Heel interessant. Wat vooral bijblijft, is hoe Tolstoj een uitgesproken idee heeft over kunst (kunst moet toegankelijk zijn voor iedereen, verenigen, christelijke waarden uitdragen, 'het streven naar algehele broederschap vertalen in gevoel') en er niet voor terugdeinst om tegen héél veel grote schenen te schoppen. Ik heb daar zo veel om moeten lachen. Soms uit herkenbaarheid, maar vooral vanwege de botte opmerkingen.

Sommige werken van Hugo, Dickens en Dosto kunnen ermee door, maar o.a. de oude Beethoven, Baudelaire, Dante, Goethe en natuurlijk Shakespeare moeten eraan geloven, en aan Der Ring des Nibelungen worden wel tien pagina's besteed. Nadat hij uitlegt hoe het podium eruitziet, merkt Tolstoj zo op:

'Het heeft de bedoeling er angstaanjagend uit te zien en dat is het voor vijfjarigen misschien ook. (...) Het is allemaal van het niveau van een kermisattractie, en het is verbazingwekkend dat mensen van boven de zeven bij zoiets serieus kunnen blijven; toch blijven duizenden quasi-goedopgeleide heren met hun dames aandachtig en zelfs verrukt zitten kijken en luisteren.' (p. 147)

Of de beschrijving van een acteur, die 'sloeg met een rare namaakhamer op een raar namaakzwaard. Dat deed hij door heel raar met zijn dunne bleke armen te zwaaien (...) Ook de muziek was raar.' (p. 143-144).

Zijn bespreking van de opera past binnen het grote plaatje van wat hij 'surrogaatkunst' noemt: 1. losse, willekeurige elementen die voor poëzie worden versleten, 2. imitatie van de werkelijkheid, 3. effectbejag, 4. gekunsteldheid die intellectueel moet lijken ('Poëzie en proza, schilderijen en toneelstukken en zelfs muziekcomposities worden zo in elkaar gezet dat je de bedoeling moet raden, als bij een rebus; dat wordt leuk gevonden en doet denken aan kunst.').

Veel van die gekunstelde, ondoorzichtige werken worden alleen gewaardeerd door kleine kringen, en dan nog vooral hoge kringen. En dat is volgens Tolstoj het begin van het einde:

Na de scheiding tussen heren- en knechtenkunst werd het mode te geloven dat kunst heel best kunst kan zijn zonder dat het gewone volk er iets van hoeft te snappen. Vandaar was het een kleine stap naar de aanname dat zij slechts een zéér kleine groep van uitverkorenen hoeft aan te spreken om recht van bestaan te hebben, dat er misschien maar twee personen hoeven te zijn die ervan kunnen genieten, of zelfs maar één, je beste vriend, te weten jezelf.' (p. 116)

'Zodra men accepteert dat kunst kunst kan zijn ook als ze onbegrijpelijk is voor alleszins geestelijk gezonde mensen, is er geen enkele reden meer om, als je geperverteerd genoeg bent, geen kunstwerken te componeren die alleen de geperverteerde gevoelens van je eigen kringetje prikkelen en voor niemand anders begrijpelijk zijn voor je eigen soort, dat zulke kunst kunst noemt.' (p. 120)

Af en toe toont hij wel begrip en nuance ...

'Indien ik wil hardmaken dat het gewone volk te weinig ontwikkeld is om geraakt te worden door dingen die ikzelf zonder meer mooi vind, dan heb ik niet het recht om moderne kunst waardeloos te noemen omdat ik er zelf niets mee kan, aangezien dat zou impliceren dat het mij in dezen aan ontwikkeling schort. Als ik desondanks volhard in de mening dat ik moderne kunst niet begrijp omdat er niets van te begrijpen valt en het gewoon slechte kunst is, dan mogen de arbeiders en boeren van hun kant met recht beweren dat wat ik goede kunst noem helemaal geen goede kunst is.' (p. 115)

