BACK TO METHUSELAH

The Russians refer to him as Bernard Shaw: just the way he wanted,--- but for some reason the West knows him by the full name, and in order not to confuse the reader I shall retain the full name. The Russians would not mind, as they know both his names, while the Westerner may be more at ease with the more familiar version.

The great George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950) belongs in this section for several unquestionably compelling reasons. But if I were to answer the familiar question Why Shaw? I’d rather, instead of naming these objective reasons, trump them all with my subjective ones, boiling down to the author’s prerogative: just because I want it so. However, I shall start his philosophical validation with a few objective arguments, which, of course, are by no means wanting.

The question whether Shaw can be called a true philosopher is downright incompetent. He is obviously not made in the mold of academic philosophers, but he is the epitome of a true philosophizer, in the eyes of the Russian Intelligent. Technically speaking, Montaigne was merely a philosophize,r but his membership in the Philosophers’ Club has never been disputed.

Shaw himself makes an explicit claim to philosophy, that is serious enough not to be dismissed on account of its unconventionality. Most of his plays have philosophical preludes, which are occasionally much longer than the plays themselves. The play Man and Superman (the title obviously influenced by Nietzsche) has this explicit subtitle: A Comedy and a Philosophy. The play Back to Methuselah has an eighty-seven-page long Preface; its chapters include some inherently philosophical (in the normal academic sense) titles, such as In Quest of the First Cause, The Humanitarians and the Problem of Evil, Darwin and Karl Marx, The Poetry and Purity of Materialism, The Moment and the Man, etc.

My subjective reasons are many. In my youth, I saw a staging of Shaw’s interesting play about the American Revolution: The Devil’s Disciple, at the Vakhtangov Theater in Moscow, where two assumed scoundrels end up as heroes. The play had a lasting effect on me. Generally speaking, Shaw used to be a highly respected figure in Russia. A devout socialist, he visited Russia, and had conversations with Stalin, whom he admired, and whom he later defended in the West against the charges which today the West takes for granted. Such Russian partiality to Shaw, on account of his Soviet sympathies, translated into an added admiration and popularization of Shaw’s works, could not have failed to rub on me, but there were other reasons for my own partiality for him, too. I have found much in common, or at least in harmony, between my interests and his. For instance, I have always been very much intrigued by the Biblical story of Adam and Eve, and also by the roles of God and of the Serpent in the Garden of Eden, and Shaw explores all of this in Part I of Back to Methuselah (In the Beginning), returning to them in the Coda to Part V (As Far As Thought Can Reach). My own thinking on this subject is different from Shaw’s, but his treatment of the subject has added more fuel to my thinking, for which I am grateful to him beyond measure.

Aside from Back to Methuselah’s fertile exploration of the Adam and Eve theme (which necessarily reverts in Shaw to the present and the future of mankind), there is one particular observation of genius, on his part, which I have frequently referred to elsewhere. You cannot trust history, as you cannot trust any non-fiction, but fiction, and fiction alone, you can trust without any reservations. My theory of the truth of fiction has a direct link to Shaw’s magnificent saying, and although my train of thought takes me into a uniquely special area of contemplation, I must reiterate its perfect affinity with Shaw’s quip, again and again.

And finally, an almost random selection from the multitude of my favorite Shaw aphorisms:

A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. It actually goes to the heart of the endeavor of every great system-building philosopher. These systems may all be mistaken, but their value is certainly above anything produced by anyone who has never dared.

Gambling promises the poor what property performs for the rich--- something for nothing. How true! And particularly with regard to the Lottery system, which is, obviously, the most common type of gambling for the poor, although millions of financially disadvantaged Americans engage in the other, more explicit “Las Vegas” kinds of gambling.

Life does not cease to be funny when people die, just as it does not cease to be serious when they laugh. As is often the case with Shaw, another example of profundity, which gets deeper and deeper all the more we think about it.

The liar’s punishment is not in the least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else. This may be a truism, had it not been so exquisitely true. It is also great psychology, which, at its best, is indeed founded on certain rather elusive truisms.

The worst sin toward our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them: it is the essence of inhumanity. Once again, this ought to go without a comment, being self-explanatory.

Silence is the most perfect expression of scorn. Silence is gold, they say, but Shaw says, Silence is scorn. Is he right? From his own perspective, he is just as right as the more familiar saying, from its own.

A government that robs Peter to pay Paul can always count on the support of Paul. This is a most excellent socio-political utterance, which has far-reaching sociological consequences. It is a great mistake, though, which America is making all the time, to project it into geopolitics. Financial generosity does not translate into gratitude, unless it is coupled with unconditional respect of the giver for the taker. Unfortunately, the latter is seldom the case.

Truth is the funniest joke in the world. Well, you know, having lived over sixty years, I have had numerous occasions to ascertain that this is perfectly true. I guess this realization comes with experience.

“I am a Millionaire. That is my religion.” This is, of course, not Shaw himself speaking, but an actual millionaire of his creation. From my long-term observation, I have found out for myself that the richer a man gets, the less need he has for the church (unless “church” is the business which is making him rich) and for religion as such (the latter, unconditionally). Among the rich, money is, indeed, their most sincere religion, and their only credible church.

Before I leave Shaw until further notice, I shall capitalize on an excellent opportunity to build a bridge from this entry to the series on Henri Bergson in the Magnificent Shadows. Such an opportunity is afforded to me by something Bertrand Russell wrote in the introductory paragraph to his chapter on Bergson.-- “Bergson’s irrationalism made a wide appeal quite unconnected with politics,” he says, “for instance, to Bernard Shaw (how refreshing it is to find Russell calling Shaw the correct, Russian, way!), whose Back to Methuselah is pure Bergsonism.” By quoting Russell here, we are very pertinently killing two birds with one stone: going back to our entry’s title, and asking the leading (to the parallel series of Magnificent entries) question: What is Bergsonism, that Back to Methuselah is made of? For those readers who do not remember the answer, do go back to Bergson, please, will you?…