Literature was Aghababyan's profession. There are those who do not have his power of faith and there are those who do not have the word of their faith. He carried himself with love and adoration to his fellow believers and indulgence and indifference to those who did not have his faith and word. Belonging and not belonging to literature determined its relations with writers, authorities, and time.
And even if he himself, in a moment of weakness, in a moment of inattention and incompetence, felt himself not at the height whose crowning glory was much more the result of his effort and suffering, the relationship with himself was ruined, clearly, he hung his head in front of himself as a student of a teacher.
The high taste and the awake conscience, which were purely her own and Aghababyan's, her beautiful eyes of the girl would have often bowed before herself, if her nature, always thirsting, always a student before reality and art, had not kept her in a constant march, constant movement, constant attack - eternally wrong yesterday and eternally true present, parties and parties, east and west, ancient and between new. The sword of Orthodoxy, which was due at the time, never appeared in Aghababyan's hand. He did not become an Orthodox, and he will not even become an Orthodox destroyer. Not all the sufferers of the time were crowned by the words of Aghababyan, because his eyes of a righteous child did not see a poetic halo of divine things on their poor almond heads, and not all the crowned ones of the time were dethroned by the hands of Aghababyan, because at least they were the true witnesses of the tyrants and tyrants of their time, and time does not exist without witnesses, there is no time without witnesses, and it is impossible to cut and throw time and it is even impossible to proofread. He wasn't the kind of brave to mow down on past times as if they were dead.
He had another way to punish. spoke his word of appreciation until the end, and his "brick" remained the most essential, outside the "brick" nothing worthy and undeserving.
A son of a country that lost its sovereignty, a son of a country that entrusted the power of sovereignty to the true One, in front of the magnificent parade of the world's great culture, he begged for an authoritative presence from the culture of his country, especially since his Charents and other cases assured the possibility of that authority.
And even if that culture, the country of that culture and their time are no longer a sinking bell and will never ring in other days, and even if Aghababyan and his generation of great boys had the consciousness of this condemnation, all the same - his impeccable effort was as faithful as those whose homelands and times are now intact, are still intact.