Big Book 2019

Last week, I wrote about Kutuzov’s military genius and what his role was for the eventual Russian victory in the French invasion of Moscow. This time, I will be writing about why Tolstoy doesn’t believe that wars can be won by strategy. From pages 783 to 785, Tolstoy writes that Napoleon was not necessarily a competent military leader, but rather a figurehead who motivated troops to win battles. Of course, this plays right into his blind patriotism, but perhaps there is some truth in the fictional Napoleon.

While it is certainly true that military strategy plays a large role in the book, with all of the nobility being higher-level officers, Andrei often disagrees with some of their methods. On page 775, Andrei explains to Pierre that war is not a civil game, but rather a chaotic pit of emotions. He argues that battles are not won with brilliant strategists. Instead, the key to winning wars is high morale amongst the soldiers who fight them. “‘I would not take prisoners. What are prisoners? It’s chivalry. The French devastated my home…They’re my enemies, they’re all criminals, to my mind’” (774).

I had initially disagreed with Andrei. To me, it seemed that war was a strategic match between two forces. But Tolstoy makes a good argument: war is not honorable or glorious. “The aim of war is killing, the instruments of war are espionage, treason” (775). Through Andrei’s point of view as an officer with the ground troops, he witnesses the bloodshed and unnecessary killing. Even Pierre eventually realizes the true nature of war (797). Andrei’s motivations to fight the war harder was a result of the French invading his own homeland.

Tolstoy’s arguments are actually still valid today in modern warfare. For example, the Pearl Harbor attacks in World War 2 was the catalyst that united Americans and pushed them into war in the Pacific. On the other hand, American involvement in Vietnam had a lot of pushback from the public and its troops. Service members were not sure why they were fighting a war that seemed meaningless, and eventually American policymakers succumbed to pressures from the public. As cliche as it sounds, perhaps wars really are won by “winning the hearts and minds”.

The war between France and Russia in 1812 was similar to World War I in that it involved complex alliances, was fought between empires that demanded complete loyalty from their people, and had vague causes. However, after examining the course of the invasion in War and Peace, I believe that Napoleon’s war is analogous to the eastern front of World War II.

When Tolstoy presents us with Napoleon’s letter after the battle of Borodino, we see his motives for fighting. Napoleon muses that, had he won the war, “Paris would have been the capital of the world, and the French the envy of the nations” (816). He also mentions that he wished for Europe to be united as a common fatherland, under the leadership of all-powerful sovereigns protected and supported by the people. Napoleon’s overwhelming love for France demonstrates that this war was fought partially as a result of French nationalism. Interestingly, Napoleon omitted Asian and African countries from his “unified fatherland,” which shows his view of non-European countries and sovereigns as illegitimate. Another aspect of his vision for Europe is that standing armies should be converted solely into a means of protecting the sovereign, which arises from the 18th century conservative movement spearheaded by Edmund Burke (Ironically, Burke hated the idea of a French revolution, with eventually put Napoleon in power). In his Reflections on the Revolution in France, Burke writes that “I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened [the queen of France] with insult.” Burke’s argument is that sovereigns are divinely chosen and should be protected by the people at all costs. Therefore, Napoleon’s vision for Europe incorporated aspects of conservatism and nationalism.

Similarly, Hitler’s agenda in World War II followed patterns of nationalism and conservatism that drove him to invade the Soviet Union, even though it was a strategically terrible idea. For example, Hitler’s rise to power was a reaction to the outcome of World War I, which destroyed and humiliated the German empire. Hitler promised that the dignity of Germany would be restored and that the Aryan race would be returned to its rightful place at the top of the world. This platform, obviously, was built entirely on the foundations of German nationalism. Furthermore, in Mein Kampf, Hitler wrote that he wished to unify the ethnic Germans of Eastern Europe under his empire, pushing back the influence of the Soviet Union (which he considered to be racially inferior to Germany). Like Napoleon’s belief that only the superior European countries should be united under a common empire, Hitler’s grand unification scheme for Eastern Europe notably shunned people that he considered to be ethnically inferior to Germans. Additionally, Hitler’s leadership style showed that he believed in autocratic rule built around only one true leader. In parallel to how people in monarchies worshipped and would die for the sovereign, most German people were fully devoted to the Nazi party and saw Hitler as their representative and the incarnation of “Germany.” Because Hitler actively promoted this view through extensive use of propaganda, it is likely that he structured his relationship with the people around conservative ideals. Edmund Burke would have been proud.