... maar zijn idee van kunst blijft uiteraard wel gestoeld op zijn geloofsovertuiging, zijn christelijke wereldbeeld. Hij kan wel zeggen dat iederéén voelt hoe een verhaal uit het Oude Testament indruk maakt of dat iedereen in de mis hetzelfde voelt, maar het blijft allemaal toch heel subjectief. En dat maakt het moeilijk om te schrijven over 'wat is kunst?', 'wat is schoon?' en 'wat is goed?', zoals Tolstoj zijn boek begint. Al is het voor een deel ook een objectief verslag, bv. het saaie derde hoofdstuk, waarin hij vooral een overzicht geeft van de geschiedenis van de esthetica (waar Hans Boland droogjes meegeeft: 'Tolstois dringende advies om hoofdstuk III niet over te slaan, mag de lezer op gezag van de vertaler naast zich neerleggen.').

Dat het een persoonlijk essay is, neemt niet weg dat het heel veel stof tot nadenken geeft, vooral over hoe kunst en maatschappij zich tot elkaar verhouden. Zeker de laatste delen maakten indruk, over hoe wetenschap en kunst hand in hand moeten gaan om voor een betere maatschappij te zorgen. De wetenschap kan de samenleving veranderen richting algehele broederschap; kunst moet dat vertalen in gevoel.

Having never read Tolstoi before, this seemed like an interesting start since knowing his perspective about art in general would make me understand his own work better, especially his novels.
This being said, I was clearly not ready for this book. The amount of research I had to do in order to understand his ideas about some writers, musicians, painters, sculptures, etc. (or at least know who he was talking about) was, at times, overwhelming, which made me fall behind on schedule to finish the book.
Another negative aspect about it is the way he explains what he thinks about the topic: what he states is clearly biased by the time-frame he lived in, which was extremely different from the 21st century and that's maybe the reason why I didn't empathize with some of his arguments.
Even though I am giving this book only 3 stars, it is still a very interesting reading since it not only shows Tolstoi's perspective about a very important topic, but also educates the reader about more artists of his time.
I would say it is still worth it to read this book if you are interested in knowing more about art.

I'm gonna break from tradition and actually write about what i liked rather than just trying (and failing) to express how, where, and why i was amused while reading & thinking about this book.

First of all, i was very amused at many points. Tolstoy's ideas about art amuse me when he gets all, "This is Good and that is Bad." Cracks me up, but i also feel like i understand why he felt that way. And i appreciate his ideals.

I can't imagine anybody else would ever make this comparison, but David Sklansky and Tolstoy have a lot in common. And Sklansky's DUCY? has a lot in common with What Is Art? (in addition to both titles being questions). They're both egotists, but i attribute that to both being true geniuses (note: Tolstoy's > Sklansky's). They're both ridiculously opinionated. Perhaps it's a function of egotistical genius? Both books ostensibly are about a topic/idea that the author says is more important than himself, but nothing is more evident in the work than the author, his ideas, his beliefs, his feelings, his prejudices, his quirkiness. ("All geniuses are alike; every idiot is idiotic in his own way"?!)

I was edified by his concept of art without being able to grasp exactly what he meant. He spent a lot of time explaining how the prevailing and older definitions were unhealthy, wrong, incomprehensible (one of his favorite words, i think), or vapid. But his definition fails to get fully outside of his own head (soul) and into mine. I'll never be able to apply T's definition and know how he would've assessed it.

The example that kept going through my head was The Third Policeman, which is one of my newest All Time Favorite Books. I can't imagine Tolstoy thinking it's not just a waste of words and paper and people's time, but then when he describes the effect of a great work of art on the recipient of that art as being akin to feeling you KNOW the artist and FEEL the artist acutely ... that's EXACTLY what i loved so much about Flann O'Brien's book! How to reconcile this?

Well, here's how i boil it down. When T writes about bad art (i.e., that which isn't really art but that some people call art for lack of understanding T's definition of true art), i can read that as "art that isn't the greatest, that doesn't rise to the highest heights of artistic achievement." When he writes about Good Art (or true art), i can read that to mean his very favorite works of art, the stuff that moved him with what felt like personal perfection, the stuff he wishes in his wildest fantasies he could've produced personally.

Bottom line is that Tolstoy doesn't want us (Humanity) to waste any time on anything that's less than the greatest but he refuses to understand that the reception of art is not as universal as his system claims it is (or should be).

