To the happy few

Or think of a decent young citizen in a toga – perhaps too much dice, you know – coming out here in the train of some prefect, or tax-gatherer, or trader even, to mend his fortunes. Land in a swamp, march through the woods, and in some inland post feel the savagery, the utter savagery, had closed round him–all that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of wild men. There’s no initiation either into such mysteries. He has to live in the midst of the incomprehensible, which is also detestable. And it has a fascination, too, that goes to work upon him. The fascination of the abomination – you know, imagine the growing regrets, the longing to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate.”

— Joseph Conrad, in Heart of Darkness

They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force – nothing to boast of, when you have it, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others. They grabbed what they could get for the sake of what was to be got. It was just robbery with violence, aggravated murder on a great scale, and men going at it blind – as is very proper for those who tackle a darkness. The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much. What redeems it is the idea only. An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental pretence but an idea; and an unselfish belief in the idea – something you can set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice to . . .”

— Joseph Conrad, in Heart of Darkness

I appreciate the distinction between a “sentimental pretence” and an idea, but this is why ideologies, unselfish and pure as they may be, are dangerous. I do not believe the purity of an idea rescues the one who imposes it on others, as, for instance, the spirit of the law redeems the lawyer who defends evil.

The day was ending in a serenity of still and exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky, without a speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the Essex marsh was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds.

— Joseph Conrad in Heart of Darkness

“And this also,” said Marlow suddenly, “has been one of the dark places of the earth.”

[Yes, every place has been one of the darkest, lighted only by the imagination of the child who explores it in his dreams, studying a map. Likewise, the deepest recesses of the soul pose the most challenging questions and frightening possibilities; until light is shed upon them, revealing the harmless nature of it all.]

“I was thinking of very old times, when the Romans first came here, nineteen hundred years ago–the other day. . . . Light came out of this river since–you say Knights? Yes; but it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker–may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling! But darkness was here yesterday. Imagine the feelings of a commander of a fine–what d’ye call ’em?–trireme in the Mediterranean, ordered suddenly to the north; run overland across the Gauls in a hurry; put in charge of one of these craft the legionaries–a wonderful lot of handy men they must have been, too–used to build, apparently by the hundred, in a month or two, if we may believe what we read. Imagine him here–the very end of the world, a sea the colour of lead, a sky the colour of smoke, a kind of ship about as rigid as a concertina– and going up this river with stores, or orders, or what you like. Sand-banks, marshes, forests, savages,–precious little to eat fit for a civilized man, nothing but Thames water to drink. No Falernian wine here, no going ashore. Here and there a military camp lost in a wilderness, like a needle in a bundle of hay–cold, fog, tempests, disease, exile, and death–death skulking in the air, in the water, in the bush. They must have been dying like flies here.

— Joseph Conrad, in Heart of Darkness

He was a seaman, but he was a wanderer, too, while most seamen lead, if one may so express it, a sedentary life. Their minds are of the stay-at-home order, and their home is always with them–the ship; and so is their country–the sea.

— Joseph Conrad, in Heart of Darkness

“I don’t want to bother you much with what happened to me personally,” he began, showing in this remark the weakness of many tellers of tales who seem so often unaware of what their audience would like best to hear;

— Joseph Conrad, in Heart of Darkness

Once, I remember, we came upon a man-of-war anchored off the coast. There wasn’t even a shed there, and she was shelling the bush. It appears the French had one of their wars going on thereabouts. Her ensign dropped limp like a rag; the muzzles of the long six-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull; the greasy, slimy swell swung her up lazily and let her down, swaying her thin masts. In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, firing into a continent. Pop, would go one of the six-inch guns; a small flame would dart and vanish, a little white smoke would disappear, a tiny projectile would give a feeble screech – and nothing happened. Nothing could happen. There was a touch of insanity in the proceeding, a sense of lugubrious drollery in the sight; and it was not dissipated by somebody on board assuring me earnestly there was a camp of natives–he called them enemies! – hidden out of sight somewhere.

— Joseph Conrad, in Heart of Darkness

* William Shakespeare

Surpreende-me por vezes perceber que gosto de toda a gente. Em parte por uma ideia análoga à de Legolas, no Senhor dos Anéis: não temo as sombras dos homens, pois sei que são frágeis e indefesas. Por outro lado, sou sensível ao argumento de Adriano, no livro de Marguerite Yourcenar; acontece vermos apenas o mal nas pessoas que nos rodeiam, em vez de extrair as qualidades de cada um.

Comecei a ler ontem um livro, Heart of Darkness, de Conrad, que talvez me faça compreender os limites desta forma de pensar. Settembrini também dizia que a tolerância se torna um crime quando devotada ao mal.

* Shakespeare

O afecto da humanidade nunca deixa de me maravilhar. Ver pessoas que gostam umas das outras, e as suas manifestações de amor e carinho. Ideias simples atingem-nos sempre com mais força. A ideia contrária, igualmente engraçada, foi expressa por Quino numa das suas tiras. A Mafalda estava numa praia apinhada de gente e olhava à volta. De repente disse: “Tem piada. Vendo toda esta gente aqui parece que ninguém tem culpa de nada”. Brilhante.

* Shakespeare

Joachim Ziemssen, na Montanha Mágica, dizia que o que interessa é saber se um indivíduo é decente, e não as ideias que defende. Concordava com essa ideia, quando era mais novo, pensando que se as pessoas forem boas qualquer sistema é bom, e que se forem más tornam corrupto o sistema mais bem intencionado. Jean Monnet convenceu-me do contrário, explicando a importância das instituições, e o seu papel de preservação da experiência humana.

Por vezes discute-se a moralidade dos advogados, quando defendem criminosos; será que eles devem seguir o seu juízo moral ou a lei? É uma questão ética complexa, e certamente que a resposta não será a mesma em todos os casos, mas por princípio inclino-me para a segunda hipótese. Os criminosos são defendidos com base numa filosofia de presunção de inocência, pressupondo que o ónus da prova cabe ao acusador. Mesmo quando o advogado sabe, ou desconfia, da culpabilidade do seu cliente, está ainda a preservar o espírito da lei.