The two wars also had very similar outcomes. Napoleon pushed all the way to Moscow and slaughtered hundreds of thousands of Russian troops, writing that “the Russian army in retreat from Vilno to Moscow, in different battles, lost four times more than the French army”(817). Russia’s victory paved the way for Napoleon’s eventual defeat and immortalized the war in Russian memory, but it came at a terrible price of personnel and infrastructure. Single battles such as the battle of Borodino brought unbelievable casualty counts. Moscow itself was eventually burned to the ground, and millions of lives were lost. Similarly, when Germany invaded the Soviet Union in 1941, the German forces closed to within 30 miles of Moscow before being repelled by desperate fighting in the brutal winter temperatures. As the war progressed, the Red Army steamrolled back across Eastern Europe to finally invade Berlin in May 1945. However, this came at the cost of 27 million dead (civilian and military), as compared to Germany’s 4 million. In one single battle (the battle of Stalingrad), 2 million people were killed. The Soviet Union remembered it as the “Great Fatherland War,” and prided themselves on their victory for decades to come, but like repelling Napoleon’s invasion, it came at a terrible cost to the Russian people.

“As it is, war is the favorite pastime of idle and light-minded people…The aim of war is killing, the instruments of war are espionage, treason and the encouragement of it, the ruin of the inhabitants, robbing them or stealing to supply the army…And in spite of that, war is the highest estate, respected by all” ( 2.2.26).

I really enjoy how Tolstoy analyzes wars in “War and Peace.” Especially, when portraying Andrei’s character and perspective, I have noticed many profound and agreeable opinions on war. First, Tolstoy does a great job of illustrating the common perspectives on war. When he shows Pierre and Nikolai’s enamoration with war, he shows the sense of fascination and excitement many men have for war. The youth are patriotically engaged and ready to serve in the war without truly considering the consequences and actual terrors of war. To them, it is about pride and climbing the ranks of honor and glory. Yet, this truly isn’t the case.

As Tolstoy demonstrates by evolving Pierre, Andrei, and Nikolai’s perspectives on war, the terrible tragedies of war are often overlooked. Despite the different timelines, all three of these characters undergo a similar transformation. They go with being fascinated by the glory of war to being shocked, terrified, or disgusted by the horrific actualities of this violence.

Andrei has the most insightful epiphanies. He realizes that war is utter, for the lack of a better word and for the unwritten rules of censorship, crap (if it was up to me, I would use a more “colorful” word). Andrei criticizes how war is brought on by the nobility and the powerful. Yet, they never feel the tangible tragedies of death and murder. Instead, they do a great job of sitting safe in their palaces and ordering their armies around, seemingly oblivious to the sacrificial lives of individual soldiers. I truly appreciate Tolstoy’s ability to capture how witnessing war first-hand can drastically change your opinions on the violence. Even for Pierre, after nearly dying during his sightseeing, his eyes are opened. He is able to see and understand the reality of war: the repeated death of humans and the destruction of morality and honor.

As Tolstoy’s anti-war message becomes more and more overt, I was stunned by the sentiments he put down. Tolstoy writes on the idea that war is a relatively pointless activity, waged by the leaders of a country for their own personal benefit, but this is an idea that I had always associated with the First World War.

After the chaos and carnage seen at the Battle of Borodino, Tolstoy describes the mental state of the footsoldiers on both sides of the war:

“Exhausted men on both sides, without food and rest, began alike to doubt whether they had to go on exterminating each other, hesitation was seen on all faces, and in every soul. Alike the question arose: ‘Why, for whom, should I kill and be killed? You kill whomever you like, do whatever you like, but I don’t want any more of it!’ Towards evening, this thought ripened alike in each man’s soul. At any moment all these men might become horrified at what they were doing, drop everything, and run away wherever their legs took them.”    (818)

Soldiers on both sides cannot quite understand why they are being subjected to such horrendous carnage. It would seem that in the trenches, everyone is fed up with how willing their leaders are to put them on the line for personal benefit (mostly praise and honor). In fact, Tolstoy through Andrei, prefaced the general atmosphere of disdain for war with Andrei’s rather large outburst on war on pages 775 and 776.

The quote that most struck me was in the middle of Andrei’s outburst, when he contrasts the reason war is waged against the reason war should be waged: “If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we’d go to it only herein it was worth going to certain death, as now. Then there would be no war because Pavel Ivanych offended Mikhail Ivanych” (775). This sentiment reminded me of when I read All Quiet on the Western Front, a novel written by a World War One veteran on the German trenches. The protagonists, common soldiers, often discuss how they are just pawns that Germany is willing to throw away to assuage her honor. The whole war got as big as it did because Russia, Germany, France, and Great Britain all felt the need to maintain their honor by fulfilling alliance promises (among many many many other factors, such as… Archduke Ferdinand’s assassination, the massive land-grab going on in Africa, etc.).