OK, enough of that sincerity and straightforwardness ... let's get to me trying to be witty with even less content about the book i read.

Even as a former adherent of Art For Art's Sake, i gobbled up T's deconstruction of that aesthetic. I don't agree with every assault against it, but he managed to show me the Badness/Wrongness of the elitism i once openly defended as being Good/Right.

The Big T, if he were still alive and a friend of mine, would hate me for saying this, but ... this book was interesting and pleasing. (those who've read it will get the gist of that comment)

To clear the air, i did write in a previous review something like "i'll probably never read lit crit ever again" and now here i've gone and read Harold Bloom and this little tome, too. Sue me! I'm an addict or something.

I don't agree with Tolstoy's underlying and overarching theses but i like the goal of this work: encourage people to be more Human and less Subhuman in everything they do. Tolstoy's personal assessment of how to achieve that honorable and lofty goal was (evidently) to eschew corporal satisfaction. Don't eat meat. Don't have sex. And labor physically, strenuously, rigorously.

Along the way, he developed his particular definition of Art.

THE CONCLUSION is all about "science" but, to paraphrase Inigo Montoya (the oft besotted swordsman of The Princess Bride), "I do not think that word means what Tolstoy thinks it means." He seems to think Science's purpose is to determine "how people should live in order to fulfil their destiny." Put slightly differently a few paragraphs later, "the proper activity of genuine science is not the study of something we have accidentally become interested in {OK, good enough; nobody's really gonna dispute that}, but of how human life should be arranged—the questions of religion, morality, social life, without resolving which all our knowledge of nature is harmful and worthless." Hmmm ... now you got me wanting to write a book about how goofy you were, T.

Big T feels that Good Science begets Good Art and that Good Art will lead people forward toward its inexorable goal of perfection. Allow me a slight tangent. I think that T did not agree with Darwin's dangerous idea. And the ideas in his CONCLUSION about science (especially the quote in this para) seem to confirm that he truly believes a frequent misinterpretation about natural selection, namely that Nature somehow has a "purpose" or a "goal" toward which the evolution of species is heading.

A couple great quotes
I had an inkling of being able to start a story with

And so, as a result of the unbelief and the exclusive life of the upper classes, the art of these classes became impoverished in content and was all reduced to the conveying of the feelings of vanity, the tedium of living and, above all, sexual lust. (p.63)

Is there a funnier sentence in the history of nonfiction than the one with which he concludes his epic 4-page summary of Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen?

...incomplete as {my retelling} may be, it is certain to be incomparably better than the impression one gets from reading the four booklets in which {the opera} has been published. (p. 176)

While I did find Tolstoy's definition of what true art is to be of value, I didn't really need 150 pages of the same argument stated over and over. Tolstoy also comes across as quite self-righteous at times, and presents his opinion with an arrogance that transcends basic confidence and borders on dogmatic. It's obvious that this was a man who believed he was always right, and despite the fact that he was a genius (purportedly had an IQ of 180), he comes off as preachy and rigid rather than knowledgeable and open-minded.

2/5 stars.

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اﻵن أستطيع تسمية تولستوي "نبي" بحق...، هذا الإنسان يكتب للجميع، واثق بأنه يكتب حقيقة مشاعره..تردد في الكتابة خمسة عشر عاما..ﻷنه لم يتم كل المعاني التي في عقله و روحه، من الصفحة اﻷولى بل السطر اﻷول تعلم أنه مليء باﻹنسانية، يضع نفسه مكان العامل و رئيس العمل و مكان المتلقي و مكان الفنان..اﻷجمل أنه ما ترك شيء في مجالات الفن في أهم اﻷزمنة إلا ما تحدث عنه، و عن فنانو و كتاب كل مجال، و تحدث برأي العامة و رأيه بكل صدق و نظر بمقياس الجمال و ﻷهم و أصدق محلليه، أيضا اقتباسات لبعض النصوص. .و مقارنتها ﻹظهار الفن الرديء و الجيد..و في كل مرة يكرر لقد شوهنا الفن..و تشوهت دواخلنا، لدرجة لم نفرق بينهما ...اﻹحساس و فهمنا للفن تكرر عشرات المرات..الفن الذي يصل الجمهور و يضحكه و يبكيه و يحركه كما يحرك الفنان أمامهم هو الفن البديع. الذي يفهمه الجميع، الطفل و النساء المزارع و الشيخ...أما ما تتخذه تلك الفئات مثل "الطبقات الغنية" و تمثله بأنه فن لا يفهمه غيرهم..هذا ليس فن فهو خال من المشاعر و اﻷحاسيس و الفهم، غامض ..جاف من الجمال و الحب.



