of science and in art for the sake of art—the lying mask which they seek to make their justification and the apology for their monstrous egoism and their emptiness.
“Never make me say,” continues Tolstoy, “that I deny art or science. Not only do I not deny them; it is in their name that I seek to drive the thieves from the temple.”
“Science and art are as necessary as bread and water; even more necessary… The true science is that of the true welfare of all human beings. The true art is the expression of the knowledge of the true welfare of all men.”
And he praises those who, “since men have existed, have with the harp or the cymbal, by images or by words, expressed their struggle against duplicity, their sufferings in that struggle, their hope in the triumph of good, their despair at the triumph of evil, and the enthusiasm of their prophetic vision of the future.”
He then draws the character of the perfect artist, in a page burning with mystical and melancholy earnestness:
“The activity of science and art is only fruitful when it arrogates no right to itself and considers only its duties. It is only because that activity is such as it is, because its essence is sacrifice, that humanity honours it. The men who are called to serve others by spiritual work always suffer in the accomplishment of that task; for the spiritual world is brought to birth only in suffering and torture. Sacrifice and suffering; such is the fate of the
