{"id":141390,"date":"2019-09-02T12:00:12","date_gmt":"2019-09-02T11:00:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/?p=141390"},"modified":"2019-08-25T10:39:18","modified_gmt":"2019-08-25T09:39:18","slug":"how-van-gogh-found-his-purpose-heartfelt-letters-to-his-brother-on-how-relationships-refine-us","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/2019\/09\/how-van-gogh-found-his-purpose-heartfelt-letters-to-his-brother-on-how-relationships-refine-us\/","title":{"rendered":"How Van Gogh Found His Purpose: Heartfelt Letters to His Brother on How Relationships Refine Us"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cDoes what goes on inside show on the outside? Someone has a great fire in his soul and nobody ever comes to warm themselves at it, and passers-by see nothing but a little smoke at the top of the chimney.\u201d<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\"\"<\/a>Long before Vincent van Gogh (March 30, 1853\u2013July 29, 1890) became a creative legend<\/a> and attained such mastery of art that he explained nature better than science<\/a>, he confronted the same existential challenge many young people and aspiring artists face as they set out to find their purpose and do what they love<\/a> \u2014 something that often requires the discomfiting uncertainty of deviating from the beaten path.<\/p>\n

In January of 1879, twenty-six-year-old Van Gogh, who had dropped out of high school, was given a six-month appointment as a preacher in a small village \u2014 a job that consisted of giving Bible readings, teaching schoolchildren, and caring for the sick and poor. He devoted himself wholeheartedly to the task and, in solidarity with the poor, gave away all of his possessions to live in a tiny hut, where he slept on the ground. But his commitment backfired \u2014 the church committee that had hired him saw this as extravagant posturing of humility and fired him. In August, Van Gogh moved to a nearby village and took up drawing and writing \u2014 which he had been doing recreationally for years, for his own pleasure \u2014 as a more serious endeavor. That summer, his beloved brother Theo visited to discuss Vincent\u2019s future, making it clear that the family was concerned with his lack of direction. (Vincent was the eldest of six children, which only compounded the expectations.) The uncomfortable talk, which initially caused a rift between the brothers, affected Van Gogh profoundly and became a serious turning point in his life.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Young Vincent van Gogh<\/p><\/div>\n

On August 14, 1879, he wrote an exquisite letter to Theo, found in the newly released 800-page treasure trove Ever Yours: The Essential Letters<\/em><\/strong><\/a> (public library<\/em><\/a>). The letter endures as a piercing testament to the conviction that, as another famous young man wrote in his own defense of the unbeaten path, \u201cit is not necessary to accept the choices handed down to you by life as you know it.\u201d<\/a><\/p>\n

Van Gogh begins by turning a wise eye to the silver lining of why the conversation had hurt and riled him so:<\/p>\n

It\u2019s better that we feel something for each other rather than behave like corpses toward one another, the more so because as long as one has no real right to be called a corpse by being legally dead, it smacks of hypocrisy or at least childishness to pose as such\u2026 The hours we spent together in this way have at least assured us that we\u2019re both still in the land of the living. When I saw you again and took a walk with you, I had the same feeling I used to have more than I do now, as though life were something good and precious that one should cherish, and I felt more cheerful and alive than I had been for a long time, cause in spite of myself life has gradually become or has seemed much less precious to me, much more unimportant and indifferent. When one lives with others and is bound by a feeling of affection one is aware that one has a reason for being, that one might not be entirely worthless and superfluous but perhaps good for one thing or another, considering that we need one another and are making the same journey as traveling companions. Proper self-respect, however, is also very dependent on relations with others.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Noting the \u201csalutary effect\u201d his brother\u2019s visit had on him, Van Gogh speaks to the soul-nurturing power of close relationships:<\/p>\n

A prisoner who\u2019s kept in isolation, who\u2019s prevented from working &c., would in the long run, especially if this were to last too long, suffer the consequences just as surely as one who went hungry for too long. Like everyone else, I have need of relationships of friendship or affection or trusting companionship, and am not like a street pump or lamp-post, whether of stone or iron, so that I can\u2019t do without them without perceiving an emptiness and feeling their lack, like any other generally civilized and highly respectable man.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Theo van Gogh<\/p><\/div>\n

The letter, however, takes on the tone of an impassioned plea as Van Gogh seeks to convince his brother that he, Vincent, is not the failure the family believes him to be. Lamenting what \u201cthe damage, the sorrow, the heart\u2019s regretfulness\u201d inflected by his uncle\u2019s most recent attempt to convince him to return to school and pursue a proper occupation, Van Gogh scoffs at the formulaic life-path laid before those who pursue traditional education:<\/p>\n

