Religion & Spirituality

What do you think of this text on art and immortality?

" No doubt one day, before arid expanses or lands reconquered by forest, no one will any longer guess what man once imposed upon them, nor the intelligence he gave to the forms of the earth when he raised the stones of Florence amid the great sway of Tuscan olive trees. Nothing will remain of those palaces that saw Michelangelo, exasperated by Raphael, pass through them, nor of the small Parisian cafés where Renoir sat with Cézanne, Van Gogh with Gauguin.


The Eternal of Solitude is no less victorious over dreams than over armies; and men have scarcely been ignorant of this, ever since they have existed and known that they must die. […] But is man obsessed with eternity, or with escaping the inexorable dependence that death relentlessly drills into him? A miserable survival that has no time to see the already dead stars go out! Yet no less miserable is nothingness, if the millennia accumulated by clay are not enough to smother, from the coffin onward, the voice of a great artist…


There is no death invulnerable before a dialogue scarcely begun, and survival is not measured by duration; it lies in the form taken by a man’s victory over destiny—and that form, once the man is dead, begins its unpredictable life. The victory that granted it existence will grant it a voice its author never suspected within it. These statues—more Egyptian than the Egyptians, more Christian than the Christians, more Michelangelo than Michelangelo—more human than the world itself, and which sought to be an irreducible truth, murmur with the thousand forest-voices that the ages will tear from them. The glorious bodies are not those of the tomb.


Humanism is not to say: “What I have done no animal could have done”; it is to say: “We have refused what the beast within us desired, and we seek to rediscover man wherever we have found what crushes him.”

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What do you think of this text on art and immortality?
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No doubt, for a believer, this long dialogue of metamorphoses and resurrections unites in a divine voice, for man becomes man only in the pursuit of his highest part; but it is beautiful that the animal who knows he must die should wrest from the irony of the nebulae the song of the constellations, and hurl it at random into the centuries, upon which it will impose unknown words. André Malraux "
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