As I read Tolstoy’s semi-hidden anti-war essays, I was surprised at how his sentiments mirrored those of soldiers in World War One, fifty years ahead of him, and how well he lays out his points; however, considering his involvement in the Crimean War (quite possibly the biggest crapfest before World War One), his ideas and depictions of war scenes surprises me a lot less.

Andrei has a complicated relationship with death; sometimes he claims he yearns for death, and other times he demonstrates a lust for life. So which is it that Andrei really feels?

We are clearly alerted of Andrei’s lack of value for his life when introduced to the classic scene with the oak tree. Andrei, on his way to the Rostovs, spots an old, decrepit oak tree and finds himself seeking kinship with this oak. Andrei engages in a dialogue about this oak, claiming “yes, [the oak is] right…  let others, the young ones, succumb afresh to this deception, but we know life– our life is over!” (420). In his youth, Andrei has already determined that his life is no longer worth living. Upon seeing a dying tree, that is the image that Andrei finds most relatable. What more screams depression and a desire for death than comparing yourself to a dying tree?

And yet, despite this comparison and Andrei seeming quite sure of himself and his misery back at the oak tree, upon hearing Natasha sing and seeing the young girls come up to his carriage, his persona reverses. No longer does Andrei sing the tune of melancholy; he instead realizes that “no, life isn’t over at the age of thirty-one” (423). The simple act of hearing and seeing freedom and beauty around him, even in the fleeting moments of hearing the voice of a girl singing or the few glances of girls running about is enough to transform his entire outlook on life and his future. Andrei is clearly unstable. Surely, if he is so easily convinced of the worth of life, he must truly value his life and only momentarily lost sight of its value? But at the same time, if he truly valued his life, why should seeing a dying tree immediately spark such dark thoughts in him?

On the eve of the battle of Borodino, Andrei once again tosses his life aside, as if it is meaningless. When contemplating the battle and bloodshed to follow in the coming hours, Andrei predicts “‘and tomorrow I’ll be killed– not even by a Frenchman, but by one of our soldiers… and the French will… fling me into a pit, so as not to have me stink under their noses’” (770). Andrei says this so nonchalantly, as if this is a topic of casual conversation. No intense emotion is conveyed in this sentence; Andrei states this information like it is fact. He just verbalized that the following day would be the day of his death; that he would die, and then be tossed aside like a piece of meat out of convenience for the enemy. He speaks as though the fact that his life will be over, that he will cease to exist, is something he is perfectly fine with and completely accepts. The thought of his impending death does not evoke any kind of dramatic emotional response. While Andrei does pause for a moment to comprehend that the next day he may no longer be in this life, he moves on and seconds later runs into Pierre and the narrative continues. Andrei clearly gives very little value to his life in this moment, and does not seem to see any reason to view his death otherwise.

A mere day later, in the heat of the battle of Borodino, Andrei reclaims his desire to live and his appreciation for life. Andrei, lying on the ground after being shot, cries out “‘I can’t, I don’t want to die, I love life, I love this grass, the earth, the air…’” (811). Where did this wish to live come from? Less than twenty-four hours prior, he matter-of-a-factly accepted his death. Now, after being wounded in action, he longs for life? He goes as far as to say he loves life. After so much back and forth from Andrei, does he really want to die or does he want to live? It would seem that in this moment, after being shot, Andrei would speak his truest feelings; in such an emotional and traumatizing moment, he is likely diminished ot his true desires and thoughts, and that is to live. Without his conscious clouded with other thoughts of the external world, and in this moment, in shock and on the ground, it seems this is the purest form of Andrei’s emotions and desires. It would seem, despite his infrequent display of zeal for life, that Andrei truly does not want to die.

***

Another interesting feature of this is the role that nature plays in Andrei’s perception of the value of his life. The oak tree, the plums that the girls picked and hid, the grass and earth he lies on, and earlier the “infinite sky” (281)… what does it all mean? Why is Andrei’s emotional state so closely linked to the surrounding nature, and why don’t we see that with other characters?