I would rather die a natural death than be prepared for it by the academy, and have occasionally had a lesson from a grass-mower that seemed to me more useful than one in Greek.<\/em><\/p>\n

Improvement in my life \u2014 should I not desire it or should I not be in need of improvement? I really want to improve. But it\u2019s precisely because I yearn for it that I\u2019m afraid of remedies that are worse than the disease. Can you blame a sick person if he looks the doctor straight in the eye and prefers not to be treated wrongly or by a quack?<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

In addressing his brother\u2019s accusation of having \u201ca taste for idling,\u201d Van Gogh points out that there are degrees of doing nothing<\/a> and speaks beautifully to the idea that what seems like boredom is an essential faculty of creativity<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Such idling is really a rather strange sort of idling. It\u2019s rather difficult for me to defend myself on this score, but I would be sorry if you couldn\u2019t eventually see this in a different light. I also don\u2019t know if I would do well to counter such accusations by following the advice to become a baker, for example. That would really be a sufficient answer (supposing it were possible for us to assume the guise of a baker or hair-cutter or librarian with lightning speed) and yet actually a foolish response, rather like the way the man acted who, when accused of heartlessness because he was sitting on a donkey, immediately dismounted and continued on his way with the donkey on his shoulders.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Putting jest aside, Van Gogh professes being \u201covercome by a feeling of sorrow\u201d and a constant \u201cstruggle against despair\u201d in the knowledge that his family sees him as \u201cannoying or burdensome,\u201d \u201cuseful for neither one thing nor another,\u201d for his lack of purpose and direction in life. Expressing a wish for the relationship between the brothers to be \u201cmore trusting on both sides,\u201d he makes a passionate case for being afforded some space, support, and optimism as he finds his own course:<\/p>\n

If it were indeed so, then I\u2019d truly wish that it be granted me not to have to go on living too long. Yet whenever this depresses me beyond measure, all too deeply, after a long time the thought also occurs to me: It\u2019s perhaps only a bad, terrible dream, and later we\u2019ll perhaps learn to understand and comprehend it better. But is it not, after all, reality, and won\u2019t it one day become better than worse? To many it would no doubt appear foolish and superstitious to believe in any improvement for the better. Sometimes in winter it\u2019s so bitterly cold that one says, it\u2019s simply too cold, what do I care whether summer comes, the bad outweighs the good. But whether we like it or not, an end finally comes to the hard frost, and one fine morning the wind has turned and we have a thaw. Comparing the natural state of the weather with our state of mind and our circumstances, subject to variables and change, I still have some hope that it can improve.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\"\"<\/a>

A letter from Vincent to Theo, 1879<\/p><\/div>\n

Nearly a year elapses until the brothers reconnect \u2014 the longest break in their lifetime of letters and loving support \u2014 during which time Van Gogh sinks into a state of destitution and despair. On June 24 of the next year, he finally reaches out to Theo upon receiving 50 francs from him \u2014 around $200 in today\u2019s money \u2014 which the aspiring artist accepts \u201ccertainly reluctantly, certainly with a rather melancholy feeling.\u201d Indeed, he attests to the creative value of melancholy<\/a> and echoes Nietzsche\u2019s belief in the spiritual benefits of suffering<\/a> as he writes to Theo:<\/p>\n

What moulting is to birds, the time when they change their feathers, that\u2019s adversity or misfortune, hard times, for us human beings. One may remain in this period of moulting, one may also come out of it renewed, but it\u2019s not to be done in public, however; it\u2019s scarcely entertaining, it\u2019s not cheerful, so it\u2019s a matter of making oneself scarce.<\/em><\/p>\n

[\u2026]<\/em><\/p>\n

Instead of giving way to despair, I took the way of active melancholy as long as I had strength for activity, or in other words, I preferred the melancholy that hopes and aspires and searches to the one that despairs, mournful and stagnant.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Considering how he adapted to this state of \u201cactive melancholy\u201d as he immersed himself in making art, Van Gogh makes a wonderfully self-aware remark about his notorious unkept appearance:<\/p>\n

The man who is absorbed in all that is sometimes shocking, to others, and without wishing to, offends to a greater or lesser degree against certain forms and customs of social convention. It\u2019s a pity, though, when people take that in bad part. For example, you well know that I\u2019ve frequently neglected my appearance, I admit it, and I admit that it\u2019s shocking. But look, money troubles and poverty have something to do with it, and then a profound discouragement also has something to do with it, and then it\u2019s sometimes a good means of ensuring for oneself the solitude needed to be able to go somewhat more deeply into this or that field of study with which one is preoccupied.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Reflecting on having spent the past five years \u201cmore or less without a position, wandering hither and thither,\u201d Van Gogh revisits the question of finding his purpose. In a sentiment reminiscent of Picasso\u2019s remark that \u201cto know what you\u2019re going to draw, you have to begin drawing,\u201d<\/a> he offers a magnificent counterpoint to the myth that so frequently paralyzes people, especially young people, who set out to live a life of purpose \u2014 the idea that the path must reveal itself before you embark upon it, that you must \u201cfind yourself\u201d<\/a> before you begin your creative journey. Van Gogh writes:<\/p>\n

