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Life in a Proustian Perspective, an essay by Brandon Owens, student at the Gonzaga University in Florence
An essay by Brandon Owens for the Studies in Fiction. course at the Gonzaga in Florence program, professor Gabriela Dragnea Horvath, on his formative experience in Florence and the guiding role of fiction, illustrated by Alain de Botton's internationally famous book How Proust Can Change Your Life.
How Proust Can Change Your Life by Alain de Botton, gives an incredible amount of insight into the life and work of Marcel Proust. Proust is one of the most influential and interesting writers to date, and his outlook on things makes him seem almost more of a happiness philosopher than a dedicated writer of novels. À la Recherche du Temps Perdu, or in English, In Search of Lost Time is his best known and largest work. It is a semi-autobiographical novel consisting of seven volumes, three of which were published after his death. The insight into life that can be gained from Proust is presented brilliantly in How Proust Can Change Your Life, and to me, there is much to be gained both from Proust’s thoughts and Alain de Botton’s interpretation.
Proust had an interesting background, which lead to an interesting perspective on life. He was born into a wealthy family in France towards the end of the nineteenth century. His father and older brother were both doctors, proud and somewhat stereotypical men of that sort: strong, brave, etc. while Marcel was “weaker” in this sense. He was bedridden much of his life, never had to work for a living, and seemed to spend much of his time in misery, never developing true long lasting friendships that he deemed worthy of anything, and greatly favored his mother, staying close to her for his (or her) entire life. He was infatuated with his mother in an abnormal way, and she had the same deep concern and favoritism for him over her other son. According to Proust, his mother was happier when he was sick and she felt needed by her son, “‘The truth is that as soon as I am better, because the life which makes me get better annoys you, you ruin everything until I am ill again’”(53).
As sick as he was, he was also a sort of hypochondriac, and the cycle of his unhealthy life was complicated because he refused to do anything to make himself better. He seemed content in his misery in this way, but still had enough energy to make it out occasionally to social events, parties, dinners, etc. and managed to enchant his friends in the process. De Botton puts several “friendship reviews,” if you will, regarding Proust’s friends’ view of him. “‘Marcel was passionately interested in his friends. Never have I seen less egoism, or egotism….He wanted to amuse you. He was happy to see others laughing and he laughed.’ Georges de Lauris”(107).
Proust was always cold, wore several layers when he went out (and kept them on once he arrived) and was described by his friends as “delicate.” Overall, I think that physically delicate is a great way to describe him. Mentally, he’s unbelievably perceptive. The insight that he provides (filtered and deciphered by Alain de Botton) rings true in many aspects of my own life, and understanding his background and point of view are interesting to me when I think about what he wants to convey to his readers and what kind of a man he was (even if he thinks a writer’s background is irrelevant and meaningless in regards to the writings produced by a writer). He was a homosexual, or at the very least sexually confused, and this added another element to his life and to his writing. In many stereotypical ways, he fits the description of what a gay man is “usually” (again stereotypes) like. He favored his mother, was a extravagant and flamboyant in many ways, loved to entertain friends at dinner parties, had several female friends (non of which were seriously romantically interested in him), and was much more delicate and fragile than other men (especially than those in his family), not following in the footsteps of his elders but instead opting for a less physical and more reserved lifestyle. All factors combined, the result is an incredibly experienced person, at least mentally if not physically. In my opinion, this diverse, simultaneously blessed (financially) and cursed (physically) background helped form Proust’s outlook and gave him the insight he had into things, even if they were things he rarely or never experienced.
After reading How Proust Can Change Your Life, it seems that Proust writes as much a philosophy of life as he does a novel. He of course doesn’t present his thoughts as obviously as Alain de Botton makes it seem, and without having read Proust personally, I can only give an account that will be naturally skewed by the essay that I read by de Botton.
The first thing de Botton addresses in his essay is “How to Love Life Today.” It refers to a short article Proust wrote about our motivations in life. He writes about how we are often unmotivated to do things in life, and that having inevitable ends in sight motivates us the most. The typical end-of-the-world scenario comes up, presenting the question; if we only had one day/week/whatever to live, how would we spend it? Proust suggests that the threat of death would contribute to the creation of great occurrences in our lives. We would then be motivated to appreciate our lives more, to seek beauty in everything, and to do things that we never “got the chance” (or in direct terms, never got around to) doing. For example, it is my last week in Florence. I have been scrambling to make a list of all the things that I still “need” to do here, in order to leave “satisfied” (I put these things in quotes because for me it is impossible to ever be “done” here in this sense). This is of course motivated because the end to my semester abroad is very much a visible reality at this point, and I’m now trying to make the most of my time left. The regret of not traveling to more places is already setting in, even though I know that I would never be completely satisfied with all the things I saw on any given trip. There is always more to discover.