When I was reading the chapters when Pierre is essentially “touring” the troops and the Russian camps prior to the Battle of Borodino, I was a little unsettled. Pierre is ostensibly doing this because of the amount of troops he had been convinced to donate, though he himself had no intention of joining the army. However, in true Pierre fashion, he seems a little naive and unaware of the true depth of the situation. Pierre, unlike his friend Andrei, is a true believer in military genius, and is interested in strategy and the logical side of war. He is observing the preparing troops almost in a purely intellectual headspace, and one can’t help but feel that he truly has no conception of the brevity of the situation. Furthermore, Pierre’s wealth and status results in his being given a private tour of the camp with commentary about what is going on. An officer literally leads him along the hillside and points out what troops are theirs and which are the French, while Pierre asks questions like “‘So what is our position?’” (762). He himself admits he has no true function and brings nothing to the situation: “‘And you are what – a doctor?’ ‘No, I’m just here’” (762). It’s almost like he’s a tourist – he’s there entirely for his own benefit and enrichment.

I think part of the reason I was so put off by this is because it vaguely reminded me of other questionable and problematic types of tourism. Often, tourists use their wealth to experience things entirely for their own enrichment, though they do not benefit, and sometimes outright harm, the native population. I was kind of reminded of an anecdote from one of Trevor Noah’s stand up specials, where he describes an outing during a trip to Bali. His friends signed them up for “an authentic Balinese experience”, which turned out to just be a tour of an actual person’s house in the slums, as well as the surrounding neighborhood. He describes feeling deeply uncomfortable as other people on the tour took pictures of people living their daily lives. Another, perhaps more extreme, example of this is voluntourism, or when people travel to faraway places for service. Much has been written about this phenomenon, but essentially, it’s problematic because often the service is not done in a conscious or contextualized way. Somewhat like Pierre, they enter into a situation they have no real information about, but believe that they understand and can assist with. This kind of touring tragedy without context, just for your own experience, is really what bugged me about Pierre’s excursion. The absurdity of the situation is perhaps amplified by the point Andrei and Tolstoy have been making for the past few chapters about the unnecessary nature of strategy in war, when the real fighting is done on the battlefield with the infantrymen.

While Tolstoy dedicated a lot of effort into being a successful storyteller, he also uses War and Peace to try to convey historical truth to the reader. He often takes breaks in the narrative to explain and often correct modern understanding of history. These mini historical essays offer context to the novel and some of its themes, but also show Tolstoy’s role as a historian. The idea of military genius seems particularly appealing to Tolstoy. It is very important to him that after he conveys military events from a narrative perspective that he clarifies events. The first instance of this is when he posits that all events in the war occurred by accident rather than the military savvy of Napoleon or Alexander. Although historians may have tried to create meaning and intention out of troop movements, the positive consequences of many actions were accidental. This is when Tolstoy first begins to explicitly question the role of intelligence in military success and then utilizes Prince Andrei to explore this idea.

His next mini-essay further explores the corruption of history by informing the reader of the accuracy of movements to prove how historians must be wrong. The accuracy of movement of the army seems particularly important but only insofar as it proves the intentions of the leaders. Somewhat contrary to Andrei’s account, Kutuzov is depicted as intelligent by the essayist, but both descriptions seem to be complementary of Kutuzov as a military leader. This shift in perspective gives us the sense of a narrator outside of the storytelling, removed from the story itself. Tolstoy, or a character representing the storyteller, is breaking the narrative in order to give us information. This is clearly important to the author and is further illustrated by a map to prove to us the impossibility of intentional military actions for this battle.

This break in the narrative shows the relationship between history and storytelling and the importance of bringing reality into the realm of fiction. What is the role of a fiction author in the creation of historical narratives and the search for historical truth? There is an irony that arises from a fictitious story that is meant to show us the truth, and yet the use of mini-essays clarifies that this detailed truth is important. Historical narratives are generally constructed and slightly altered after events, and Tolstoy points this out to the reader. This mix of inventing details and characters to create a narrative with the secondary thread of historical truth helps ground War and Peace in reality and remind us of the flexibility of the historical record.

A couple weeks ago, when I was reading the section where Natasha is preparing to run away with Anatole, during Natasha’s conversation with Sonya, I was reminded of Ismene and Antigone’s opening argument in the beginning of Antigone.

Indeed, when Natasha and Sonya were arguing, Sonya assumed the same role as Ismene in that she tries to talk her dearest friend/family member out of doing what she thinks is reckless, but becomes her beloved’s adversary. In Antigone, Antigone is set on burying her brother despite it being against the law to do so, as he betrayed the city. Ismene counters her reckless ambitions by saying that Antigone loves “fights [she] can’t win” and “hopeless passion is wrong from the start” (108-110). Ismene is too weak to attempt to defy the city and, ultimately, she fears for her sister. Antigone’s stubbornness is conveyed here since she is showing more loyalty and love to the dead than to the living, much like how Natasha thinks that she loves Anatole more than Andrei, despite only knowing him for three days. In War and Peace, when Sonya threatens to tell the rest of the family about Natasha’s plans, Natasha says, “‘If you tell, you’re my enemy…. You want me to be unhappy, you want them to separate us…” (578). This response is almost direct echo of Antigone saying, “Say that again and I’ll despise you” (111). Both Natasha and Antigone make their loved ones their adversaries since they don’t agree with what they’re doing, even though Sonya and Ismene’s disapproval comes from a place of love and concern.