On the road that I\u2019m on I must continue; if I do nothing, if I don\u2019t study, if I don\u2019t keep on trying, then I\u2019m lost, then woe betide me. That\u2019s how I see this, to keep on, keep on, that\u2019s what\u2019s needed.<\/em><\/p>\n

But what\u2019s your ultimate goal, you\u2019ll say. The goal will become clearer, will take shape slowly and surely, as the croquis becomes a sketch and the sketch a painting, as one works more seriously, as one digs deeper into the originally vague idea, the first fugitive, passing thought, unless it becomes firm.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Echoing Kierkegaard\u2019s admonition that most people succumb to conformity by seeking out \u201ca solid position in life\u201d<\/a> \u2014 that is, a humdrum jobby job \u2014 Van Gogh adds wryly:<\/p>\n

One of the reasons why I\u2019m now without a position, why I\u2019ve been without a position for years, it\u2019s quite simply because I have different ideas from these gentlemen who give positions to individuals who think like them.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Countering his brother\u2019s accusation that he has changed a great deal since their youthful walks together, Van Gogh argues that merely his circumstances changed, while his innermost values only deepened as he immersed himself more fully in his two great loves, art and literature:<\/p>\n

What has changed is that my life was less difficult then and my future less dark, but as far as my inner self, as far as my way of seeing and thinking are concerned, they haven\u2019t changed. But if in fact there were a change, it\u2019s that now I think and I believe and I love more seriously what then, too, I already thought, I believed and I loved.<\/em><\/p>\n

[\u2026]<\/em><\/p>\n

If you now can forgive a man for going more deeply into paintings, admit also that the love of books is as holy as that of Rembrandt, and I even think that the two complement each other.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\"\"<\/a>

\u2018Self-Portrait with Grey Felt Hat\u2019 by Vincent van Gogh<\/p><\/div>\n

He returns to the heart of the matter \u2014 the anguish of not having settled into his sense of purpose:<\/p>\n

In my unbelief I\u2019m a believer, in a way, and though having changed I am the same, and my torment is none other than this, what could I be good for, couldn\u2019t I serve and be useful in some way, how could I come to know more thoroughly, and go more deeply into this subject or that? Do you see, it continually torments me, and then you feel a prisoner in penury, excluded from participating in this work or that, and such and such necessary things are beyond your reach. Because of that, you\u2019re not without melancholy, and you feel emptiness where there could be friendship and high and serious affections, and you feel a terrible discouragement gnawing at your psychic energy itself, and fate seems able to put a barrier against the instincts for affection, or a tide of revulsion that overcomes you. And then you say, How long, O Lord! Well, then, what can I say; does what goes on inside show on the outside? Someone has a great fire in his soul and nobody ever comes to warm themselves at it, and passers-by see nothing but a little smoke at the top of the chimney and then go on their way. So now what are we to do, keep this fire alive inside, have salt in ourselves, wait patiently, but with how much impatience, await the hour, I say, when whoever wants to, will come and sit down there, will stay there, for all I know?<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

And yet as cut off from the capacity for affection as he may feel, Van Gogh nonetheless believes that love is the only conduit to connecting with one\u2019s purpose, with divinity itself:<\/p>\n

I\u2019m always inclined to believe that the best way of knowing [the divine] is to love a great deal. Love that friend, that person, that thing, whatever you like, you\u2019ll be on the right path to knowing more thoroughly, afterwards; that\u2019s what I say to myself. But you must love with a high, serious intimate sympathy, with a will, with intelligence, and you must always seek to know more thoroughly, better, and more.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Remarking on having benefited from \u201cthe free course at the great university of poverty,\u201d Van Gogh envisions finding his purpose after a long period of floundering:<\/p>\n

One who has been rolling along for ages as if tossed on a stormy sea arrives at his destination at last; one who has seemed good for nothing, incapable of filling any position, any role, finds one in the end, and, active and capable of action, shows himself entirely differently from what he had seemed at first sight.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Once again, he appeals to his brother to see him as \u201csomething other than some sort of idler\u201d and to learn to distinguish between the two types of idling, the destructive and the constructive:<\/p>\n

