"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.”
"An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools."
Ernest Hemingway.
July 2 was the day that finally brought Ernest Hemingway rest after illness, suffering, after a life full of sharp sensations and extreme trials, in which there was no shortage of knowledge and hedonistic pleasures. Hemingway was sick a lot - anthrax, pneumonia, malaria, skin cancer, hepatitis, diabetes. He survived two plane crashes, had a ruptured kidney and spleen, a skull base fracture, and electroshock treatment. On the other hand, he was never a promoter of a healthy lifestyle...
He drank a liter of rum a day, seasoned it with whiskey, and did not count the wine glasses at all, because perhaps he was no longer able to count them, as well as the endless victories on the love front. He did not avoid real war either. Later he skillfully used all these experiences in his works.
Until a certain time, it seemed that fate deliberately left Hemingway alive so that someone on high could watch all his risky battles. However, the time finally came when the writer, as if not finding death in the surrounding ways, took the direct initiative. He left relatively young, but, living so intensively, one year can be counted as three.
He left not only immortal works, but also a colorful biography, which also became a work of art and is read with no less interest. He is still loved and remembered to this day, and probably will not be forgotten for a long time.
Sometimes I read how other people condemn his drink. People who have not achieved anything in life most condemn him. Some people do not understand that such literature is not created on paper that smells like roses, it is not born from urbanism and correct life, it is created after great suffering, losses and trials, it grows out of ruins, from a burning heart.
It is not for nothing that it is said: "Through suffering to the stars", and many talented creators "burn out" and end their lives like dying stars. But even after many years, we still see the light of dead stars,and it illuminates the path of our life. And it is also beautifully said: "When leaving, leave the light behind." The great creator knew this.
If we were to judge the work of talented creators or even geniuses solely on the basis of their habits, vices, addictions, phobias and vicissitudes of their personal lives, we could with a clear conscience throw a large part of the classics overboard.
The question: did he create something noteworthy because he used to drink, or - despite the fact that he used it? I would lean towards the latter version. Sober or drunk, he was still different from us.
And those subtle ones will always feel everything differently, sharper and more painful, but also more correct. And only such people can show us all the colors of the world, all its tragedy and infinite beauty.
If a person lives only a light life, if he is only a city dweller, a user of life, if he does not see any drama, he does not feel, no matter how ironic it sounds, not only his own pain, but also others, if he cannot pass through other people's experiences or acutely feel his own, if he does not experience any shock, no catharsis, if he is not visited by an illusory but very shocking devastation, than he creates shallowly, banally, boringly, according to a scheme or formula, there is neither talent nor heart in such creations. Then maybe artificial intelligence is better, because - what's the difference...
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