تولستوي ذكر قصة قصيرة :غناء فلاحات ترحيبا بابنته القادمة، و بنفس الليلة استمع لمعزوفة بيتهوفن في منزله و الفرق أنه شعر بغنائهم يتغلغل في أعماقه و يحركه ليبتسم و يرقص أما المعزوفة قليل من فهمها ...على الرغم من روعتها..لكن الناس أصبحت تهتم و تسمع و تقرأ لما يستمع له اﻷغلبية و ما يصرخ به الشارع من المشاهير.أيضا.. ذكر عدة أسماء شهيرة في الرسم، الموسيقى و الفلسفة و الشعر و اﻷدب..و أعطى رأيه لغموض ما يفعلوه و استفزازه للشهرة الواسعة لهم ..
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كنت أود كتابة شيء أعمق و أعرض من هذا النص عن دهشتي لهذا الكم الهائل من الصدق و العاطفة التي تمطر القارئ في كل صفحة ..لكن تراكم الكلمات و قراءتي المتقطعة تناثر الكلام و لم أتوفق . .
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قال الفنان ستاسوف ف.ف. :"ماهو الفن بمثابة اكتشاف أمريكا بالنسبة إلى الفن "

و في رسالته لتولستوي:"الكونت ليف نيقولايفيتش، منذ أن صدر كتابكم، و أنا أدرسه بغيرة، و لا أكف عن الافتتان به، كله تقريبا، أعتقد أنه دشن عهدا جديدا في الفن، ﻷنه يؤدي بعمق و قوة غير طبيعيين مهمة الكتب الفنية في زمننا، تبيان و عرض تلك الكمية الهائلة من اﻵراء الباطلة و اﻷفكار المزيفة التي تراكمت لقرون عديدة على الفن، و التي كانت تقيده أحيانا بأصفاد ثقيلة، تبيانها و عرضها على مرأى الجميع، و اليوم إذ قررت أن أطبع أرائي حول هذا الموضوع أعتبر نفسي سعيدا ﻷنك سمحت لي بأن أهديك عملي"

I liked his idea of art, where he defines it as a means of communicating the emotions of the artist to other men through his work, and in doing so art can only be sincere, and accessible to the common men, unlike the false art that we see today, where it's accessible to the elite, and the upper class, and it requires a reviewers, someone who claims superiority and have a voluptuous understanding of art, and he gets to the decide if that's an art or not, whereas what is there to review if art is a communication of emotions? Tolstoï also argues that art shouldn't be taught at art school, conservatoire... Because these are tools that kill art, they try to imitate past artists and instead of nurturing creativity and originality these institutions mimick artists and try to recreate them, which is not a true art!
Despite admiring this idealistic approach by Tolstoy that goes beyond basing art on beauty, I still disliked defining the Christian art as the true art, the objective art. Yet I know he changed his views shortly after his death, so I'm sure he would've rewritten this book if he had the chance.

I can't see more than two ways of answering this question. One, you can say art is defined by personal taste. But then anything can be art, which is just another way of saying nothing in particular is art on itself. Two, you define art without using taste or beauty. And that's the direction Tolstoy takes.

I am very much in agreement with Tolstoy's idea of art. Of course art is the materialization of a strong personal feeling from an individual artist. And that's that. What else would it be?

Now, you can't feely define it like that without ramifications. And those are even more polemic than Tolstoy's trashing of Shakespeare, Beethoven and other untouchables. These include questioning the whole idea of a professional artist, since it's absurd to think someone could have such consistent personal experiences as to pump them out so regularly through many years in the form of paintings or poems or whatever.

Of course, I know, any absolute answer to this question is bound to have some inconsistencies. This is no different. I don't think his answer is completely satisfactory, but I'm totally aligned with the direction.