There are idlers and idlers, who form a contrast.<\/em><\/p>\n

There\u2019s the one who\u2019s an idler through laziness and weakness of character, through the baseness of his nature\u2026 Then there\u2019s the other idler, the idler truly despite himself, who is gnawed inwardly by a great desire for action, who does nothing because he finds it impossible to do anything since he\u2019s imprisoned in something, so to speak, because he doesn\u2019t have what he would need to be productive, because the inevitability of circumstances is reducing him to this point. Such a person doesn\u2019t\u2019 always know himself what he could do, but he feels by instinct, I\u2019m good for something, even so! I feel I have a raison d\u2019\u00eatre! I know that I could be a quite different man! For what then could I be of use, for what could I serve! There\u2019s something within me, so what is it! That\u2019s an entirely different idler.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Bleeding from Van Gogh\u2019s words is the hope that his brother would see him not as the first but as the second kind of \u201cidler\u201d \u2014 a hope he amplifies with a moving metaphor in closing the lengthy letter, one that speaks with harrowing elegance to the hastiness with which we tend to judge others and to mistake their circumstances for their capabilities:<\/p>\n

In the springtime a bird in a cage knows very well that there\u2019s something he\u2019d be good for; he feels very clearly that there\u2019s something to be done but he can\u2019t do it; what it is he can\u2019t clearly remember,and he has vague ideas and says to himself, \u201cthe others are building their nests and making their little ones and raising the brood,\u201d and he bangs his head against the bars of his cage. And then the cage stays there and the bird is mad with suffering. \u201cLook, there\u2019s an idler,\u201d says another passing bird \u2014 that fellow\u2019s a sort of man of leisure. And yet the prisoner lives and doesn\u2019t die; nothing of what\u2019s going on within shows outside, he\u2019s in good health, he\u2019s rather cheerful in the sunshine. But then comes the season of migration. A bout of melancholy \u2014 but, say the children who look after him, he\u2019s got everything that he needs in his cage, after all \u2014 but he looks at the sky outside, heavy with storm clouds, and within himself feels a rebellion against fate. I\u2019m in a cage, I\u2019m in a cage, and so I lack for nothing, you fools! Me, I have everything I need! Ah, for pity\u2019s sake, freedom, to be a bird like other birds!<\/em><\/p>\n

An idle man like that resembles an idle bird like that.<\/em><\/p>\n

[\u2026]<\/em><\/p>\n

You may not always be able to say what it is that confines, that immures, that seems to bury, and yet you feel [the] bars\u2026<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

He concludes by returning to the ennobling, liberating nature of close relationships:<\/p>\n

You know, what makes the prison disappear is very deep, serious attachment. To be friends, to be brothers, to love; that opens the prison through sovereign power, through a most powerful spell. But he who doesn\u2019t have that remains in death. But where sympathy springs up again, life springs up again.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\"\"<\/a>

\u2018Self-Portrait with Straw Hat\u2019 by Vincent van Gogh<\/p><\/div>\n

That summer, Vincent resolved to pursue art as his lifelong endeavor. It was Theo who first urged him to turn art into a career, and he soon became Van Gogh\u2019s greatest champion and most selfless supporter \u2014 one of creative history\u2019s greatest unsung sidekicks<\/a>. Despite his well-documented and ultimately fatal struggle with mental illness<\/a>, Van Gogh wrote frequently of the sublime joy and immense fulfillment he found in art \u2014 a sense of purpose without which his life would have been undoubtedly grimmer and quite possibly even shorter, and creative culture vastly impoverished.<\/p>\n

Ever Yours: The Essential Letters<\/em><\/strong><\/a> is a revelatory read in its hefty totality, brimming with insights into the rich and turbulent inner life of one of humanity\u2019s greatest creative luminaries. Complement it with Vincent\u2019s letters to Theo on art and the power of love<\/a>, then marvel at how his greatest masterpiece explains the scientific mysteries of fluid dynamics<\/a>.<\/p>\n

_______________________________________<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/em>Brain Pickings<\/em> is the brain child of Maria Popova, an interestingness hunter-gatherer and curious mind at large obsessed with combinatorial creativity who also writes for <\/em>Wired<\/em> UK and <\/em>The Atlantic<\/em>, among others, and is an MIT Futures of Entertainment Fellow. She has gotten occasional help from a handful of guest contributors<\/a>. Email: brainpicker@brainpickings.org<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

Go to Original \u2013 brainpickings.org<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cDoes what goes on inside show on the outside? Someone has a great fire in his soul and nobody ever comes to warm themselves at it, and passers-by see nothing but a little smoke at the top of the chimney.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":141392,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[63],"tags":[1177],"class_list":["post-141390","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-inspirational","tag-inspirational"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/141390","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=141390"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/141390\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/141392"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=141390"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=141390"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=141390"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}