Sonya and Natasha, and their respective Greek counterparts, do have their differences though. Antigone is more concerned with honoring the dead than being with a loved one (although it’s clear that there is a romantic undertone with her dedication with her brother). Natasha on the other hand is fueling her personal desires, rather than that of a kind of cosmic, godly force that Antigone is grappling with. Likewise, Ismene is concerned about a very real, physical punishment that Antigone will face if she does indeed bury her brother: death. Sonya, too, is concerned about a very real, but more societal impact that Natasha’s calling off her engagement will cause. Natasha is perhaps committing social suicide, but we don’t have the same fear of literal impending death. Additionally, Sonya is a more active character than Ismene, as Ismene is the passive adversary, whose concern never amounts to action. Sonya, on the other hand, ultimately confesses to Marya Dmitrievna, because she knows that someone needs to physically stop Natasha from eloping. She also makes an interesting comment before her confession about how she needs to “prove that [she] remembers the family’s kindness to [her] and that [she] loves Nicolas” (580). In telling Marya about Natasha’s plan, she proves her loyalty, whereas Ismene’s silence proves hers.

It has become quite apparent how Kutuzov feels about knowledge. The young, swaggering, self-assured confidence that Denisov has about his ideas and plans clearly infuriates Kutuzov. Tolstoy writes that “Kutuzov despised the knowledge, intelligence, and even patriotic feeling shown by Denisov” (742). We find out that Kutuzov feels this way not necessarily because of the intelligence itself, but because of the youthful ignorance that is inherent in Denisov’s knowledge.

What I found interesting about this passage was how Kutuzov, frustrated with Denisov, exclaims “ ‘Oh, German scrupulosity!’ he said, shaking his head” (742). I don’t know if I’m reading too much into this brief and heated moment, but given all the inter-European tensions in this book, I thought I would research German-Russian relations to see if this was a personal feeling Kutuzov had, or whether there was a general discontempt for the Germans by Russians.

In the war against Napoleon from 1812-1815, the Germans were allied with Russia against France. Yet around 100,000 Germans fought for Napoleon’s army when he invaded Russia, as well (wikipedia). But what I find most compelling is that almost half the officers were descendant from German families, and tended to have some German bias when dealing with the war (Tost). The article goes on to mention that these Germans had an affection for Russia, feeling some deep cultural connection (Tost). I suspect this is why Kutuzov feels the way he does about “German scrupulosity”– the presence of all these Germanic officers, who value precision and tactics bother him deeply. Maybe their ordered mindset is what Denisov has picked up on being in the military, and Kutuzov is bothered by this presence that is disturbing and overwhelming the way by which the military ought to be run.

Originally, Bogucharovo did not have a Lord ruling over the peasants that lived there, so the peasants there came to be quite different from the other peasants the Bolkonskies had. “They differed from them in speech, dress, and disposition” (718). Before Marya arrived at Bogucharovo, the peasants led by Dron, had received leaflets from the French telling them to stay at the estate and they wouldn’t attack them and pillage the estate. The French might not have wanted to attack Bogucharovo because they thought they might be able to get resources and shelter there if they needed it. If the French had attacked the estate, even though they could have gotten all the resources in the estate, it would have probably gotten destroyed. Dron was the acting mayor of the estate. When Alpatych got to the estate to inform Dron of Marya’s arrival, Dron, loyal to the Bolkonskies and also not wanting to betray the French’s agreement, was very torn on what to do. He passively denies Alpatych when Alpatych tells him to get all the peasants ready to leave the estate. Alpatych can’t do anything about it, so he lets it go. When Marya arrives, Dron releases the horses into the forest, so Marya cannot leave. Perhaps Dron didn’t want to let Marya leave the estate because, if she were still there, the French would not be able to attack them randomly because there was a noble person there. So, if Marya stayed at the estate, Dron and the other peasants would be safe. When Nikolai arrived at the estate like a knight in shining armor, he was able to take control of the situation very fast. Nikolai was trying to find the “headman” (735) and when Dron stepped into view, Nikolai told Lavrushka to bind him. It is interesting that although Alpatych was the estate manager of the Lord of the peasants, they wouldn’t obey him, but when a random nobleman appears, they submit without much struggle.