"'There is no man, he began, 'however wise, who has not at some period of his youth said things, or lived a life, the memory of which is so unpleasant to him that he would gladly expunge it. And yet he ought not entirely to regret it, because he cannot be certain that he has indeed become a wise man - so far as it is possible for any of us to be wise - unless he has passed through all the fatuous or unwholesome incarnations by which that ultimate stage must be preceded. I know that there are young people, the sons and grandsons of distinguished men, whose masters have instilled into them nobility of mind and moral refinement from their schooldays. They may perhaps have nothing to retract from their past lives; they could publish a signed account of everything they have ever said or done; but they are poor creatures, feeble descendants of doctrinaires, and their wisdom is negative and sterile. We do not receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness which no one else can make for us, which no one can spare us, for our wisdom is the point of view from which we come at last to regard the world. The lives that you admire, the attitudes that seem noble to you, have not been shaped by a paterfamilias or a schoolmaster, they have sprung from very different beginnings, having been influenced by everything evil or commonplace that prevailed round about them. They represent a struggle and a victory. I can see that the picture of what we were at an earlier stage may not be recognisable and cannot, certainly, be pleasing to contemplate in later life. But we must not repudiate it, for it is a proof that we have really lived, that it is in accordance with the laws of life and of the mind that we have, from the common elements of life, of studios, of artistic groups - assuming one is a painter - extracting something that transcends them.'"
Marcel Proust, Within a Budding Grove, pp. 923-924
Here the painter Elstir shares just about the most valuable information that anyone can ever share. During a conversation Proust has just discovered that Elstir was actually the "ridiculous perverted painter who had at one time been adopted by the Verdunins" and who they always referred to as M. Biche. Elstir is clearly annoyed by this discovery, and while a lesser man would have taken the opportunity to brush the younger man off and never see him again, the more experienced painter, "like the master that he was," approaches it more philosophically and takes the opportunity to share some wisdom.
I don't know if I can agree with Elstir (and Proust) more. Life has to be lived, it can't be taught, and the living is often remarkably messy. Previously I've shared one of my core beliefs, which I first articulated in one of those unpleasant father-son talks, that despite our hope that life will be dominated by beauty and grace, it is actually nothing but a string of remarkably graceless moments. Life then is how you handle those graceless moments; essentially, how you react to them, how you stand up and dust yourself off, and how you make things right with the people you love and who depend upon you. It seems to me that Proust is saying, obviously much more eloquently, something similar. You can be taught certain key guidelines, and these are valuable and you should make every effort to pursue them, but the rules alone will avail you little. You can, theoretically, live such a defined narrow existence, "but they are poor creatures, feeble descendants of doctrinaires, and their wisdom is negative and sterile." Rather, the richness of life comes from living it, and that's never going to be neat and tidy. Mistakes will be made, feelings will be hurt, heart will be broken, and crimes (hopefully small ones) will be committed. "We do not receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness which no one else can make for us, which no one can spare us, for our wisdom is the point of view from which we come at last to regard the world." Only then can we in turn share anything of value with the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment