Detalj iz pisma Zvonka Bušića: Smrt nikada ne bi smjela od čovjeka napraviti kukavicu, jer časni završetak jedna je i jedina stvar koju je nemoguće oduzeti čovjeku

Dijaspora.hr objavljuje posljednji od 33 dijela iz knjige Zvonka Bušića “Zdravo oko”. U poglavlju pod naslovom “Smrt” pročitat ćete sjećanja Julienne Eden Bušić, Zvonkove supruge…

Smrt

„Godinama pokušavam sačuvati koliko mogu od svoje duše, tako da, kad umrem, ljudi znaju koliko sam i ja volio i osjećao život, promatrao i dodirivao more, tlo, ženu; i da shvate da nisam bio životinja ili kamen, nego čovjek tople krvi i nezasitne duše”, citat Nikosa Kazantzakisa u Zvonkovim rukom pisanim bilješkama.

Na svijetu
umirati
nije teško.
Stvoriti
život
daleko je teže.

Vladimir Majakovski

Moje drago serce! Nimaj se žalostiti zverhu ovoga moga pisma niti burkati. Polag Božjega dokončanja sutra o desete ore budu mene glavu sekli… Zato jemljem ja sada po ovom listu i od tebe jedan vekovečni valete, tebe proseći ako sam te u čem zbantuval aliti se u čem zameril oprosti mi. Ja se ufam u Boga vsamogućega da se tulikajše mene hoće smiluvati, i ja ga budem molil i prosil (komu sutra dojti ufam se) da se mi naukupa pred njegovem svetom thronušem u dike vekovečne sastanemo.

Iz oproštajnog pisma bana Petra Zrinskog supruzi Katarini, 1671.

Da moram načiniti popis tema o kojima smo Zvonko i ja najviše razgovarali, smrt bi bila među prvima na popisu. U godinama robije, Zvonko tu temu nije mogao izbjeći i kao osoba sklona razmišljanju, gutanju knjiga i netko tko je svakodnevno suočen s mogućnošću da će biti ubijen umrijeti često se znao zateći kako razmišlja o smrti. O smrti je razmišljala i njegova obitelj, ali ne kao o apstraktnoj temi. Mi smo se pitali hoće li on imati psihičke i fizičke snage da preživi.

Davne 1997. godine, napisao mi je: „Svi moji prijatelji, a posebno ti i Zdravka, uvijek kažete kako je meni lako jer sam tako snažan, ali nitko nikad ne pita odakle ta snaga dolazi. Moram ti nešto priznati. Bio sam snažan, ali više nisam. Znaš, prije no što je Hrvatska postala neovisna država, smatrao sam se svojevrsnim simbolom. Čak i da sam morao umrijeti u zatvoru, i nadalje bih bio simbol, svjetionik drugima koji su se izgubili, a koji će jednoga dana biti pozvani braniti svoju domovinu. Stoga sam se morao pomiriti sa sobom i svojom Sudbinom, i nikad nisam razmišljao o smrti i bio frustriran.

Često sam bio tužan, ali istodobno snažan, snažniji no ikad. Osjećao sam se kao čovjek koji posve sam putuje pustinjom. Pustinja je nepregledna i nepoznata, ali ja ne očajavam, mirno nastavljam svojim putem, osnažen uvjerenjem da me negdje onkraj obzora na kraju ipak čeka važna Sudbina. Kada je Hrvatska postala neovisna, situacija se promijenila. Moja žrtva više ništa nije predstavljala. Još uvijek sam bio svojevrsni svjetionik, ali takav kojemu je svjetlo ugašeno jer su ratnici i mornari već pronašli svoj put i vratili se kući.

Iskreno ti kažem, da nije bilo tebe, moje rodbine i nekoliko starih prijatelja, ne znam kako bih preživio posljednjih šest godina, ne znam bih li mogao. Uistinu, ti si bila moj glavni razlog i ujedno moj najveći problem, jednostavno te nisam mogao razočarati, izdati, ostaviti moju dragu samu. Bilo je toliko mnogo dana kad bih samome sebi rekao moraš izdržati, moraš izdržati, jednostavno moraš. Mislim da sam to sad prebrodio, ali priznajem, posljednje dvije godine uzele su strašan danak mojoj duši. U svakom slučaju, što god da se dogodi, ne brini zbog mene. Čini se da sam se najzad naviknuo nositi ovaj teški križ”.

Tada mu je, kako je napisao u svojim bilješkama, bilo malo lakše sve izdržati jer ga je tadašnji veleposlanik uvjerio da „uskoro ide kući”. Dani, tjedni i mjeseci nastavili su se vući. I na kraju je doista došao kući, taj se dio pokazao točnim, ali ne „uskoro”, nego bolnih i mučnih 11 godina kasnije. Jedanaest godina!

Kako mi je Zvonko često znao reći, nema većeg mučenja od neizvjesnosti. Njegovoj psihi i tijelu „ne“ bi bilo neizmjerno lakše od ovog strašnog „možda“; lakše bi podnio da je bio odbijen, da mu je rečeno da su sva nastojanja propala. „Ne” primorava um da se prilagodi novoj stvarnosti, a život se nužno preslaguje kako bi prihvatio tu tešku istinu. Čovjek barem zna na čemu je. Stalna obećanja i uvjeravanja u skorašnje oslobođenje, „sljedeći tjedan, sljedeći mjesec, najkasnije sljedeće godine”, najokrutnija su zamisliva mentalna kazna, mnogo gora od sudske kazne koja mu je izrečena, mnogo gora od zatvora i bila je dovoljna mrvica zdravog razuma da se to shvati. No gospodin Veleposlanik to nije shvaćao, premda je doktor psihologije. Doktor psihologije! Oh, beskorisnih li titula!

Negdje u isto to vrijeme, Zvonko je svom rođaku Tihomiru napisao: „Moja životna priča nije baš lijepa, ni ugodna kao što su izmišljene priče, i u njoj je bilo dosta gluposti i nereda, ludosti i snova, kao što ih ima u životima svih ljudi koji ne zavaravaju sami sebe. Za me su život i smrt dvije strane iste medalje. Jedna drugu isključuju, ali i ovise jedna o drugoj, jedna drugu pobjeđuju, jedna drugu nasljeđuju i tako obje putuju kroz vječnost – kao nepomirljivi neprijatelji i nerazdvojivi prijatelji.

Zato smrt nikada ne bi smjela od čovjeka napraviti kukavicu, jer časni završetak jedna je i jedina stvar koju je nemoguće oduzeti čovjeku (s velikim č). Zato nam je naš veliki pjesnik i poručio ‘Čovječe, pazi da ne ideš malen ispod zvijezda’. I zato znaj da ću kao čovjek izdržati, pa taman se i sama Nebesa budu rušila”.

U pismu napisanom godinu dana kasnije, ponovno se vraća na tu temu. Međutim, sad se u njegovim riječima osjeća prizvuk očaja jer je doznao da je njegova molba za uvjetni otpust odbijena: „Tješim Julie da ne očajava, jer ipak, glavna bitka još nije izgubljena i još nije odsviran konac boja. Srazmjerno težini razočaranja, meni svaka izjalovljena nada odnekud donese svježu snagu koja me čini još jačim i još postojanijim. Tako je i ovaj put, ne ćutim nikakvu paniku, naprotiv.

Ipak, večeras nemam mira ni spokoja. Muče me pitanja na koja ne znam odgovore. Dugo i duboko razmišljam, o mojoj osamljenoj udovici i tužnim roditeljima, o mojoj prošlosti i o tome što mi je i koliko još ostalo od života. Smrt mi je već nekoliko puta bila vrlo blizu, sudbina me nije bez razloga spašavala. Zato sam joj zahvalan i spreman sam na još teže izazove, s istom hrabrošću i daleko jasnijim vidicima.

Ipak, zazivam Boga u pomoć, da me iz robije izbavi dok sam još živ i zdrav, i da mi ispuni dvije velike želje: da se povratim domovini i da umrem na slobodi”.

Ovim je mislima dodao nešto što je danas, nakon svega što se dogodilo, osobito dirljivo: “Dvadesetpetogodišnji Sergej Jesenjin napisao je svoju posljednju pjesmu nedugo prije što su ga ubili Trockijevi dželati: Do viđenja dragi, do viđenja; ti mi prijatelju, jednom bješe sve. Urečen rastanak bez našeg htijenja obećava i sastanak, zar ne? Do viđenja dragi, bez ruke, bez slova, nemoj da ti bol obrve povije – umrijeti nije ništa na ovome svijetu nova, al ni živjeti baš nije novije.