At the very last chapter he goes on a similar attack on modern science, which shocked me because I have been saying - or trying to, though in a much less eloquent way - those things for a while and couldn't find anyone to commiserate with. Now I have an old scragly-bearded dead Russian for companion. I'll take it.

چکیده:
. هنر وسیله‌ای‌ست برای انتقال احساساتی که هنرمند خود به‌تجربه دریافته است.
. هنر در تمام دوران‌ها زاییده‌ی شعور دینیِ عصر و زمانه بوده، اما این وضع همزمان با آغاز بی‌اعتقادیِ طبقا�� عالیه‌ی اروپا دگرگون شده است. (از این پس بود که آرمان زیبایی و اصالت لذت مبنای کار هنرمند قرار گرفت و این به‌نوبه‌ی خود، بی‌مایگی، فقر مضامین و انحصاری‌شدنِ هنر را موجب شد.)
. دیرفهمی و غموض و پیچیدگی که وجه ممیزه‌ی هنر نو است، دلیلی بر انحطاط وضعیت هنر در عصر ماست.
.بتهوون، ورلن، بودلر- برخی از مصادیق هنر بد از دیدگاه تولستوی!

كثير ما يمكنك قوله في شأن هذا الكتاب ، و مع ذلك سيكون هذا قليل جداً في حقه ، فهو كتاب يطرح موضوع بالغ الأهمية و الجدلية ، و لكن بأسلوب شديد الوضوح و البساطة ، يستحق كاتبه لأجله كل التقدير ، فالرؤية الجديدة للكاتب في تعريف الفن قد كانت بديهية و أكثر قرباً للحقيقة من أي تعريف سابق له و كذلك جديدة ، و فكرته المحورية في فصل الفن عن الجمال قد قامت بتحريره من أن يكون مجرد عبد أو تابع لأي مفهوم آخر ، و جعلته شيء مستقل بذاته ، مُعَرَّفاً لذاته ، و منحته جوهراً ، و قد كانت هذه الفكرة ملهمة جداً بالنسبة لي و مُبْهِرَة . و في المجمل ، فهو كتاب شديد الأهمية لكل من يريد أن يفهم الفن بشكل صحيح ، و أن يُكَوِّن رأيه الخاص ، و هو أيضاً كتاب جميل ، ممتع ، و مفيد ، و بكل تأكيد فلا أنسى قول أن أسلوب تولستوي في نقد كان عظيماً ، مما يجعلك تحترم أراءه و إن كنتَ لا توافقها .

I may not agree with some of Tolstoy's moral positions on art, and certainly feel a little defensive of Oscar Wilde et al, but his critique of art meant to serve the moneyed classes was spot on and he was clearly a brilliant man who put a great deal of thought into what constitutes beauty and goodness in art.

Good works of art to Tolstoy: the works of Victor Hugo, the novels of Charles Dickens, some of the tales of Gogol and Pushkin, the writings of Maupassant, the comedies of Molière (whom Tolstoy refers to as "the most excellent artist of modern times," according to this translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky), the writings of Dostoevsky, Schiller's Robbers, Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, Adam Bede by George Eliot, Miguel de Cervantes' Don Quixote, a handful of paintings by little known artists, folk music, and a few compositions by musicians such as Mozart, Haydn, Schubert, Beethoven, Bach and Chopin, in addition to two of his own lesser known short stories ("God Sees the Truth" and "Prisoner of the Caucasus") and the stories of the Bible and the tales about the Buddha.

Bad works of "art" to Tolstoy (many of which he does not consider art at all -- more on this below): the works of Dante, the writings of Shakespeare, most of his own literary works (including his two masterpieces, War and Peace and Anna Karenina), most of the work of Beethoven, the writings of Goethe, the art of the French symbolists (especially Verlaine and Baudelaire), many of the later works of Pushkin, the writings of Oscar Wilde, the works of Michelangelo, the paintings of artists like Monet, and perhaps more than any other, the work of Richard Wagner. Oh, but wait, his disdain for Nietzsche may be greatest yet.

