War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [734]
Of the activity of Alexander and Napoleon it is impossible to say that it was useful or harmful, for we cannot say what it was useful or harmful for. If that activity displeases someone, it displeases him only because it does not coincide with his limited notion of what the good is. The preservation of my father’s house in Moscow in the year twelve, or the glory of the Russian army, or the flourishing of the universities of Petersburg and elsewhere, or the freedom of Poland, or the might of Russia, or the balance of Europe, or a certain sort of European enlightenment known as progress, may seem good to me, but I must acknowledge that, besides those purposes, the activity of every historical figure had other more general purposes, inaccessible to me.
But let us suppose that so-called science has the possibility of reconciling all contradictions and possesses an immutable yardstick of good and evil for historical figures and events.
Let us suppose that Alexander could have done everything otherwise. Let us suppose that, according to the prescriptions of those who accuse him, those who profess a knowledge of the ultimate purpose of mankind’s movement, he could have arranged everything according to the program of nationhood, freedom, equality, and progress (there seems to be no other), which his present-day accusers would have provided for him. Let us suppose that this program was possible and was drawn up and that Alexander acted according to it. What would have become then of the activity of all those people who opposed the then tendency of the government—an activity which, in the opinion of the historians, was good and useful? There would have been no such activity; there would have been no life; there would have been nothing.
If we allow that human life can be governed by reason, the possibility of life is annihilated.
II
If we allow, as historians do, that great men lead mankind to the achievement of certain purposes, which consist either in the greatness of Russia or France, or in the balance of Europe, or in spreading the ideas of the revolution, or in general progress, or in whatever else, then it is impossible to explain the phenomena of history without the notions of chance and genius.
If the purpose of the European wars at the beginning of the present century was the greatness of Russia, that purpose could have been achieved without any of the preceding wars and without the invasion. If the purpose was the greatness of France, it could have been achieved without the revolution and without the empire. If the purpose was the spreading of ideas, printing would have carried it out far better than soldiers. If the purpose was the progress of civilization, it is quite easy to suppose that, besides the destruction of people and their wealth, there are other more expedient ways to spread civilization.
Why did it happen this way and not otherwise?
Because this is how it happened. “Chance made the situation; genius profited from it,” says history.
But what is chance? What is genius?
The words chance and genius do not designate anything that actually exists and therefore cannot be defined. These words designate only a certain degree of understanding of phenomenon. I do not know why such-and-such a phenomenon occurs; I think that I cannot know it; therefore I do not want to know it, and I say: chance. I see a power that produces effects incommensurate with common human qualities; I do not know why that happens, and I say: genius.
For a flock of sheep, the sheep that the shepherd takes into a separate pen to be fed, and that grows twice as fat as the