Ako i meni bude dosuđen tragični rastanak, i sam bih mogao napisati nešto u tom smislu: “Zbogom prijatelju moj, draga ženo zbogom, meni ne bješe suđeno živ se vratiti u domovinu, da se s Tobom nagledam zalazaka sunca i čudesnih zvijezda, i da se našetamo divnim stazama moje mladosti i tvoje starosti”.

Posljednje dvije godine robije, kada mu je nezakonito uskraćeno oslobođenje nakon odsluženja maksimalne kazne od 30 godina, Zvonko je bio suočen s mogućnošću, dapače vjerojatnošću da će umrijeti u zatvoru, nikad više ne vidjevši svoju obitelj, prijatelje i domovinu. Zaključio je da ga Amerikanci nikad neće pustiti, kad su već otišli tako daleko da prekrše zakon samo kako bi ga zadržali u zatvoru duže od maksimalne kazne.

Tad se posvetio pronalaženju nadahnuća, pa čak i utjehe, u toj mogućnosti. Nakon što je pušten iz zatvora, mnogo je puta u intervjuima rekao da je u konačnici „zahvalan” što su ga u zatvoru zadržali dvije godine duže od maksimalne kazne, jer je u te dvije posljednje godine robije otkrio nekoliko novih filozofa koji su mu dali odgovore na neka od pitanja koja su ga najviše mučila.

Jedan od tih filozofa bio je John Cottingham i njegova Duhovna dimenzija: vjera, filozofija i ljudske vrijednosti, a drugi Pierre Hadot, sa svojim već spomenutim djelima Filozofija kao način života i Izidin veo. Zahvaljujući spoznajama i nadahnuću koje je dobio iz njihovih knjiga, uspio se pomiriti s mišlju da će umrijeti u zatvoru i čak joj se radovati na neki neobičan način. Meni je bilo teško pomiriti se s time, veoma teško.

Ali Zvonko se u svakom našem telefonskom razgovoru, bez obzira koliko on bio kratak, u svakom pismu i svakom posjetu uvijek vraćao na Smrt i kako se čovjek mora pripremiti za nju. Platon je, rekao mi je, sjajno nazvao filozofiju „pripremom za smrt”. O tome se raspravlja u Fedonu, dok se Sokrat priprema umrijeti. U tom dijalogu, iznosi se iznenađujuća tvrdnja da je Smrt pravome filozofu blagoslov, jer tijelo ometa potragu za mudrošću. Zašto je to tako? Kao prvo zato što tijelo ima mnogo različitih želja i sklonosti koje zahtijevaju da budu zadovoljene i time osujećuju traganje za mudrošću. Kako čovjek može težiti mudrosti kad je gladan, ili ga boli glava, ili mu se spava?

Osjetila također skreću čovjekovu pozornost. Pjev ptica, na primjer, odvlači pozornost od dubokog poniranja u misli, kao i mjesec koji se pomalja na nebu, tako miran i spokojan. A kad tijelo propadne i razboli se, potraga za mudrošću neminovno usporava ili posve prestaje. Stoga filozofski život podrazumijeva pokušaj oslobođenja (duše) od tijela, pa je stoga filozofski život priprema za smrt! Kad se Zvonko vratio kući, bilo mi je teško stalno razgovarati o Smrti, o tome kako starimo, kako nam nije ostalo još mnogo godina života, kako moramo dovesti svoje stvari u red (duhovne, ne materijalne), i preostalu snagu upotrijebiti da bismo pridonijeli koliko možemo. Ujedno je, što je veoma važno, stalno ponavljao da nema potrebe bojati se smrti.

U posebno teškim trenucima, Zvonko bi čak rekao da bi možda bilo bolje da je umro u zatvoru. Kako bi to moglo biti bolje?, upitala bih. Iz mnogo razloga, odgovorio bi. Ljude bi to podsjetilo da je umrijeti za ideale časno i ponekad neizbježno, dapače potrebno. Možda je bilo i drugih razloga, takvih koji se odnose na bit života. Je li život puniji i smisleniji u zatvoru ili na „slobodi”?

