Arquivo de literature | Page 108 of 111

Fathers and Sons, by Ivan Turgenev

It is said of Bazarov — the protagonist of Fathers and Sons, by Ivan Turgenev — the first nihilistic character in history. The importance of this work, therefore, is immense. Bazarov inaugurates in the literature the posture of denial to any kind of authority or moral principle. Materialistic intellectual, he says that believes in nothing but agreeing with what can be scientifically proven through experience. Religion, tradition, art… none of this has value: past generations are “cards out of deck” and “a good chemist is twenty times more useful than any poet”. Bazarov’s psychology is interesting: although he denies everything, bends to nothing, knows his own uselessness and the insignificance of his own effort before the universe and eternity, he works hard, diligently develops his scientific research. He seems, throughout the work, absorbed, involved in something of great importance, which justifies his coldness to those around him. As he talks to his elders, he despises them; does not consider them capable of teaching at all. On the other hand, he seems, in his own rationalism, to incessantly seek knowledge. Bazarov, despite his coldness and inclination to retreat, to work, engages in various relationships throughout the work. And Turgenev manages, with mastery, to project the influence of his nihilism in his midst: intelligent, he is respected by all, however, he directs to the closest an absolute, cruel indifference, making us question about his humanity. Suddenly, Bazarov falls in love. Seeing himself in love, he feels a deep shame: romantic love is absurd, unforgivable stupidity! Then Bazarov moves away to see if he subdues his weakness. Love as a weakness? This idea is very familiar… If we do not deny science itself, like Bazarov, it is true that our individualism takes us away from relationships, fears them and does everything to avoid them; important even, it is us, and our self-esteem demands us successive manifestations of affection. And how does Turgenev ends the novel? Bazarov isolates himself, focuses on his work; he progresses, but his posture afflicts all around him. Unfortunately, he gets typhus by cutting himself with his scalpel doing the autopsy of a man overturned by the disease. He falls in bed, wraps the closest in strong commotion. He denies, however, the confession, pleaded for by the tortured father as he watched his son’s martyrdom. Bazarov dies denying others his own importance.

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Candide, or Optimism, by Voltaire

Just as George Orwell’s Animal Farm is the best vaccine against communism, Voltaire’s Candide, or Optimism is the best vaccine against the risible contemporary notion of man’s self-reliance. “You can get what you want,” “The world is a projection of your interior,” “Thinking positive is the key to success,” and many other contemporary jargons are easily overthrown by Voltaire’s derision. And if we have today caveats as to the judgment of Leibniz’s philosophy made in Candide, due to the rediscovery of this philosopher already in the 19th century, Voltaire’s immortal work never loses its instructive value. In short, Voltaire places Candide in the front of human impotence when facing the environment, of the relentless human wickedness in all lands and the vile desire that commands our actions. And Candide, even finding earthly paradise after a scandalous succession of troubles, decides to leave it after judging that in this country he would be “like everyone else” and that he would not be in the company of his beloved — who, according to his judgment, should already have a lover; — showing us how man is a hostage to his own nature and his own ambition. We can draw from Candide, therefore, a list of lessons, among them, three very valuable in our time: humility before our possibilities, shame in the face of the ambition that dominates us, and reverence before the fate that plagues us.

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The Artist and the Coherence

I will say here what is an obviousness to me: an artist owes nothing for coherence.. If he thinks it is necessary, he has the freedom to throw it into space. And why do I say that? Because bores me seeing critics say about how incoherent an author is. For me it is very clear: when a philosopher or essayist sits and puts himself to write the goal is one: logic; the author will organize his arguments to expose his reasoning in the most clear and accurate way he can achieve. Not the artist. When an artist sits at the table the goal is another: it is to express the feeling with the greatest power possible, or to make the strongest impression on the reader. Different things. That’s why it is impossible to compare Aristotle and Fernando Pessoa. One does one thing, another does another. And the artist who sacrifices expression for coherence simply diminishes his art: defending ideas does not concern his work. On the verses of a giant:

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself;
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

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Alfred de Vigny: “La solitude est sainte”

“La solitude est sainte” — said, in the nineteenth century, the French romantic poet Alfred de Vigny. Today, I find it impossible to write a phrase like this; I mean, the stones would be the inevitable reception. In our time, everything is collective: men are hand in hand circling around the beautiful world they share. And if, for a moment, someone feels an impulse to seclusion, a need for loneliness, he should not make a fuss! Otherwise, he will be crushed as an insect, censored by anyone who has the displeasure of seeing his lack of social maturity. The loner is sick, not having in himself the sense of collectivity is to be inferior. Today, only the common good matters, and only to the common good should direct the efforts a sensible, modern and conscious human. Therefore, I consider myself to be a quadruped: I judge any kind of collective intelligence impossible and I have no sense of belonging in me. The human being, for me, only develops intellectually in silence and retreat. So I cannot be read, so I cannot even find a Vigny’s book in Portuguese on Amazon. This century is too spacious to provide accommodation for solitude..

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