Solitude of all kinds is a crime.
F.Nietzsche
“I wish this trial would never end...”. said the atheist journalist character in the play (Monkey Trial). In early 20th century, in an American town, a high school teacher who was teaching the Evolution Theory of Charles Darwin, was seen as challenging the holy book and therefore the State laws and he was being tried in court for this crime. The trial attracted the attention of the entire country and the journalist was wishing that this trial would never end both because of his professional concerns and because of his spiritual beliefs leading to a perception of the trial as a comedy. However, as every judicial case, this trial also came to an end, the defendant teacher was found guilty but the public opinion had grasped one truth thanks to his lawyer: The freedom of the human brain to think and the right of man to think erroneously was holier than the holybooks. Although the teacher was found guilty, the judge, fearing the reaction of the public opinion, gave a minimum sentence to the defendant. The lawyer had taught the society the lesson to be learnt from this trial. This lawyer who seemed to be sitting in the lap of rationalism also was a believer. At the end of the play, as he was leaving the courtroom, he placed the Bible and the Origin of Species side by side into his suitcase. He had defended this case, not because he believed in the truthfulness of Darwinism or in the wrongfulness of the Bible, but because he believed in the human brain. As he was leaving the courtroom as such, we had already begun applauding the play.
And my question : “Will I not be able to see a decent theatre play in Istanbul this year?” was thus answered. I was very happy thinking about the limited number of plays that left a trace within me. And then I remembered these few plays that left a trace. Of course, some trace must have been left for me from this play as well. There were a few sentences echoing inside my mind but one of them stood out and was continuously wandering inside my mind. “ I hope this trial would never end..." Ah, said I to myself, ah my dear journalist brother. If you had taken a look at world history, if you were able to project the future by looking at the references of the society and of the century in which you live today, you would not be laying out this sentence. Because you would know that this is a case that is not only judicial, but it is a trial of humanity and therefore it would last until humankind can truly be human. Because we have not been creatures that are fit for the identity we call human, this trial has not ended till now and if I can be so farsighted as to make projections for the future by looking at the references of the society and the century in which I live today, I can tell you that it is not likely to end in the near future. The room in which the trial takes place is not a courtroom but the world stage.
Another interesting trace left from the play was a dilemma which most people fall into: a dilemma of belief and knowledge. Maybe I should say the contrast of materialism and idealism. If I should speak on my own behalf, idealism was never close to my heart. Although I might be OK in accepting the presence of an entity that I would believe in and that is called "God" by several religions, this entity I have in mind is beyond the concept of God introduced to us by religions. I have always been very very reserved about the phenomenon of religion: I believe we would be able to do much better things on this world if it were not for the religions and that the world would be a much better and peaceful place without religions. I think this opinion of mine has been reinforced by Turan Dursun, most books of whom I have read. As for the materialist philosophy, which I have read and thought extensively about some time ago, it has disappointed me by basing so many things on randomness, because of the importance I attributed to the word "scientific", although I cannot refuse the integrity of the theory within itself. I think I would be one of those "agnostics" who are often humiliated and ridiculed by the historical materialists. To be frank, I cannot care less, it does not bother me. I think I am playing the lawyer in the play. While doing so, I am more interested in the question " Where are we?" than the questions "Where do we come from?" and "Where are we headed?". This question of "Where are we?" embraces the other two questions anyway. Because if we are here now, we are obviously coming from some place and as I do not believe that we have reached the end of history as some suggest, it is definite that we are headed some place. What matters is where we are now in this trial? If we can see where we are, we can more easily perceive where we come from and where we are headed to and end up in integrity.
And as these thoughts traveled through my mind, a more personal idea was caught on the fishhook of my mind. To know where exactly we stand on the scale of the concept of humanity in the world, it is probably a point so far away that I will not be able to grasp today with my current accumulation of knowledge of the world. But where do I stand in my life on the scale of being human? Where do I come from? Where am I headed? Where am I? The reason I am here today is my yesterday and it is my today which will guide me into my tomorrow. So what should I include in my present tense, in today so that I can reach to the tomorrow I wish for?
Of course, here my concern is not the problem of grasping existentialism, it is how I grasp my own life. This is not to say that I refute the philosophical aspects of such ontological thinking and cast them aside. It is just that from time to time, it is more vital for one to know where he personally stands in life, how one feels herself rather than knowing the story of her physical and spiritual existence on this earth. And how one perceives, how one feels herself in life gains the utmost importance.
Therefore what I want to talk about tonight are actually not existentialist dilemmas, contrasts of religion vs. reason and the humanity trials they give birth to. However as they are the ones that have motivated me to write what I am about to write right now, I started by referring to them and I have molded my thoughts up to here. And I wanted to share these because I have been thinking for a long time: if Nietzsche was a judge and if I were the accused in his courtroom, he would find me guilty of a crime I did not want to behold, of a solitude that I wish I did not have. And this is where I am in life, this is how I perceive myself: Alone/lonely. At this point I sit down and think more carefully: What should I include in my present so that I can reach to the tomorrow I wish for?
A while ago, in an essay I wrote, I had likened life to a painting. Everyone has a painting and everyone draws and paints their own picture. Yet one must not ignore the terrific interaction among the paintings and the painters. We may be the leading painter on our own paintings but every painting does not only have a single painter, no painting is the work of a single painter. As you draw your own painting, others, consciously or not, are working on your painting and as the others deal with their own paintings, you - consciously or not- are adding a few brush strokes to their paintings.