When I first arrived in Florence, I made an effort to appreciate things, to take in all of the details, to make sure I was soaking everything in. I was able to easily see the beauty in every part of this city, and every once in a while, it still really hits me. In general, however, my sensitivity to the city’s beauty dulled as time went on, and only now, on the home stretch, am I starting to walk down the street with my head proudly up, looking around and absorbing the city.
What Proust wants to point out is that we should live life daily in this way, trying to see everything we feel like we should every day instead of waiting for our last week, in this case. This is because as humans we are vulnerable to potential death at any moment, and can never be one hundred percent sure that we will live for one more instant. This should be an eternal motivator, our feebleness as creatures should in some way make us worry, if you will, so that we try to maximize each moment in life. Of course, we do not, and we often sit idly by and let life slide past.
This relates to Proust’s idea that we don’t appreciate things until we are “forced to” by life, in a way, as discussed in “How to Suffer Successfully.” To quote de Botton,
“Though we can of course use our minds without being in pain, Proust’s suggestion is that we become properly inquisitive only when distressed. We suffer, therefore we think, and we do so because thinking helps us to place pain in context. It helps us to understand its origins, plot its dimensions, and reconcile ourselves to its presence.”(66)
This seems to be an obvious concept, but it is a very important one. If we are never sick, then we don’t have any context to put health in. If we are never tired, then we cannot fully appreciate it what it means to be refreshed after a relaxing nap. It is this balance of comforts and pains that create our reference points for life. Sickness prompts healing; headaches prompt development of pain pills.
On a similar note, Proust favors knowledge gained by experience (through trial and error, or pain, if you will) over knowledge “given” in a sense, by a teacher. I’ve read about Italy before, and I’ve seen pictures and recreations of the David and of the Sistine Chapel. I’ve heard stories about being in Europe and about traveling and about the Italian culture. However, without experiencing it, going through the trials involved in the traveling experience, I would still be absolutely clueless about what Florence and Italy are. Extending from this, the pain of departure from this place, caused by me missing my freshly made friends, newly appreciated teachers, and overall realization that I might never stand in front of David again, will hopefully grant me the mental motivation to truly appreciate the opportunity I have been given. Ideally, soon after I get home I will stop envying my comrades who are staying for the whole school year, look back, and smile about the things I did and the people I met. Even as I write this, there is a distinct pain in my heart and overwhelming feeling in my head of loss and regret for not staying longer. For Proust, pain, especially emotional pain, is one of the greatest motivators for us to analyze our lives and figure out what is important to us. “A woman whom we need and who makes us suffer elicits from us a whole gamut of feelings far more profound and more vital than does a man of genius who interests us.”(68) Florence, Europe, my friends, teachers, and the act of traveling itself compile my “woman,” and leaving her will cause much suffering. I will undoubtedly miss the experiences I have had here more than I will the art, because the experiences are more rooted in my heart.
Luckily, I am able to appreciate things about this travel experience that Proust helped me realize. In “How to Open Your Eyes” de Botton tells of Proust’s appreciation for the simple works of Chardin, and of his quaint appearing paintings. This whole trip, I’ve been trying to appreciate the beautiful subtleties of wherever I go. In Auschwitz, I thought about the trees, what has happened in their life in that camp, what sort of atrocities occurred while they silently grew. I couldn’t help but think how many people had stepped exactly where I did inside the Pantheon, or what sort of statuses they held. How many people have sketched the David? How many photos have been snuck inside the Sistine Chapel? I’ve taken a picture of the ground almost everywhere I’ve been, so I can remember what it was really like, walking on the earth, being there in that moment, in a place where thousands or millions of others have stood, each with a different life path and a different view of their surroundings.
I’ll miss the small things. I’ll miss scooters, roads with ridiculous potholes, smelly sidewalks, terribly executed road work, constant horns, sirens, or other noises, coffee at a bar, latte being just milk, ciaos, seras, and giornos, alloras, va benes, le pizze, and most of all, gli italiani. Instead of viewing myself as over-sentimental, I can view myself as Proustian, living things one day at a time, and taking a reflective look at things so I am capable of appreciating them all for what they are. It will be agonizing to leave, but as has been reinforced through reading about Proust, this whole experience will give me the medium and the stimulation to learn from my time in Europe and grow as a person into someone who values things on a whole new level.
In the picture: the Gonzaga University in Florence
Written by: Brandon Owens
Lifestyle, Arts and Entertainment - a8.03.21.14.27
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