Bernhard and Foster Wallace, young masters

What makes a story unforgettable? Can books change lives? If not, can a speech delivered at the appropriate moment? Isn’t that supposed to happen when people turn up to worship centres, such as a church or a temple? I have no answers, but there are some books and speeches that serve as roadmaps for life or, at least, for the way we think what we believe.  

In this regard, some novels have been written as if the author just wanted to fit in them a line. The story created around them seems an excuse to introduce a phrase that resembles an aphorism or a partial truth; however, that doesn’t mean that the tale is disposable or mere nonsense.  This was said once by the Spanish writer, Enrique Vila-Matas, with reference to a novel by Robert Walser which I just simply cannot remember at this moment. Maybe it was The Robber or Jakob Von Gunten, or perhaps it was his whole novelistic work, who knows…  But I do remember one novel that fits with Vila-Mata's description: Old Masters: A comedy by Thomas Bernhard. 

 

On the other hand, if one thinks about it neatly, every good novel revolves around an idea that can be summarized in one line or two at most. But without the story, they would not be as persuasive and, hence, credible. The case of Vila-Mata's assertion is the other way round: the writer creates a tale to justify the introduction of the line, which not necessarily depicts the novel. And both could remain persuasive even if they were written separately. So what is the point of writing a whole story? Perhaps it’s just the way the writer’s brain works or, even more plainly, it’s done for publishing purposes as it is far more likely that an editor will publish a story than only a line.

 

With regards to the example suggested, Old Masters is a short novel based in a long dialogue narrated as a monologue, interrupted at times with memories and images from the past and future. The dialogue is held at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, located in Viena, where Reger, an old music critic, turns up every day to observe the White-Bearded Man by the Italian renaissance painter Tintoretto. Reger is very fond of spending the whole day there, sitting on a bench, observing. One day, Atzbacher, a curious visitor, finds the odd man staring at the Tintoretto’s painting. With cleverness, he manages to start a conversation with him, which will prolong for two days. The content of the dialogue is narrated by Atzbacher and that becomes the story of the comedy.

Overall, the situation seems boring for a novel and if someone suggested me to read that, I would dismiss it as a stupid board that will only waste my time. However, Reger reveals himself as a great conversationalist with wise thoughts but, moreover, with a sharp sense of humour that makes the reader follow the dialogue until the end. 

And the line that seemed to justify the purpose of writing about a conversation is this one:

The things we think and the things we say, believing that we are competent and yet we are not, that is the comedy, and when we ask how is it all to continue? That is the tragedy.

Throughout Atzbacher’s monologue, the reader is informed that Reger lost his wife and, in consequence, found no reason to continue living. He then explains what made him go on and how he coped with the tragedy. Surprisingly, the visits to the museum played an essential part to overcome his sadness. In a few words, this is what Reger discovered from his loneliness:

…Only with people and among people do we stand a chance of carrying on without going insane (…) Without people we have not the slightest hope of survival, Reger said, no matter how many great minds and old masters we have taken on as companions, they do not replace a human being.

 

After the loss of the one true love −I interpret− friends (and not books, for example) help us survive and avoid the desire to ‘send everything to hell.’ Some people will argue that friendship is a loose bond as conflict generates inevitably between people and, over time, the camaraderie is gone.  ‘Friends come and go’, states wisely the popular saying. This view will advocate faith as the most important value that provides meaning to life and, therefore, assists soundly when facing the hardships encountered throughout the existence. 

Bernhard was an atheist so it is reasonable that he does not appeal to a divine entity in his argument, which is like saying: the answers (if there are, indeed) lie within this world rather than with some supernatural being; in God, for instance. It is somewhat obvious, from a simplistic perspective, that faith links with a religion and a set of behavioural patterns set by their respective God. In this respect, there are different religions and, hence, people have varied alternatives when deciding what to belief. But what about the people who decide to believe in nothing? 

Faith, in the end, is a matter of personal choice, of freedom, argues the American writer David Foster Wallace in This is Water, one of the best speeches ever pronounced. Moreover, there is no such thing as atheism, he adds. In one way or another, people always worship. The question, for him, is not ‘to worship’, but ‘what to worship’:

Everybody worships (…) and an outstanding reason for choosing some sort of God or spiritual-type thing to worship (…) is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things –if they are where you tap real meaning in life− then you will never have enough.

Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age starts showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you (…) Worship power –you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart –you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on.   

 

What people worship is decided unconsciously, following the ‘default-settings’ they have internalized in their brains throughout their lives. The easiest thing is to react according to these settings, which avoid thinking or making a choice. For Foster Wallace this is not freedom as people are slaves to their desires or presumptions. To him, real freedom involves:

Attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day (…) The alternative is unconsciousness, the “rat race” –the constant gnawing sense of having had and lost some infinite thing.  

 

The American novelist failed to follow his views on what to worship as he hanged himself. But this fact does not invalidate his lucid thoughts towards life and how to live it. In my opinion, they still serve as a road map for how we decide what to believe in but, more importantly, for questioning our reality and the meanings behind our assumptions. 

After all, Wallace suggests, how we live depends on our choices, which are the essence of freedom. Having faith, he will add, is the only way to avoid being eaten alive. For Bernhard −who has a gloomy perspective− freedom is tragic and, hence, these decisions will end up in a tragedy but, nonetheless, we are not alone and by sharing our tragedies with others we are able to grasp their comical nature.  To put it simpler and drawing on a cliche: ‘don’t take life too seriously’ as you are not the absolute centre of the universe (and this, by the way, is also argued in Wallace’s speech). 

Pachyderm

“The mind is an excellent servant but a terrible master” - a line created by  popular wisdom.

I have to admit that this post was written with the purpose to justify the inclusion of some quotes from Foster Wallace’s quintessential speech This is Water.