I think we should categorize these external painters who take part in our paintings, who work on them, into two groups. In the first category, there are those who are the people around, "entourage" in a sense. Mostly we are bored of their existence and they paint on our paintings without our permission or will. I think when Sartre said "The hell is other people" (Huis Clos), they were the ones he had on his mind. In the second category, there are those who took the brush and drew significant lines and figures, painted beautiful colors to our paintings in various stages of our lives. Some have exited from our lives completely, some are still in our lives and sometimes they drop by to draw and paint more.
Actually it is very complex because the ones who intervene into our paintings as a first category painters can show their influence as second category painters in some other people's paintings. Or when we draw hell for some people, we might be drawing significant lines to the paintings of some other people.
I am quite lucky when it comes to the first category painters because my brush and my technique are stronger than theirs therefore I never let them draw figures of hell in my painting. My painting did not turn into a heaven because to be able to draw and paint the heaven, it is the influence of the second category painters that count. Well it did not turn into heaven, but it turned out to be life, just like life is supposed to be. Ironically I have been both fortunate and unfortunate when it came to putting the design of heaven into my painting, I am referring to the second category painters here. I have been unfortunate because, these second category painters have not been very helpful to me for drawing and painting the heaven. Still, each one drew beautiful lines on my canvas, painted colors of life and most important of all, what they could not draw and paint, I learnt to draw and paint by myself.
Maybe it is just a cold consolation to say that I have undertaken their mission and have become an excellent life painter as these second category painters I found were not very good artists. But I believe the ones who profited the most from this situation are those whose paintings I work on as a second category painter. Because as much as I have drawn and painted beautiful things to my own painting, I believe I have also painted beautiful stuff on other people's paintings. Yet, being obliged to draw and paint the heaven designs of my own painting by myself, I am committing the crime of solitude.
Ok, so what is heaven in my painting? A life where sharing brings productivity, thus a life which moves, which improves, evolves and rejuvenates. I have always shared with myself, I have always produced on my own, I evolved on my own. All these lines I wrote, all these melodies I murmured, all these figures I drew and the steps I have taken are a result of me sharing with myself. I think that is the reason why my birth certificate and me, we are no longer at the same age.
While I was doing the drawings of my life, I was not alone in the sense of absence of people, there have always been many people around me. Many people I live the external world with, many people that I truly like. But "the opposite of solitude is not togetherness, it is mutual affinity, friendliness and sensibility, comprehension" [1] My solitude is a result of not being able to find this affinity and sensibility. I cannot share what is inside me and I cannot produce what is inside me with the people around me, that is to say the thoughts on my mind and the feelings of my heart. Because no one is that close to me and those who have come close do not have that affinity and sensibility. Or they get scared easily when I ask for closeness. My brush and my technique are very strong so I can take care of myself but then I never give a chance to those brushholders if I am not convinced that they are not at least as strong as my brush.
But I am fed up. Of course it is not easy for those who see me from the outside, seeing me, who is pattering incessantly in joy among many people, to diagnose the disease of loneliness. And I believe that those who cannot diagnose cannot heal. Therefore it is only in front of those who make me believe that they can give the correct diagnosis and heal that I open my wound. Because I know those ones are those who are stricken from the same trouble, the same pain, this is why they were able to understand me, and therefore I believe those people who expect the same from each other can heal each other.
It is not that I did not look for such people for the longest time. I looked for them but it did not happen. I do not aim perfection in this search, I know what is perfect is just the ideas, experiences are just their projections. Plato says : a carpenter does not build the table because he knows the table, he has the idea of a table in his mind and he takes this idea and turns it into reality. As he builds more and more tables, he comes closer to the idea in his mind, but he can never build this exact table he has in his mind. I have the idea of what is perfect so I can get closer to this ideal in time. I do not offer perfection, I only offer the best that I have in my hands. Nor am I expecting what is perfect but I believe there are certain things in life that are minimum level but that are so vital and I believe it is my right to expect them: I think I deserve these things: to be loved, to be understood and to be given permission to love and to understand. In this world where it is still a matter of defense whether or not humans have a right for wrong thoughts, who will grant me this very personal right? Of course, only time will tell.
I had said: What should I include in my present, in my today so that I can reach the tomorrow I wish for? I should include, the opposite of solitude, this mutual affinity and sensibility, comprehension and intimacy to my present day. I should mutually love and be loved, understand and be understood in this affinity and comprehension. I should share and produce with people in this kind of an interaction, whatever it is that I share and produce. Because the tomorrow I want is the tomorrow where I can be an individual that deserves, that is fit, to be called a human. Solitude does not make you human. Who can claim that a person who is alone is human or what good is it that he is human if he is all alone? And a philosopher thinks he is guilty.
While I was in this continuous effort, what I encountered was always the "Desert Signalers". [2].
“ The desert fog
that hides us from the gazes
heavy fog
the relationships were covering distance
in a passageless solitude
During these times of a love
the visible and invisible obstacles
replace one another.
caravans loaded with silk show up first, the first days
that is to say the hopes, the dreams will come
and will materialize
those things you have kept bottled up until then.
but the caravans come and go,
and then you are left with the deserts. "
Every time I read this poem, it hurts another piece of me, each line is cutting like a knife, cutting deep and making me bleed. Well is there any knife as sharp as those which have been sharpened by reality? Thank God in the following lines of the poem it is said:
“.... somewhere in the world
someone who writes the poem of the same signals
one day comes, leaves the poem aside and looks at the desert.”
Of course, the one would look, of course, but I hope he not only looks but also sees the oasis in this desert.
************************
The stories are only experienced by those who can narrate them.
The same, maybe the experiences present themselves only to those who can live them.
Paul Auster ( Locked Room)
MISS EVLIYA CELEBI
BEŞİKTAŞ, November 9, 1995
[1] Richard Bach[2] The poet of this poem is Murathan Mungan, the name of the poem is Desert Signalers.
