THE DWARF

Author: Pär Lagerkvist
Year: 1995 (1944)
Publisher: Albert Bonniers Förlag
Language: Swedish 

“The greatest evil perpetrated is the evil committed by nobodies”. The poignant quote by the Jewish German philosopher Hannah Arendt serves as a chilling prelude to Swedish novelist and poet Pär Lagerkvist's penetrating exploration of the human psyche in his literary masterpiece “Dvärgen” (The Dwarf”). While Arendt referred to people who instead of acting as humans, choose to see themselves as cogs in a fictitious machinery that they imagine compels them to act in one way or another, Lagerkvist identifies misery, pettiness, and inferiority complex as the source of evil. From his vantage point as a non-Jew in the Nordic landscape, he delves into the heart of evil, meticulously dissecting its origins and manifestations as illuminated by the rise of Nazism and the tumultuous era that followed.

The plot is set in 15^th century Italy in one of the many small principalities which at the time is embroiled in a conflict with one if its neighbours. The narrative unfolds through the eyes of the titular dwarf who serves at the ruler’s court. The dwarf makes detailed notes in his diary about his observations of people and events around the court, and also about himself and his role, as he perceives it, in how matters unfold.

The dwarf is a notoriously unreliable narrator. Everything we read is filtered through his evil, petty, vindictive, and self-aggrandising mind. The text is rife with value indicators which describe his astonishment, contempt, disgust, and hatred. From his lowly perspective, we learn what the world looks like to a deficient, small, and insignificant individual who in his inability to be part of society learns to hate it and aims to destroy it.

We get to know different aspects of the dwarf through his relationships to other characters.

The only authority in his life, and the only person he honours and respects is the ruler. But the dwarf, of course, judges him and admires him from his own base perspective where concepts like honour, honesty, generosity, etc are unknown. In his powerless insignificance, he seeks to bask in the ruler’s glory by sticking close to him, and he maintains an inflated perception of his own usefulness to the ruler until the end of the novel as a way to associate himself with power. He admires the ruler the same way the weakest minds of our own time admire leaders in whom they mistake mendacity, connivery, and violence for strength. From their decumbent position, they are quite simply incapable of making the distinction.   

Another interesting character is Bernardo, who is clearly modelled on Leonardo da Vinci as a genius of art, science, and engineering. The dwarf understands neither him nor any of the things he does, but he hates him and fears him in equal measure. He is particularly upset when he is commanded by the ruler to undress so that Bernardo can study him. This symbolises the aversion that fascists worldwide feel toward art and science. The scene where the dwarf throws a tantrum when he is forced to undress and submit to scrutiny illustrates fascism’s reluctance to being studied by sociology, psychology, or history. He musters a glimmer of approval when he sees the efficiency of Bernardo’s war machines on the battlefield but that is all the value that he is capable of discerning in the work of the great master. The dwarf understands death and destruction but knowledge is beyond his grasp and he therefore considers it a threat.

Early on in his diary, the dwarf makes clear that his abhors and loathes the ruler’s wife on account of her sensuality and her love affair with the handsome and popular Don Riccardo. At times it appears as though the dwarf might deep down be in love with her himself but being, as he is, aware of his own inadequacy, he turns his desire into hatred and relishes in the mental and physical torture he is able to unleash upon her. The dwarf's transformation of desire into hatred and the ensuing sadistic torment mirrors the self-esteem issues prevalent in fascist ideologies, where scorn becomes the currency of interaction.

This pattern is magnified by his encounter with other dwarfs whom he also hates as an illustration of the self-hatred that the dwarf carries in his heart. This self-hatred is scantily masked by grandiose monologues about dwarves being a separate species of an ancient lineage predating humans and therefore superior to humans. A trope akin to the Nazi myth of Aryan supremacy in the 1930s.   

