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.