What happens in Chapter 17 of War and Peace?
The Second Epilogue shifts away from narrative, instead presenting a standalone philosophical essay that complements the novel's story. Tolstoy begins by questioning the field of history, claiming that traditional historians make a mistake by attributing the actions of nations and armies to the decisions of a few "great men"—like Napoleon, Alexander, and Kutuzov. He methodically dismantles the idea of individual historical agency, arguing that no commander’s orders can truly explain the behavior of hundreds of thousands of soldiers. He then addresses the issue of freedom versus necessity, framing it as the key paradox in how we understand ourselves: we feel free when we act but later realize that every action was determined by prior causes. Tolstoy suggests that history should evolve into a genuine science, one that moves away from idolizing heroes and focuses instead on the tiny, differential forces—the myriad choices made by countless ordinary individuals—whose collective impact can account for historical change. The epilogue concludes by emphasizing that as long as historians cling to the myth of the great man, they will remain mere storytellers, not scientists, and humanity will fail to grasp the fundamental laws that govern its shared existence.
Analysis
Tolstoy's move here is bold: he effectively removes the traditional aspects of the novel. After nearly 1,400 pages filled with vivid, sensory storytelling, the Second Epilogue shifts into the style of a philosophical essay. This jarring change in tone serves as part of his argument, suggesting that the narrative you’ve just experienced can’t be fully understood with the same tools you used to engage with it. The recurring themes of integration and differential calculus aren’t just for show; Tolstoy uses mathematical language to emphasize that history must be analyzed at the level of individual human moments, and then aggregated across millions. This reflects the novel's own structure, where the grand scenes of Austerlitz or Borodino are built from intimate snapshots of Pierre, Andrei, and Natasha.
The tension between freedom and necessity, introduced early on and left unresolved, acts as a deliberate wound within the text. Tolstoy’s refusal to synthesize these ideas is a philosophical choice—he’s not crafting a Hegelian framework but rather highlighting the limitations of all frameworks. His critique of "great man" historiography, which targets figures like Carlyle and the French Romantic historians, carries a moral weight: attributing history to Napoleon overlooks the millions who made it happen, and diminishes the moral significance of everyday human choices. The prose takes on a combative tone here, punctuated by rhetorical questions, marking a shift from the novel's smooth, interconnected intimacy—indicating that Tolstoy the moralist has stepped forward, distinct from Tolstoy the artist.
Key quotes from Chapter 17
“To elicit the laws of history we must leave aside kings, ministers, and generals, and select for study the homogeneous, infinitesimal elements which influence the masses.”
Tolstoy states his core methodological demand, calling for a Newtonian calculus of human action to replace the cult of heroic individuals.
“A man lives consciously for himself, but serves as an unconscious instrument for the achievement of the historical, social ends of humanity.”
This formulation crystallises the freedom-necessity paradox: subjective intention and objective historical function operate on entirely separate planes.
“If the will of every man were free, that is, if every man could act as he pleased, the whole of history would be a tissue of disconnected accidents.”
Tolstoy uses a reductio ad absurdum to argue that absolute freedom would annihilate the very possibility of historical knowledge or meaning.