So, what does Tolstoy consider "art" and what does he consider "good art"? First, and perhaps most importantly, Tolstoy begins by rejecting the common argument by modern writers on the subject of aesthetics that the main purpose of art is to create works of beauty. He argues that many people think they know what art is, but when pressed we find that their definitions of art are based on taken for granted assumptions and they, in fact, are little able to defend their claims of what constitutes art. Contrary to the mainstream view, Tolstoy argues instead that art is something much broader than many so-called 'experts' in aesthetics would have us believe (including not just great paintings and novels, but short stories, sketches, jokes, lullabies, decor, etc.), and it begins whenever one creates something that expresses some feeling that the artist has based on his or her own experience (including his/her dreams, fears, wishes or aspirations). But this alone does not constitute "art." In addition to this, the artist's expression of his feeling must be "infectious," which is to say that by being exposed to this work of art others (and the working majority in particular) must be affected by the artist's creation, for it speaks to some universal Truth.

This is what, to Tolstoy constitutes art, and good art is that which speaks of a universal brotherhood, drawing on a Christian ethic (the same type of feeling that eases the unrest of some of Tolstoy's autobiographic characters like Pierre Bezukhov in War and Peace and Levin in Anna Karenina, the same type of feeling that infects Natasha in War and Peace when she hears traditional Russian folk music and decides to give up harp lessons in favor of the guitar), for art throughout history, he explains, is really an expression of religious consciousness. The art of the modern era, Tolstoy argues, has been intercepted by the nonbelievers of the upper-classes and by godless men led by Nietzsche, who create art (what he refers to as "counterfeit art" as opposed to genuine art) that claims to invent new styles, to promote some sort of beauty, etc., but which is really inaccessible to the great masses, who all the while toil in the service of this art.

As evidence (questionable indeed) he points to his own inability to understand the works of the French symbolists or the operatic works of Wagner versus how moved he is (and as others he knows have been) by Russian folk songs and stories by common, unknown Russian working men. For works to be "good art" Tolstoy argues they must "always be understood by everyone," and it matters little if the work is "moral" or "immoral," so long as it is understandable and so long as the content is such that feelings of the artist are communicated to and correspond with the feelings of the audience.

In terms of social class Tolstoy raises several compelling points, and this is where I think the great strength of this controversial work lies (in addition to the advancements he makes to the theory of art and the role of aesthetics in art theory), namely that the upper classes have created somewhat of a stranglehold on "art." The upper-classes use their money to finance works of art (and science too) which they agree with, or that infects them (though often which has the opposite effect on the majority, which has not only a difficult time understanding these works, but feeling them, for the experiences communicated are not universal but are often restricted to society's ruling class, who feel that they have important and diverse feelings, but who really only have three "insignificant and uncomplicated feelings: the feelings of pride, sexual lust, and the tedium of living"). Tolstoy argues that for works to be good art they must be infectious not only for those in a certain class of society, but for the working majority, regardless of social class, religion, etc.

I wondered as I read this what Tolstoy would make of many of the writers, painters and musicians of the 20th and 21st centuries. What would he think, for instance, of the democratic art of cinema? Or of popular music like rock and roll? The blues? It led me to hours of fun mental games wondering what Tolstoy would make of certain writers. One can imagine that he would reject most of the major visual artists of this period (including the Dadaists and Surrealists, the Cubists, the Abstract Expressionists, etc.), as well as the vast majority of Modernist writers (no art for art's sake for this fellow), the works of Postmodernists, etc. I wonder if he would consider Steinbeck a great artist. It seems plausible. What about the neorealist filmmakers? The blues and folk artists of today?

Tolstoy's argument that genuine art is art that must be done for the purpose of the communication of authentic feelings, and not be done for monetary gain, makes consideration of what might be considered genuine art under his theory a bit more complicated. Genuine art should strive to be art that is unadorned, in no need of bells and whistles to communicate its essential Truth:

Terrible as it may be to say it, what has happened to the art of our circle and time is the same as happens with a woman who sells her feminine attractions, destined for motherhood, for the pleasure of those who are tempted by such pleasures.

The art of our time and circle has become a harlot. And this comparison holds true in the smallest details. It is, in the same way, not limited in time, is always fancy in dress, is always for sale; it is just as alluring and pernicious.

