WITHERED, HARD, AND BARREN

(See also the related entry …But Yet Far Fairer Hopes, posted on my blog on February 15^th, 2012.)

The life of a genius, even the unhappiest of lives, even the most tragic of them, is always vindicated by the greatness of his legacy to posterity. There was no reason for the great Russian poet Nikolai Gumilev for instance to lament the tragedy of his ruined life in the following lines, given here in my translation:

“I could be the sweetest song of all,

“Gentle violin, or bird of whitest feather…

“But instead, I’m now a worthless droll,

“Doing nothing -- nothing whatsoever…”

The four volumes of his magnificent poetry (which I still have in my possession) are the most convincing testimony one can ever produce, to a life well worth living.

Mikhail Lermontov, one of the greatest geniuses of world literature, was killed in a duel at the age of only twenty-six. Yet his genius lives on in the work which he had been able to accomplish before his tragic and untimely end.

What happens then to one who had shown a great potential that was never able to materialize? In one of the most exceptional metaphors known to man, such a calamity is powerfully presented by none other than our good friend Nietzsche: "The most miserable animal can prevent the genesis of the mightiest oak by swallowing the acorn." (From Nietzsche’s On the Advantage and Disadvantage of History for Life, Section 7.)

The examples of genius I have given above show two great talents who had been allowed to carry out their lives. The acorns had become oaks, and thus had achieved immortality. They do not qualify as the subject of my contemplation on the plight of an acorn that has lost its capacity to grow into an oak. So, here is the bottom line: is the life of an acorn justified, if it fails to achieve its potential, that is, to become an oak?

(Incidentally, it would be a pitiful mistake to look for any personal angle in my contemplation, except that no general philosophical inquiry is ever completely impersonal. I am sure that even the Kantian search for the ultimate abstraction somehow grows out of his own personal experience. The duty of the reader is thus to seek his/her own objectivity in not trying to relate the writer’s writing to the writer’s personal life, but to resist this temptation and consider the writer’s thoughts in isolation from the circumstances of his personal life.)

There are two separate sets of circumstances to be considered in such a contemplation. One is the mystical significance of the life of an acorn that is cut short before it sprouts. How is it justified in the eyes of God? (Not in terms of that life as such, but in terms of God’s design!.)

I do not expect to come up with a coherent answer right away. Maybe there is no answer at all, but only the question. In that case, the question is at least worthy of thinking about. So, let us leave it at that, for now.

Whereas the first situation concerned itself with the death of a young acorn, the second situation concerns the life of an old acorn, if I may put it this way. In order to explain myself better, I will appeal again to the next paragraph in the same passage from Nietzsche, which I have already quoted earlier in this entry:

“Every living thing needs to be surrounded by an atmosphere, a mysterious circle of mist: if one robs it of this veil, if one condemns a religion, an art, a genius to orbit as a star without an atmosphere, -- then one should not wonder about its rapidly becoming withered, hard, and barren.” (Ibid.)

Only now, perhaps, it is becoming clear what I meant by “an old acorn.” Here is a different kind of tragedy that can happen to a genius. Not death, but a life robbed of its protective veil, forcefully removed from that mysterious circle of mist which feeds its soul, leaving this God’s creature “withered, hard, and barren,” yet hopelessly alive!

Such must be the life that gives birth to a profound sadness, to a deeper sense of pessimism than can ever be extracted either from Schopenhauer’s Studies, or from Voltaire’s “Happiness is but a dream, and sorrow is real.” Here is “Warum?” at its rock bottom!