Preface

Like all intellectuals, M. Artzibashef is fascinated by the
brutality of human life, and filled with hatred of his own disgust at
it. As with all artists, it is necessary for him to shake free of his
own disgust, or there will be an end of his art. Intellectual and an
artist, less artist for being intellectual, responding to the
despairing mood of those around him, it became clear to him that
political agitation had failed and must fail because it has a vision of
government and no vision of human life. Society is factitious. The
intellectual asks why. The artist never asks these absurd questions.
Art is free. If he can attain art that is enough for him. Life, whether
or no it be the slow process of evolution it is generally supposed to
be, can and does look after itself. Society is certainly a nuisance and
a heavy drag upon human energy, but so long as that energy can express
itself in art, society cannot be altogether obstructive. That, says the
intellectual, is well enough for the artist, but what of the
individuals to whom art can only be at best a keen stimulus, at worst a
drugging pleasure? Is the dead weight of society altogether to crush
their delight in life? What is society? What is it but the accumulated
emanations of the fear and timidity and shyness that beset human beings
whenever they are gathered together? And to this accumulation are those
who are not artists to bring nothing but fear and shyness and timidity
to make the shadow over life grow denser and darker? Is there to be no
reaction? How can there be individuals worthy of being alive except
through reaction? And how can there be good government unless there are
good individuals to be governed--individuals in fine, worthy of being
governed?