The genuine work of art can manifest itself in an artist's soul only rarely, as a fruit of all his previous life, just as a child is conceived by its mother. Counterfeit art is produced by artisans and craftsmen continually, as long as there are consumers.

Genuine art has no need for dressing up, like the wife of a loving husband. Counterfeit art, like a prostitute, must always be decked out.

The cause of the appearance of genuine art is an inner need to express a stored-up feeling, as love is the cause of sexual conception for a mother. The cause of counterfeit art is mercenary, just as with prostitution.

The consequence of true art is the introduction of a new feeling into everyday life, as the consequence of a wife's love is the birth of a new person into life. The consequence of counterfeit art is the corruption of man, the insatiability of pleasures, the weakness of man's spiritual force.

This is what people of our time and circle must understand in order to get rid of the filthy stream of this depraved, lascivious art that is drowning us.

This hilarious, lengthy excerpt is admittedly very cringe-inducing from a feminist perspective, but it sums up (with a few gaps) Tolstoy's view of modern art and also gives readers a general sense of the idea that art must take to be considered genuine and good art in accordance with his theory.

Prophetic in many ways (such as in the final chapter where Tolstoy argues that sociology, really, should be the main focus of science, as science's main concern should, like art, be with improving the lots of humankind -- and animalkind for that matter --, but in which he argues that modern science instead will soon lead us to a state in which most of our food is produced in laboratories and in which the fleeting interests of the upper classes will be given scientific priority), Tolstoy's work is not without faults.

Aside from being very antifeminist at times (forgivable in the sense that he was a product of his age), the work while broadening the understanding of what constitutes art on the one hand, narrows it on the other. The essay also downplays the audience's role in interpreting works of art, audience subjectivity being a major concern among media and literary theorists in more recent years (and I'm thinking particularly here of the newer works by theorists like Stuart Hall and Terry Eagleton). While Tolstoy criticizes those like Nietzsche for his disdain of the masses, Tolstoy less conspicuously (and I think unintentionally) shows a disdain for any (outside of the upper class circle) who are affected by the works of the artists he criticizes so harshly. And then, of course, the merits of the theory itself are debatable. I don't necessarily know that beauty, so very subjective, should be the sole determinant of whether or not something is considered art. But I also don't know that the infectiousness of a feeling is what makes a work art either. And contrary to Virginia Woolf's claim that women writers, in order to have the same chance at artistic success as men, need a certain amount of money and a room of their own (though I find her arguments faulty in the sense that she makes this argument considering gender while ignoring the effects of social class), Tolstoy argues that money is a corrupting force and that the artist of the future will create works of art whenever the feeling takes him/her, but will not earn a living through art, but rather through "some kind of labour." I side here more with Woolf, for without a little money, and thereby a little free time, it can be very difficult for one to find the means to create -- unless of course, as Marx argues in Volume 3 of Capital, pay should increase at the same time as working hours decrease. But Tolstoy opposes this insomuch as he feels more luxuries could corrupt the working people, just as luxuries have corrupted the upper classes of society.

In addition to reading this work I recently watched the Orson Welles film essay F for Fake which deals with art forgery, and so I have been giving considerable thought to the topic recently (and this has also called to mind other art documentaries, such as Who the #$&% Is Jackson Pollock? and Banksy's Exit Through the Gift Shop. It took Tolstoy 15 years and much thought to organize his ideas which are presented in this work. It was a lofty undertaking and maybe he would have revised his ideas had he lived in this century. I don't know. It's a very interesting read, very representative of the turn in Tolstoy's writings after he had rejected his ambitions as a writer of fiction, and it asks a great many more questions than it answers. I don't know that I would call it "essential" Tolstoy, but I would suggest it as a must-read for any interested in the topic of art and aesthetics.

So what is art? For me, it's subjective, and it includes much more than the guardians of the gates to the art world would have us believe. But is art only that which is beautiful? Only that which expresses the religious consciousness of the age? Only that which communicates feelings or some Truth of truths to others? Who's to say? Tolstoy's work, even if it has its flaws, filled in some gaps in existing theories on art. And it spurs readers to think critically about something we often take-for-granted: Art.