I am reading a book called Letters to Olga, a collection of letters that Václav Havel wrote to his wife while he was a political prisoner. It is very good - and a testament to Havel. The prison authorities insisted he avoid all sorts of topics when writing his letters, they used up most of his time and energy in forced hard labour - and yet in spare moments he managed to produce letters that are full of intelligence and wisdom.
This morning I read the letter Havel wrote on October 24, 1981. In it Havel muses on what happens to a person when they start to question the value of things they once held in high regard. Although what he is describing is different, the mental state he describes such a person finding themselves in reminded me of how I felt as a teenager when I first read Camus's L'Étranger and then moved on to postmodernist literary theory - or was it deconstructivism? - finally disappearing down the dead end alley where one grappled with questions such as whether Flaubert's aim was to paint a neutral picture of his character Madame Bovary, while unconsciously pushing his readers to see her in a bad light via his unwitting choice of adjectives that are weighted against her, or whether he actually judged her and deliberately set out to make the reader dislike her too; is his text a conscious manipulation of the reader or did a bias slip in while he thought he was being objective and neutral? Via that weird form of hair-splitting, where the focus becomes not meaning but intention, madness lies.
Havel describes very well what happens to you then, when you have drained all meaning from something precious:
'The moment one first thinks of asking "so what?" of an event once felt to be supremely meaningful, an exceedingly important experience, one proper only to man, is germinated, though we may scarcely notice it: the experience of absurdity. This "so what?" question has a special infectiousness or power to expand. As soon as you admit it in a single case, it can easily be raised again in a thousand other cases. As soon as doubt is cast on a single, hitherto indisputable value in life, there is no more reason not to cast doubt on everything. At the end of all this doubting, however, there can only be the dispiriting impression that everything is hopelessly senseless, trivial, empty, and futile. Suddenly life seems no more than a game, an imitation, a mock-up of itself. It seems that no matter how much things resemble what they present themselves as, in reality they are not that at all. Speech becomes sounds that only sound like speech. Creation becomes a set of functions that only look like creation. Love or human community becomes an empty sequence of habitual functions, gestures, and phrases about love and human community. Life manifests itself as mere vegetating. Gone is the feeling of truth, authenticity, and ultimately reality. They are all reduced to shadows and apparitions, dead outlines, forms without content, the mechanics of convention and routine. The last "islands of meaningfulness" have sunk irrevocably beneath the ocean of Nothingness. In this existential state of mind "meaning" is present only by virtue of its total absence. It becomes that which man desperately lacks, what he thirsts after, and whose absence he painfully suffers.'
This also led me back to a podcast I heard recently in which Theodore Dalrymple was asked what was a thing he believed strongly when younger but about which he has now changed his mind. Dalrymple nominated his late found recognition of the importance of the ceremonial aspects of life and a new willingness to accept odd conventions that earlier had seemed to him illogical and absurd.
In a way, I think all this is a way of saying that without a certain awe in the face of life's essential mystery - what Havel in the same letter refers to as "the darkest and most distressing mystery" - existence loses depth. As he says in another letter from that October, "The temptation of Nothingness is enormous and omnipresent, and it has more and more to rest its case on, more to appeal to."



