I’m trying to get back into things. I only have eight more installments of the "Why I Really Write" epic series left. All of them laughably bad.
Imagine a library.
It contains the greatest works of Western literature, from the Bible to Shakespeare to the present day. There are volumes from some of the planet’s greatest philosophers — from Plato to Nietzsche, Aristotle to Hegel. The library also has a compendium of LPs featuring music by Beethoven, Bach, Schubert, Mozart, Chopin, Brahms, and Wagner. On the walls hang reproductions of da Vinci, Rembrandt, and Monet, among others.
Now imagine a group of men who partake of this library’s treasures. They read the books, listen to the music, and study the paintings. They discuss with each other the meaning of these works of art, what each writer or musician or painter was trying to say, and what their work reveals about human nature.
They take all of these discussions very seriously, as it represents one of their few opportunities for leisure.
So I ask you, as Mr. Wicklund, my high school AP English teacher, asked our class 25 years ago, does all this reading and listening and studying and thinking make these people better human beings? Are they more evolved? More sophisticated or smarter? Think hard before you answer, my teacher warned us. This place actually existed.
We might have been 18 and stupid, but my classmates and I were smart enough to know that it was a trick question. And it’s a good thing we didn’t answer. This library, our teacher told us, was for the commanding officers at Auschwitz.
I don’t know if the Auschwitz library actually existed, but Mr. Wicklund’s aim certainly hit the mark. I’ve been semi-obsessed with the place ever since, as it turns on its head the very idea of civilized society.
Library or not, there were certainly Nazis who were well read, who were musicians, artists, and philosophers. How could people partake of great art and debate the nature of humanity while committing one of the most barbarous acts in the history of humanity? Talking about dialectical materialism and the Brandenburg Concertos as human carcasses burned. As Eisenhower said when his troops liberated Dachau, it beggars explanation.
You can make a straightforward argument of actions trumping thoughts, but remember, the Nazis had developed philosophical rationalizations for their actions.
I’m not mentally equipped to get too far in depth about this (I’m just not PhD. material, boys and girls) but the fact that supposedly evolved people can be animals permeates my thinking. It makes me want to write about them.
And if I don’t write about monsters disguised as college-educated aesthetes, I can’t stop creating characters who are not what they seem, who hide behind facades, who justify their actions with rococo rationalizations.
Does living the literary life make one a better person? Think hard before you answer.
This is what makes human beings so fascinating to me. Writing about people like this would take a lot of courage. This makes me think of all literary characters that we instinctively recoil from but at the same time want to understand.
“…but remember, the Nazis had developed philosophical rationalizations for their actions.” But an American gave them eugenics.
I like what you say about writing about monsters in erudite clothing. Those are meaty, interesting characters to create. I’m rather in love with good-but-evil and evil-but-good characters, those which you cannot quite pin down with a white or black hat label.
I didn’t want to project, but I knew I had a reason to be nervous when I first saw that old-style sign in German and the rest of the post bared that out. Well said, Book.
sounds like i wrote that, of course with aout the slang and curse words, not to mention my ap eng teachers wasnt like that
“Does living the literary life make one a better person? ”
Broader maybe. Better - often not. Interesting post.
I guess it’s how you live your literary life that matters.
It’s one thing to be a good editor or writer, but totally another to be a good person.
It’s a fascinating question. Alas, all the great art and literature in the world won’t guarantee the shaping of a great heart. Why don’t you come over, bring a bottle of wine, don’t forget to invite Mr. Wicklund, and we’ll dig into it. I love discussions like this.
This entry gives me chills. I have no answer to the question. Your response is incredible: to write about people like this. All I know is that’s something I’d want to read.