Zanimljivo je da mi je još 1988. godine poslao Okladu, kratku priču Antona Čehova, koja ga se duboko dojmila i na neki neobičan način predskazala što budućnost donosi. Nedavno sam ju pronašla među pismima koja mi je poslao. Ukratko, priča teče ovako: Na jednoj večeri raspravlja se o tome je li doživotni zatvor bolji od smrtne kazne. Bankar smatra da je „smrtna kazna a priori moralnija i humanija od doživotne robije. Smrtna kazna čovjeka ubije odjednom, a doživotna ga tamnica polako ubija. Koji je krvnik humaniji, onaj koji te ubije u nekoliko minuta, ili onaj koji iz tebe godinama cijedi život?”

Odvjetnik nije istoga mišljenja i kaže da bi on radije živio, bez obzira kako. Bankar mu na to kaže da će mu ako doista misli tako, platiti dva milijuna rublji ostane li pet godina u samici. Odvjetnik odgovori da će u samici ostati ne pet, nego 15 godina! Njih dvojica se klade i mladi odvjetnik ode u izolaciju.

Kako vrijeme prolazi, a čini se da će odvjetnik izdržati, bankar, koji je na rubu bankrota, odluči ubiti odvjetnika kako ne bi morao platiti okladu. Ušulja se u njegovu sobu i pronađe pismo koje je odvjetnik napisao, a u kojemu kaže da ne želi slobodu, da se ne želi vratiti u svijet: „Petnaest godina pozorno proučavam zemaljski život. Istina je da nisam vidio ni ljude ni zemlju, ali u vašim sam knjigama pio mirisno vino, pjevao pjesme, lovio jelene i veprove u šumama, volio žene. Ljepotice eterične poput oblaka, stvorene magijom vaših pjesnika i genija, posjećivale su me noću i na uho mi šaptale divne priče od kojih mi se mozak uskovitlao. U vašim knjigama, popeo sam se na vrh Elburza i Mont Blanca, i odatle gledao kako izlazi sunce i uvečer preplavljuje nebo, more i vrhove planina zlatom i grimizom. Gledao sam kako munje praskaju iznad moje glave i paraju olujne oblake. Vidio sam zelene šume, polja, rijeke, jezera, gradove. Čuo sam pjev sirena i zvuke pastirskih frula, dodirnuo sam krila ljepuškastih vragova koji su doletjeli razgovarati sa mnom o Bogu. U vašim knjigama, bacio sam se u bezdan, izvodio čuda, ubijao, palio gradove, propovijedao nove vjere, osvajao cijela kraljevstva”.

Nakon svog razmišljanja, stotina, tisuća knjiga koje je pročitao i godina provedenih u posvemašnjoj samoći, odvjetnik je zaključio da je ljudski rod izgubio svoju svrhu i krenuo pogrešnim putem: „Laži uzimate za istinu, a rugobu za ljepotu. Bili biste oduševljeni da iz nekog neobičnog razloga žabe i gušteri najednom počnu rasti na stablima jabuka i naranči umjesto voća, ili da ruže počnu mirisati kao znojni konji; zato se ja čudim vama koji ste zemlju zamijenili za raj. Ne želim vas razumjeti”.

Nije li upravo to i Zvonko zatekao nakon što je pušten iz zatvora? Laži umjesto istine, rugobu umjesto ljepote? Izopačenost koja prolazi za vrlinu? Kad se dogodi nešto nezamislivo, tražimo znakove, u pričama, u rukom pisanim bilješkama, u ponekim nehajno (doista nehajno?) izgovorenim riječima.

