Self-awareness: A Personal Autobiography of Thoughts

Author: (Russian) Nikolai Berdyaev
Translator: Lei Yongsheng
Author Country: Russia
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2001-01-01
Features: This book records the author's unrelenting exploration during his exile, imprisonment, and forced emigration, serving as a spiritual history of a generation of Russian intellectuals. From his liberal and individualistic interpretation of Christianity, we can see the process of a strong subjective personality overcoming obstacles, dilemmas, and disasters. This serves as a perfect reflection for Chinese intellectuals busy urging others to repent. (Recommended by Southern Weekly - Smelling the Fragrance of Books!)
Excerpt: The Imprint of Thought and Soul Russian philosopher Nikolai Berdyaev experienced a life of upheaval, and his ideas were as (twisting and perilous) as his experiences. In his later years, Berdyaev decided to write a spiritual autobiography to describe his "intellectual history." He refused to string together life events into a trivial memoir. Meticulously embellishing trivial details unrelated to the human soul would undoubtedly be vulgar self-congratulation. Life facts could be pieced together through so-called recollections, while reviewing one's intellectual journey was itself an act of intellectual construction. A philosopher's thoughts, though contradictory, possess inherent coherence. Truth flickers like mist in the storms of history. Berdyaev found his spiritual path dark and obscured, often shrouded in misery, not only stemming from real-world hardships but also from metaphysical self-awareness. In real life, there are too many lies and too much opportunism—people look around, shift with the wind, and think themselves clever, only to bring ruin upon themselves. According to the tolerant, the self-preservation of the individual is inadmissible. Under the weight of history, do small individuals have an obligation to accept the kiss of suffering? It is a question without an answer. The reasons of the survivors are countless, while the devoted martyrs advance without hesitation. Each era has its own victims; if no one stands up to bear the suffering, that era is beyond salvation. Berdyaev, who had been imprisoned four times, believed he would end his life in exile. This was not mere despair, for he did not consider himself a political figure. As a philosopher, he was destined to wander. The hardships of life were of no help to thought and writing, but for Berdyaev, external blows could not shatter the rules of his inner life. To some extent, Berdyaev deliberately widened the distance between these two lives. A person who cannot fit into the shallow secular world would not care about life's gains and losses. Berdyaev, born into the aristocracy, inherited the volatile and irritable spiritual legacy of his family, which doomed him to remain silent in the face of real-world limitations and institutional flaws. As a natural rebel, Berdyaev was destined to be a byproduct of the existing system. He strove to sever his ties with the surrounding environment, solely to fulfill his intellectual passions and defend his innate freedom. Like many deeply troubled thinkers, Berdyaev's intellectual journey also began with betraying his own family. His aversion to the aristocratic society not only strengthened his demand for justice and sympathetic revolution but also made him a "repentant aristocrat" turning against his own class. In essence, Berdyaev was a true spiritual aristocrat, with almost no pursuit of material interests. All his efforts were to maintain his spiritual purity. His aesthetic standards were extremely harsh, and the imperfect reality could no longer satisfy his imagination, so he adopted an attitude of life-aversion. This was not an escape, nor a search for transcendence. He engaged with life in this way to avoid falling into the traps of daily existence, to break free from self-concealment, and to reveal a cold, hard reality. Berdyaev's sense of isolation stemmed from his stubborn nature as well as his hysterical pursuit of spiritual freedom. Beneath his indifference lay a fervent concern for human destiny. His nerves were delicate, yet his emotions were profound. He said, "I am easily moved by life's tragedies." The lonely yet sincere Berdyaev could even weep over the death of a dog named Tom. Clearly, he was not a person indifferent to life. A thinker's personality often manifests through many small spiritual events. A person without empathy could not agonize over the future of humanity. In this hard and aging secular world, opposing "individuality" with "collectivity" is like striking an egg against a stone. Since childhood, Berdyaev had tried to isolate himself, (excluding himself from the crowd), and (alienating himself from society), but suffering found no cracks to enter. A fallen world cannot tolerate a solitary individual—their incompatibility is deep-rooted. Berdyaev spoke of freedom with melancholy. In the repetitive, monotonous, and limited daily life, the light of freedom obscured people's vision like mist. He realized: "Freedom is difficult; it is a heavy burden." The desire to attain freedom would bring endless troubles and disasters. I believe that beneath invisible pressure, some people force themselves to lose their thoughts and become slaves. Forgetting freedom and learning not to be angry also requires a painful process. Some who originally fought for freedom often returned after a circle, becoming their own opposites, precisely because they abandoned the truth midway. Most of the enlightenment thinkers during China's May Fourth period took this path. They knew how important freedom was to life, but they doubted whether they had an obligation to suffer for such a vague concept. After the passion cooled, it turned into a kind of aged wisdom. Berdyaev firmly believed that "everyone owes a responsibility to everyone," while some Chinese enlightenment thinkers thought, "It's better not to say anything." Indeed, when it comes to freedom, it is inevitable to "say it's useless." It is destined to be a desperate game, helplessly watching from the edge of hell. Lu Xun sought salvation in "salvation without hope," while more people sank into despair without hope. Lu Xun, even in despair, did not compromise—such a "tough bone" cannot be counted as an exception in the history of Chinese thought. The May Fourth period can be called the youth of Chinese culture, but its early demise also left grounds for the vicious onlookers. After May Fourth, a few bold "young thinkers" emerged in China, but their appearance only stirred a slight ripple in the still water. Some, apart from staining a few blades of blood, left no other mark. For the same reason, why did few Chinese intellectuals retain that fierce spirit? (), we lack the religious spirit in Russian thought, and no one is willing to nail themselves to a scorching hot iron for no reason. Even more frightening is that a group of focused onlookers gathered around the suffering, savoring the "human blood bun" with relish, and feeling quite guilt-free. During Berdyaev's exile in Paris, he received letters from a "strange woman" for ten consecutive years. Her wisdom and care made Berdyaev feel "more consensus" and "more love." This shows that Berdyaev's loneliness was not unheard. Special spiritual exchanges gave him the courage to face vulgarity. However, the Chinese "torchbearers" found it difficult to receive strong spiritual support. These are two entirely different kinds of loneliness. In Russia's spiritual world, an invisible force supports the untimely thinkers, while in China, there are only arrows from nowhere. This is not just about understanding and sympathy. Idealism also needs air and soil. The crowd that watches thinkers suffer and tries to share in the glory is beyond salvation. They are nameless killers.