Hedgehog and Fox Revisited
When Isaiah Berlin assembled his roll call of hedgehogs and foxes, Plato was counted among the former, Joyce among the latter. "But when we come to Count Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy, and ask...whether he belongs to the first category or the second, whether he is a monist or a pluralist, whether his vision is of one or of many, whether he is of a single substance or compounded of heterogeneous elements, there is no clear or immediate answer...The hypothesis I wish to offer is that Tolstoy was by nature a fox, but believed in being a hedgehog" (Berlin, Russian Thinkers, 22-24).
In this respect, Tolstoy's thinking would seem to approximate--intuitively, and probably never consciously--that of Plotinus. For the latter, we are all foxes who wander, bewildered by multiplicity, until we "recover" our senses or, rather, our true sense for the source of Being: the One, which is both origin and destiny.
It is a beautiful vision that Plotinus articulated, though one that is extremely difficult to achieve and, even when achieved, difficult to sustain. For many a fox, moreover, it is undesirable. And when we consider the achievements of foxes such as Joyce or Shakespeare or (reluctant fox that he was) Tolstoy himself, we cannot help but wonder if the Plotinian vision--for all of its serenity and loveliness--is, in some fundamental respect, unsound.
This would seem to be the unspoken assumption of many who criticize Tolstoy's post-Confession work--an assumption the Mazeppist does not share. At the same time, the Mazeppist can never bring himself to fully subscribe to the Plotinian vision. Like Tolstoy, he is by nature a fox but believes in being a hedgehog--and this conundrum or, if you like, contradiction, lies coiled like a worm in the heart of his being. It is the itch that he is fated to scratch without relief; the divine joke played upon him in supreme Pantagruelist fashion; the instigating dilemma of his intellectual and emotional life; his tragedy, his comedy, his daimonic blessing and curse.
In this respect, Tolstoy's thinking would seem to approximate--intuitively, and probably never consciously--that of Plotinus. For the latter, we are all foxes who wander, bewildered by multiplicity, until we "recover" our senses or, rather, our true sense for the source of Being: the One, which is both origin and destiny.
It is a beautiful vision that Plotinus articulated, though one that is extremely difficult to achieve and, even when achieved, difficult to sustain. For many a fox, moreover, it is undesirable. And when we consider the achievements of foxes such as Joyce or Shakespeare or (reluctant fox that he was) Tolstoy himself, we cannot help but wonder if the Plotinian vision--for all of its serenity and loveliness--is, in some fundamental respect, unsound.
This would seem to be the unspoken assumption of many who criticize Tolstoy's post-Confession work--an assumption the Mazeppist does not share. At the same time, the Mazeppist can never bring himself to fully subscribe to the Plotinian vision. Like Tolstoy, he is by nature a fox but believes in being a hedgehog--and this conundrum or, if you like, contradiction, lies coiled like a worm in the heart of his being. It is the itch that he is fated to scratch without relief; the divine joke played upon him in supreme Pantagruelist fashion; the instigating dilemma of his intellectual and emotional life; his tragedy, his comedy, his daimonic blessing and curse.
posted by Sidi Hamid Benengeli | 1:59 PM
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