Je li ova priča označavala početak Zvonkova laganog zakoračivanja prema jednom drukčijem „životu”, životu koji se ne može naći na zemlji, nego samo na nebesima? Naši razgovori o mogućnosti da će on umrijeti u zatvoru isprva su me uznemiravali, ali nakon nekog vremena počela sam shvaćati da se i ja moram pomiriti s tom mogućnošću jer bi se to doista moglo dogoditi. Mnoge njegove zabilješke na tu temu pomogle su mi da se podsjetim pojedinosti naših razgovora o tome što Život jest ili bi trebao biti: „Svakog će čovjeka njegova starost pitati što je od trajnije vrijednosti u životu postigao i kakva djela i tragove iza sebe ostavlja. A možda je još važnije pitanje kako će i koliko biti pripravan u posljednjim i vrlo dugim trenucima ovozemaljskoga života pogledati u oči svojoj tjelesnoj smrti. A što ako je ovozemaljski život sa svim svojim iskušenjima i stupicama ustvari jedinstvena prilika za treniranje i školovanje duše i uma da bi se u trenutku smrti lakše rastavili od tijela?

Jer doista, vječnost nas tada neće pitati jesmo li na zemlji bili bogataši ili siromasi, niti nju to zanima, jer vječnost razlikuje samo one koji umiru očajni i beznadni, koji su pali na svim životnim ispitima pa će ili morati ponavljati pod (možda) težim okolnostima, i one koji mirno i spokojno ostavljaju uspješno završenu ovozemaljsku školu i svečano odlaze u više razrede vječnosti”.

Ovom duboko filozofskom mišlju hrabrio me u jednom od svojih pisama iz zatvora. No, nedavno sam pronašla njegov intervju koji je dao jednim hrvatskim dnevnim novinama prije otprilike dvije godine, a u kojem sam tek sada iščitala njegovu misao kojom kao da mi pokušava otkriti svoju duboku čežnju za stapanjem s vječnošću, u njemu tako karakterističnoj ideji sebedarja: „Da, smatram se sretnim čovjekom. Kao što već rekoh, zahvalan sam Bogu i sudbini za sve što sam doživio i preživio. U životu su me vodile dvije snažne strasti: želja za slobodom, a kako sam rođen kao Hrvat, to je bila hrvatska sloboda, i želja za spoznajom.

Po naravi sam uz to nemiran, pustolovan duh, pa mi je Hrvatska zapravo dobro došla, ona mi je pružila dostojan razlog za borbu i životnu pustolovinu. To je kao da se netko, po prirodi predodređen za alpinista, rodi u podnožju Himalaja! Onu drugu, kontemplativnu stranu svoga bića zadovoljavao sam čitanjem i razmišljanjem. Mnoge sam istine našao u knjigama, ali one ne bi vrijedile ništa da ih vlastitim životom nisam iskušao i potvrdio. Goethe na jednom mjestu kaže kako, da bismo sebe našli u vječnome, naše osobno, naš ego mora nestati.

Sebe dati jedini je istinski užitak. Ja sam se davao životu, nisam se žalio, a život mi je bio sklon, nije me štedio! Thomas Robertson u knjizi “Human Ecology’’ (1947.), koju sam prvi put čitao u zatvoru, upozorava na središnju tajnu i paradoks ljudskog života. Ta tajna i paradoks ljudskog života u tome je da je najnesebičniji onaj pojedinac koji najrevnije traži vlastito spasenje. Ako ga nađe, on postaje integriran, svjestan i nesebičan, sposoban uživati u davanju. I svakako, to podrazumijeva vjeru, nema spasenja bez vjere”.

Julienne Bušić

EN

Death

“I have tried for many years to save what I could of my soul, so that when I die men might know how much I too have loved and felt life and have gazed upon and touched the sea, the soil, woman; and so that they may learn that I was not a beast or a stone but a man with warm flesh and an insatiable soul.” A quote from Nikos Kazantzakis, from Zvonko’s handwritten notes

It is not difficult
To die
On this earth.
To create
A life
Is much harder.

Vladimir Majakovski
 
My Dear Soul! I most humbly beg of you, that you would not grieve yourself to excess, at the sight of this letter. Tomorrow, Ah Madam, I must tell you, Alas! Tomorrow about ten o’clock in the morning, we must lose our Heads… and now I come also to take leave of you, my dear Soul, forever; entreating you that you will please pardon me all things, whereby in all my life time, if I ever offended you. God, who had created me, will have pity on me, whom I will also beseech, for I hope I shall tomorrow be in his presence, that we may see each other in eternal glory before his Throne.