On a whole, the dwarf represents the swathes of failed and morally bankrupt individuals in our community who externalise their self-hatred onto others. It is the dwarf who supports Russia’s brutality in Ukraine. It is the dwarf who wants to dismantle democracy in the West and replace it with an order of autocracy and oppression. It is the dwarf who spews his vile hatred, execration, and bitterness on social media with the sole purpose of making others feel as bad as he is. It is the dwarf who, in his own inability to understand it, denounces art, science, and tolerance. It is the dwarf who rejects the rights of the LGBTQ-community. It is the dwarf who delights in the misfortunes of his compatriots while at the same time professing his dedication to the flag.

Lagerkvist implores us to identify the dwarf inside ourselves as well as around us, and to neutralise him before it is too late. He knew from experience what he was talking about. Let us learn from him lest we need to make the same experience ourselves.  

THE ANARCHIST BANKER & A VERY ORIGINAL DINNER

Author: Fernando Pessoa
Year: 1995 (1922)
Publisher: Bokförlaget Pontes
Language: Swedish (translators Lars Axelsson and Margareta Marin)

”There are no norms. All people are exceptions to a rule that does not exist” is one of Fernando Pessoa’s most famous quotes and one that comes to mind when one reads his philosophical story “Den anarkistiske bankiren" (“The Anarchist Banker”).

It is not so much a story as a philosophical argument thinly veiled behind a simple dinner conversation between two friends. The essence of the discourse unfolds when one of them asks the other, who is a successful and prosperous banker, about his alleged past as an anarchist. The banker not only confesses to his anarchist roots but proclaims his current self the epitome of an anarchist.  The rest of the story is simply the banker explaining how it is not only possible to be a successful trader in stocks and currencies while at the same time being a practicing anarchist, but moreover why it is necessary.

The provocation presented by Pessoa is the apparent contradiction that a banker, whose entire business relies on a system of interconnected institutions based on an exchange of commonly agreed tokens of value which in turn is supervised by an authoritative regulator and enforcer, could possibly serve as a representation of a true anarchist. Still, Pessoa makes a compelling albeit not entirely unproblematic case for his anarchist banker. During the conversation, the banker shares his evolution from a young idealist who embraced anarchism over socialism or syndicalism to the revelation that radical anarchism cannot coexist with a collective. Society itself is by its very design, un-anarchic.

Pessoa has his banker make many interesting claims. The basic point of departure is that the anarchist rejects all structures which he claims to be imaginary and manufactured. Structures, by their very definition are limiting and therefore oppressive. One of the first consequences of this realisation is that anarchism must be superior to other forms of revolution or reform such as socialism as the latter presupposes some sort of government and value system. Since governments and money are in themselves oppressive, no matter how benevolent, socialism appears to be merely a variant of the unequal society it claims to want to do away with. On its best day, it will simply replace one type of government with another, hence one type of oppression with another. This is also the reason he early on in his political career decided to leave the group of anarchists that he had joined as a teenager, as that group, too, soon showed signs of hierarchy. It led him to the conclusion that true anarchism can never be achieved in cooperation with others. Society, therefore, at its very core is anti-anarchic and the only true freedom is consequently offered by a state of nature.

By this argument, Pessoa positions himself in stark contrast to philosophers such as Thomas Hobbes (see review of April 2022) who made the point that the state of nature is the basest form of human existence waging perpetual all-on-all war and that society in general, and a strong government in particular, are necessary for human well-being. Not quite as radically, but still in conflict, Pessoa rejects Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s teachings. Rousseau claimed that society was a necessary consequence of human nature and not, as Hobbes argued, in contradiction to it, but for Pessoa this is not the breeding ground for the benign social contract that Rousseau proposed. Even natural collective structures such as wolfpacks and herds of cattle require hierarchies and must therefore be rejected as oppressive regimes. The true anarchist lives independent of every other living being and does neither force his will upon anyone nor accept anyone to impose their will on him. The only situation where a person could become an adversary to an anarchist is if that person attacks him and his liberties. Two anarchists can never be a threat to each other. Therefore, the drive to dominate others by employing the advantages provided by nature (such as a higher energy level or a higher intelligence) is a perversion of nature, not a direct consequence of nature.

