A Legacy of Losers

Hungarian Writer Miklós Vámos (b, 1950)

I am currently reading Miklós Vámos’s The Book of Fathers (2000), in Hungarian: Apák Könve. In the notes at the end of the novel, I found this anecdote, which I couldn’t help but share with you. It summarizes more than half a millennium of Hungarian history.

One well-known fact is that Hungary and the Hungarians have lost every important war and revolution since the time of the Renaissance king Matthias Corvinus. He occupied Vienna and became Prince of Austria. He died in 1490. Since then, the nation and its heroes can be found only on the losing side.

A famous, if hoary, joke is instructive.

A Hungarian enters a small shop in New York and wants to buy a hat. But he doesn’t have enough dollars on him, so he asks if he could pay in forints, the Hungarian currency.

“I’ve never seen any forints,” the owner of the shop says. “Show me some.”

“Who’s this guy here?” asks the owner.

“This is Sándor Petöfi, the brightest star of Hungarian poetry. He lived in the nineteenth century. He was one of the March Youth who launched the 1848-49 War of Independence. He was killed in the Battle of Segesvár when the war was crushed by the Austrians and the Russians.”

“Oh my God, what an awful story … And who is this guy on the twenty forint bill?”

“This is György Dózsa, who led in peasant uprising in the sixteenth century. It was crushed and he was executed—actually, he was burned on a throne of fire—”

“OK, OK. And who is that on the fifty?”

“That’s Ferenc Rákóczi II, leader of another war of independence, crushed by the Habsburgs. He was forced to spend his life in exile in Turkey.”

“I should have guessed. And on the one hundred?”

“That’s Lajos Kossuth, leader of the 1848-49 War of Independence, you know. After it was crushed, he had to flee—”

The owner stops him again. “OK, you poor man, just go—you can have the hat for free.”

(Note: these banknotes are no longer in circulation, owing to the ravages of inflation.)

Winning

I have never been one of those smiley-faced individuals who always have to be on the winning side. It’s even got me into trouble when I was a Director of Corporate Communications for a computer software company. I always saw things from both sides, unlike those corporate marionettes who advertise “ask your doctor” pharmaceuticals on television.

It’s probably due to my Hungarian ancestry. Hungary was on one of the two main invasion paths from Asia into Europe (the other being Poland). I have perhaps an ancestral memory that pretending to have happy thoughts will not prevent Attila and Genghis Khan from their accustomed pattern of rapine, looting, and murder.

Winning is nice when it happens, but it’s not a permanent condition. After all, we all will eventually sicken and die. If you live long enough, your skin will resemble the craters of the moon; and your days will be accompanied by bouts of pain and even suffering. Oh, and you can forget right off about drawing admiring glances from hot young women. Unless you pay them well.

So if your days, like mine, are a strange mix of winning and losing, you can find some fleeting happiness in small pleasures. In my retirement years, I feel gratified in not having to spend 40+ hours a week dancing to the tune of some megalomaniacal boss, of which I have had several. I read books; I cook; I do chess problems; I travel when I can. Maybe that’s as close to winning as one can get in this life.

Crônicas: Part of the Game

Brazilian Writer Hélio Pellegrino

Yes, I am still reading Clarice Lispector’s Too Much of Life: The Complete Crônicas, which runs to almost 800 pages. Tody, I am quoting a writer that Lispector in turn quotes in her Jornal do Brasil column for September 4, 1971, namely Hélio Pellegrino:

Living—ah, that difficult delight. Living is a game, a risk. Whoever plays can win or lose. The beginning of wisdom consists in accepting that losing is also part of the game. When that happens, we gain something extremely precious: we gain the possibility of winning. If I know how to lose, then I know how to win. If I don’t know how to lose, I win nothing, and I will always go away empty-handed. The eyes of someone who doesn’t know how to lose eventually grow rusty and blind, blind with resentment. When we come to accept with true and deep humility the rules of the existential game, living becomes more than good: it becomes fascinating. To live well is to consume oneself; it is to burn the coals of time from which we are made. We are made up of time, and this means we are a passing thing, movement without respite, finitude. The quota of eternity allotted to us is embedded in time. We need to search it out with ceaseless courage so that the taste of gold may shine upon our lips. If this happens, then we are joyful and good, and our life has meaning.