Ban Petar Zrinski’s farewell letter to his wife Katarina, 1671

If I were to make a list of subjects Zvonko and I spoke about most, death would be high on the list. During his prison years, he could not avoid it, because, as a contemplative person, a voracious reader, and one who is confronted with the possibility of dying every day (since a maximum-security prison is an extremely dangerous place), he found himself thinking a lot about death. So did his family, but not as an abstract subject. We wondered whether he would have the strength, mental and physical, to survive. Way back in 1997, he wrote this to me: “All my friends, and especially you and Zdravka (Note: Zvonko’s sister, with whom he was close), always say how easy it is for me because I have so much strength, but nobody ever asks where this strength comes from. First, I have a confession to make. I was strong, but not anymore. You see, before Croatia became independent, I saw myself as some kind of symbol. Even if I would have to die in prison, the symbol would remain and live on, be a beacon to others who had lost their way, who would someday be called upon to defend their homeland. So I had come to terms with myself and with my Fate and never thought about death and was never frustrated… I was often sad, but at the same time, strong, stronger than I had ever been. I felt like a man traveling all alone through the desert. The desert is vast and unknown but I still did not despair, continued along my way peacefully, strong in the belief that somewhere beyond the horizon, a great Destiny somehow awaits me… It was a different story after Croatia became independent. I became “obsolete”. Yes, I was still some sort of beacon, but one whose light had been extinguished, because the warriors and seamen had already found their way and returned home. I tell you honestly, if it were not for you, my relatives, and a few old friends, I don’t know how I could have survived the last 5-6 years, if I would have been able to… Really, you were my main reason and also my main problem… I just could not disappoint you, betray you, leave my sweetheart alone. There were so many difficult days when I would tell myself, you have to endure, you have to endure, you must, you must. I think I have come through now, but I admit, these last two years have taken a very heavy toll on my soul. At any rate, whatever happens, do not worry about me. It seems I have finally gotten used to carrying this heavy cross.”

Endurance was made somewhat easier at that time, as he has written in his notes, by the fact that he had been assured by the then Ambassador that he was “going home soon”. The days, weeks and months dragged on, and on, and on. And finally, he did go home, that part had been accurate, but it wasn’t “soon”; it was an excruciating eleven years later. Eleven years! As Zvonko often told me, there is no torture greater than the torture of “uncertainty”. Being told “no”, that he was not getting out, that the efforts had failed, would have been infinitely easier on his soul and psyche than the horrific “maybe”. “No” forces the mind to adjust to a new reality, and life is rearranged to accommodate this difficult truth. One finally knows where one stands. Constant promises and assurances that a release is imminent “next week, next month, next yearat the latest”, are the cruelest mental punishment of all, far greater than the sentence he received in court, far greater than prison, something even simple common sense would dictate. This fact was lost on the then Croatian Ambassador, who, ironically, has a doctorate in psychology. Psychology! Oh, those useless titles!

Zvonko’s family and friends were concerned about his capacity to endure as well. To his cousin Tihomir, around the same time, he wrote the following: “My life story isn’t pretty or as nice as invented stories, and there were a lot of stupidities, chaos, insanity, fantasies – as is the case in the lives of all people who do not deceive themselves. To me, life and death are two sides of the same coin. One cancels out but is also dependent on the other; one succeeds the other, and so both travel throughout eternity, irreconcilable enemies and inseparable friends. Thus, death should never be allowed to make a person cowardly, because an honorable end is the one and only thing that cannot be taken from a human being. That is why our great poet Simic wrote ‘Man should not walk humbly beneath the stars.’So be sure I will endure, even if the heavens fall.”

In a letter written a year later, he repeated the theme. This time, though, there was an added note of desperation, as he had learned that his parole application had been denied. “I am consoling Julie, telling her not to despair because the main struggle is not lost, or the last reveille sounded. Relative to the level of disappointment, every shattered hope somehow brings me new energy, making me stronger and more resolute. Even this time, I do not feel any panic at all. Nonetheless, tonight I have no peace of mind. I am plagued by questions for which I have no answers. I am thinking long and hard about my lonely “widow” and grieving parents, my past, and how much life I have left… Death came very close to me several times, but Destiny has not spared me without a reason, so I am grateful to it and ready to meet even more difficult challenges with the same courage and even clearer perspectives. However, I call on God to help me, to get me out while I am still alive and healthy and to grant me two important wishes: to return to my homeland and to die in freedom.” To these thoughts he added something that is especially poignant today, after all that has happened:

“25-year-old Sergej Jesenjin wrote his last poem shortly before he was murdered by Trotsky’s zealots: 

Goodbye, my friend, goodbye
My love, you are in my heart.
It was preordained we should part
And be reunited by and by.

