A great writer does not write for his generation and must accept it. It will be more difficult to do so the more he loses the sense of his own greatness or, rather, the greatness of his own mission. Literary activity, the desire to be part of literature, must be seen primarily as a recognition of the value and power of letters. To manifest in this way, and not in any other, implies meditation and choice. Why literature? Reflection will soon point out the obvious: the writer is someone transformed by it, and he writes because the objects of his admiration have done so.
Anyone Whose Dream Is the Establishment…
Anyone whose dream is the establishment of an ideological totalitarianism suffers first and foremost from historical ignorance. If a lack of haughtiness prevents him from looking a little beyond his immediate interest, a little judgment would recommend him not to challenge an unpredictable and uncontrollable reaction. But history will always make him pay, because it is infallible in pointing out totalitarianism as an aspiration restricted to scoundrels. The course of a lifetime is too short for the consequences that can befall it, and while historical ignorance may not sometimes compromise in the short term, a little patience shows that it always does.
The Average Person Would Only Become Aware…
The average person would only become aware of the importance of the values and conditions that have been bequeathed to him if he could feel, in the flesh, all that his ancestors have suffered. That is impossible. Few words, for example, are as dry as “freedom” when uttered in free countries. Its semantics hide the amount of blood that was shed to win it, and for free citizens to understand it, they would have to experience its absence. The same is true in many other cases, and from this we realize that when history and education are useless, it is ridiculous to talk about this so-called “progress”.
Two Sincere Writers Should Cultivate…
Two sincere writers should cultivate a feeling similar to that which should exist between two well-meaning political opponents: a feeling of respect and identification. In both cases, however, there are very few exceptions that outweigh the commonplace pettiness. Leaving aside superficialities such as style, schools, generations, the fact that two writers, whatever they may be, have a link that sets them apart from the rest of men, both have made an identical choice in the face of the problem of existence, and it is natural that such a distinction should become an affinity. Much more do they agree in choosing literature as a vehicle for the expression of consciousness than they differ in external aspects of the vocation. Admitting this, however, is very difficult and seems to require a virtue that few of them possess.