The banker goes on to explain that institutions are the oppressors; not the people who man the institutions. He substantiates his point by saying that if you kill a number of bankers or judges or politicians you will have accomplished nothing to tear down the institutions. But if you dissolve the financial or legal or parliamentary system, you can remove the institution without harming one single individual. The banker thus scoffs at his former anarchist friends who run around planting bombs and attacking people. He himself decided to go after the institution itself. And what better way than to attack it from the inside. But not for the collective. After all, each anarchist fights his own fight. The banker’s aim was to free himself from the institutions. After having identified money as the most important one, he decided to accumulate enough money to become independent of it. That is why he went into banking and his vast success and growing personal wealth proved him right. He is financially independent and therefore, in his mind, the ultimate anarchist.

A simple analysis helps to identify several problems with Pessoa’s reading of the human nature and anarchism.

First, Pessoa let’s his banker argue that hierarchies, such as those he identified in his group of anarchists, are the result of acquired social behaviours and are not part of human nature. Thinkers before Pessoa have conversely argued that the will to power is the most essential driving force in the human being. Where there is a will, there is a power relationship. Pessoa here makes an unsubstantiated claim and builds his continued argument on it. If this claim is shown to be false, and if our species is indeed a herding animal that creates social structures like other herding animals, the rest of the banker’s argument is effectively nullified.

The second problem is the banker’s understanding of his own role in proliferating anarchism. The aim of anarchism, as commonly understood by Pessoa and others alike, is to tear down all structures of oppression, including the state and all systems of government and society, including the monetary system. The failure to do away with the economy as such is in fact one of the banker’s main objections to socialism. By participating in the capitalist system to make himself financially independent, the banker claims to have defeated money. However, by his very participation, he has reinforced the institution of finance and capitalism. The argument that the banker seems to put forth is that he is doing what everybody should do. If all people everywhere would go into finance to become billionaires, the monetary system would collapse and so would the entire capitalist society. However, looking at it this way, the same would happen if everyone decided to be a postman or barber, too, and hence there is no connection between the banker’s choice of arena for his resistance and his goals.

The term resistance brings me to a third problem with Pessoa’s philosophy. If we accept Michel Foucault’s claim that power is a dynamic and not a one-directional force, then resistance becomes part of the definition of power. By agency alone, every individual becomes a participant in an ongoing and ever-present power interaction. By choosing a particular area of society to act within, and becoming an active player on that arena, the banker by his mere resistance makes himself a tool for power. By participating in the stock markets, even by resisting the rules and governance of it, one reinforces it. As Foucault argues, regime change is just replacing one form of power structure by another. On this backdrop, a truer form of anarchism might be advocated by Etienne de la Boetie in his short book “Discourse on Voluntary Servitude” (see my review of July 2021) where he argues that the best form of resistance is not active counteraction to the ruler, but rather the refusal to act at all. After all, once the two friends have finished their dinner, someone has got to pay for it.  

I largely omitted the second text in this small volume, “A Very Original Dinner”, which is one of Pessoa’s early works from when he was still a teenager and wrote in English. This is a very unremarkable story obviously inspired by Edgar Alan Poe, and although well-written and partly entertaining, it is not nearly as interesting as I am beginning to understand most of Pessoa's later output to be. 

In conclusion, Pessoa's thought-provoking discussion challenges preconceived notions of anarchy, society, and resistance. While not without its logical problems, his narrative invites readers to delve into the complexities of these topics, ultimately enriching their understanding of the enigmatic world of government and society. Exploring Pessoa's work was a delight, offering an unexpected literary journey, and an opportunity to become acquainted with Portugal's foremost writer since the days of Luis de Camões.