Goodbye: no handshake to endure.
Let’s have no sadness — furrowed brow.
There’s nothing new in dying now
And also nothing newer in living.

 
If I am destined for a tragic end, I could also write something in the same vein: “Farewell friends, farewell, my dear wife, it has not been my fate to return alive to my homeland, to watch with you the setting of the sun, the marvelous stars, to walk along the wild paths of my youth and your old age…”

During his final two years of incarceration, when he was illegally denied release after serving the maximum of thirty years, he was faced with the real possibility, even probability, of dying in prison, of never seeing his family, friends, or country again. He figured if the Americans would violate the law to keep him over the maximum, why should they ever let him go? At that point, he committed himself to finding inspiration and even comfort in this possibility. After his release, he said many times in interviews that he was ultimately “grateful” he had been held two years longer than the maximum, because during those last years, he had discovered several new philosophers that provided him with answers to some of his deepest, most troubling questions. One was John Cottingham, with The Spiritual Dimension: Religion, Philosophy, and Human Value, and the other Pierre Hadot’sPhilosophy as a Way of Life, and The Veil of Isis, mentioned earlier. Through the knowledge and inspiration he gained from their books, he was able to resign himself, and even rejoice in a strange way, in the idea of dying in prison. It was difficult for me to come to terms with this, very difficult. And it was even harder for me to resign myself or to rejoice. But during every phone call, as short as they were, and in every letter and every visit, he would return to the theme of Death and how one must prepare oneself for it. Plato, he told me, had famously called philosophy a “preparation for death”. The discussion of this comes from Phaedo, as Socrates is preparing to die. In it, the surprising claim is made that Death is a “blessing” for the true Philosopher because the body hinders the pursuit of wisdom. Why is this? First, because the body has so many desires and inclinations that demand to be satisfied and which thwart the pursuit of wisdom. How can one pursue wisdom when one is hungry, has a headache, or needs to sleep? The bodily senses also are a great distraction. The songs of birds, for example, take away one’s attention from contemplation, or the rising moon in the sky, so calm and serene. Then when the body becomes diseased and deteriorates, again the pursuit of wisdom is slowed and even halted completely. The philosophical life, therefore, involves the attempt to free oneself (or soul) from the body, and therefore, the philosophical life is a preparation for death!

It was difficult for me when Zvonko came home to constantly discuss Death, how we were getting old, didn’t have that many years left, needed to put our affairs in order (spiritual, not material), and use ourselves up by contributing what we could. And also, very important, that there was no need to fear Death. During particularly tryingtimes, he would even say it might have been better if he had died in prison. How could it be better? I would ask him. For many reasons, he told me. It would remind people that dying for one’s ideals is honorable and sometimes inescapable, even necessary. Perhaps there were other reasons as well, regarding the essence of life. Was it fuller and deeper in prison or in “freedom”? It is interesting that as far back as 1988, he sent me a short story by Anton Chekhov, The Bet, which foretold in a strange way what lay ahead in the future. I found it recently among his letters to me.

In summary, the story went like this: a rich man made a bet with a lawyer at a dinner party after a debate about whether life in prison was better than the death penalty. The banker held that, a priori, the death penalty is more moral and more humane than imprisonment for life. “Capital punishment kills a man at once, but lifelong imprisonment kills him slowly.

