, maybe in contrast with Anna Karenina. I don’t know. We’ll see.

I apologize for the time since my last writing. A series of personal crises struck all at once combined with an increased load at work and just a general feeling of having little to say. A combination of things. I broke up with my girlfriend. I have started taking creatine.

A lot of incredible things have been happening recently in the world. There is a new and exciting feeling in the air. My real-life friends are saying things like “the pendulum has swung back to the right.” My real life friends are telling me over beers that they’re voting conservative, that they’re voting right, for the first time ever. However, I think something more than just a pendulum swing is happening. I don’t want to call it early, but I think we’ve won. I think, total cultural victory.

This isn’t a left or right thing, not really. What is happening today is bigger than that. What is happening today, right now, is that people are waking up to the fact that what we are deciding in the culture, on the internet, in real life, the current political question, is: are you an interchangeable economic unit, or are you a human being, who is ensouled. What we are asking and what we are deciding by our actions today is, are you a person or not. Is a nation a series of laws and policies and an economy that can be filled by anyone, that is, is a nation a big machine that needs people, any people, for fuel? Or are you a human being who is tied to the place you grew up in? Are you a human being with a culture and a soul?

This leads into a lot of important questions, practical ones, for instance: “can you replace the entire population of a country with 10 trillion Indians, and have it be the same country?” and across the board, I believe that people everywhere are starting to answer: no. You cannot. The second question this brings up, is who wants this, and why, and the third is, do we want to be led by such cretins anymore. And I think the people are answering: no, we do not.

In War and Peace, when Nikolai Rostov, the young hussar, catches sight of Alexander, the Russian emperor, for the first time, he weeps from joy. And when Napoleon returned from his exile on Elba, not in the novel now but in real life, the French soldiers who met him, who had been told to kill him, held their fire. He walked out before a thousand muskets and said "Soldiers, if there is one among you who wants to kill his general, his Emperor, here I am." The men began to cheer. "Vive la Emperor," they cried, and without another thought they turned, joined Napoleon, and marched on Paris.

I wish to remind you that something like this, that leaders such as this, exist not in the misty, unreachable past but a mere 200 years ago; that leaders could inspire this kind of devotion not only “once upon a time,” but in recent history. What is important in works like War and Peace and important in art generally is that we are shown other ways of life; we are reminded of how men once lived and can still live. We have to remember every day that our current condition is not how life has always been but a unique historical moment, fully subject to change; that this may not be life at all, but as BAP says, some kind of iron prison. We have to remind ourselves that the world is open, wide open for action and that everything is possible. I think recent events prove that. The future is not closed, it never has been; the future is wide open with possibility.

The pace of life in War and Peace is hot. It is vital. The blood of every character in the novel burns. The fury of battle, the glittering, bright beauty of the society balls, the velvety, amorous air in the Rostov house as the beautiful young girls, Natasha and Sonya, and the handsome young hussar, Nikolai, court and are courted by suitors; Prince Andrei yelling, grabbing a Russian standard, charging into musket fire and artillery, all of it full of excitement, joie de vivre – it is intoxicating. The characters are merry, they weep, they fall in and out of love, they dance, and all at such a breathless pace, it is impossible not to love them too, not to wish for such a life. I remind you again that such a life is possible; that men and women lived this way, not so long ago, that human life was not always reduced to the state it is in today. There is a masterful scene where Denisov, one of Nikolai’s army friends, dances the mazurka, a Polish dance, and Tolstoy describes him nearly flying across the room, describes how this middle-aged man is transformed again into a young, handsome hero, victorious, how suddenly one no longer notices his small stature but instead sees him as “the fine fellow he felt himself to be.” This dance is within us all, the transformation of the dance is available; the floor is wide open, the field of action awaits. If I could come into the new year in any fashion, it would be as Denisov dances.

There is a great deal to do. This cultural victory I talk of is perilous, it cannot be taken for granted. I’ve written at length about the ordeal of civility, about manners. I think if I could give any advice in the new year, it would be to live as though the world you envision, the civil world, and the higher life that exists within it were real today, were the case now. Stop capitulating, stop giving up. No more blackpilling. Never longhoused again. The world is wide open for change. We can live in the world we want to, today; we do not have to live in hell if only we choose otherwise and force it into reality. This requires sacrifice and suffering; it will not be easy. Odysseus wept. I have no clear plan, no agenda, only a certain feeling, the feeling that the Gods now are on our side, that Fate smiles on us. My own life has reached in recent weeks such a feverish, exciting pitch that everything again seems possible – I project this feeling on the whole world. Everything is possible. It is no longer “we are going to win,” it is, “we’ve won.” And we are going to keep winning so much you may get tired of winning.

I am writing some long form fiction. I think we need new art, stronger art, greater intoxicants. I think we must become bolder and more daring than ever before. I tweeted once that if we are going to save the world, one of us is going to have to write the greatest love story of all time. I am trying to write the greatest love story of all time.

I wish you all great success in the new year. Know that fate guides you, never again doubt your instincts, reach out and take what is yours. Never give up, never surrender. Every second counts. Good luck.

xitter