Which executioner is the more humane, he who kills you in a few minutes or he who drags the life out of you in the course of many years?” The lawyer disagrees, saying he would prefer life on any terms. The banker says that if he really means it, he will pay him two million to stay five years in solitary confinement. The lawyer responds that he will not only stay five, but fifteen! The bet is made and the young lawyer goes into confinement. As time goes by, it appears that the lawyer will endure, so the banker, who is close to bankruptcy, decides to kill the lawyer so he will not have to pay. He sneaks into his room, and finds a letter the lawyer has written, in which he says he does not want freedom, does not want to return into the world. “For fifteen years I have been intently studying earthly life. It is true I have not seen the earth nor men, but in your books, I have drunk fragrant wine, I have sung songs, I have hunted stags and wild boars in the forests, have loved women… Beauties as ethereal as clouds, created by the magic of your poets and geniuses, have visited me at night, and have whispered in my ears wonderful tales that have set my brain in a whirl.

In your books, I have climbed to the peaks of Elburz and Mont Blanc, and from there I have seen the sunrise and have watched it at evening flood the sky, the ocean, and the mountaintops with gold and crimson. I have watched from there the lightning flashing over my head and cleaving the storm clouds. I have seen green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, towns. I have heard the singing of the sirens, and the strains of the shepherds’ pipes; I have touched the wings of comely devils who flew down to converse with me of God… In your books I have flung myself into the bottomless pit, performed miracles, slain, burned towns, preached new religions, conquered whole kingdoms …”

After all his contemplation, the hundreds, thousands of books he had read, the years spent in total solitude, the lawyer had concluded that mankind had lost its reason and taken the wrong path: “You have taken lies for truth, and hideousness for beauty. You would be thrilled if, owing to strange events of some sorts, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit, or if roses began to smell like a sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange heaven for earth. I don’t want to understand you.”

Isn’t this what Zvonko found upon his release? Lies for truth, hideousness for beauty? Perversion passing for virtue? One looks for clues when unthinkable things happen; in stories, in handwritten notes, in a careless (was it?) word spoken here and there… Did this story indicate the beginning of Zvonko’s slow march toward a different kind of “life”, one found not on earth but in heaven?

The discussions we had about his possible death in prison were upsetting at first, but then I began to see that I too would have to come to terms with it, that it might actually happen. Many of his notes on this subject have helped me to recall the details of our talks about what Life is, or should be. “Everyone will ask in old age what he has achieved and what actions and traces of himself he has left behind of lasting value. And maybe an even more important question is how prepared he will be in the last and very difficult moments of his mortal existence to look Death in the eye. And what if this mortal life, with all its temptations and various stages, is actually a unique opportunity to train and educate the soul and mind so that they can part more easily from the body at the time of death? Because Eternity will not be asking us if we were rich or poor on earth, it is not interested in that. Eternity differentiates only between those who die in despair and hopelessness, who failed at all life’s challenges and will have to repeat them perhaps under even more difficult circumstances, and those who peacefully and quietly leave behind a successfully completed mortal school and move on to a higher grade in eternity…”

These deep philosophical thoughts were meant to give me courage, and were contained in one of the letters he wrote me from prison. But I recently came across an interview he gave for one of the Croatian newspapers a few years ago and only now I realize that in these thoughts he was somehow trying to reveal his deep yearning for “unity” with the universe, the idea, so familiar to him, of a journey into the infinite. “Yes, I consider myself a happy man. As I have already said, I am grateful to God and Destiny for all I have experienced and survived. In my life, I have been led by two powerful passions: a desire for freedom, and since I was born a Croatian, this means Croatian freedom – and a desire for knowledge. By nature I am also a restless, adventurous soul, so Croatia was a good “match”, since it offered me a noble reason to struggle, and also an adventurous life. It is like someone pre-determined to be a mountain climber being born at the foot of the Himalayas! The other contemplative side of my being I satisfied by reading and contemplation. I have found much truth in books, but it would mean nothing if I had not experienced and confirmed it in my own life.

Goethe said at one time that in order to find ourselves in the Infinite, our Ego must disappear. To give oneself is the only true joy. I gave myself to life, Ido not regret it, and life was kind to me because it did not spare me! Thomas Robertson, in his book Human Ecology(1947), which I read for the first time in prison, directs our attention to the mystery and paradox of human life, that he who gives of himself most unselfishly is also most zealously seeking his own salvation. If he finds it, he becomes integrated, aware, and generous, capable of taking pleasure in giving. Of course, this assumes the existence of Faith. Without Faith, there is no salvation.

Julienne Bušić

Ključne riječi #Julienne Bušić #Zdravo oko #Zvonko Bušić