Ahmet Tanpinar - A Mind at Peace

Along with Nuran’s absence, his intellectual life had effectively ceased. She had absconded with all of the vibrant and sublime aspects of this vision of time past, leaving in its place an ashen heap much like Mümtaz’s own existence. All of the protagonists that he’d drawn with such care, and with whom he’d lived, had been reduced to nothing but silhouettes, attenuated and limp puppets with no chance of returning to life.

İhsan made an ambiguous hand gesture. “Don’t dwell on it, it’ll pass. .” Then he abruptly stated what he’d actually wanted to say, “You’ve been looking at them through the light of your own emotions. You were projecting what you’d envisioned in your own life onto them! You cherished them not for what they were in and of themselves, but for your own sake, as part of your life. Had you sought them out through the particular historical era that you’d chosen, everything would have been different. Whereas you were trying to gather the world around a single individual.”

Mümtaz, grasping the edge of the chair, listened carefully.

“But I was attuned to the concerns of the times.”

“No, you were simply preoccupied with your beloved, Nuran.” Then his face softened. “And this was quite natural. You passed through an experience that’s the shared destiny of everyone. Now you’ll open up to life! You must become a man of your convictions, not of your emotions! Suad destroyed himself because he’d fixated upon your state of happiness with Nuran. We have no right to create providence for ourselves out of just anything. Existence is so vast and mankind is in the midst of such profound dilemmas. . To seize life we must be free in our thoughts and our lives.” Then, in a lower voice: “Become a man of convictions whose responsibilities you can shoulder! Nurture them like a tree within your own being. Toil around them, patiently and carefully, like a gardener!”

“You realize you’re chastising me, don’t you?”

“No, I’m not chastising you. Nuran exposed you to a spectrum of inspiration. Others might have arrived there by different means. That’s not important. But thoughts of her shouldn’t impede you any longer! You can’t wallow in the aura of a sole person too long. . People resemble wells. We’re susceptible to sinking into our own depths and drowning. Just pass beside them. Test the free play of your thoughts through the context of an idea. .”

But İhsan didn’t understand one point. Mümtaz didn’t see Nuran’s love as just an experience. She was part and parcel of his life, and profoundly so. Through her he’d savored an insight shared by few people, a reconciliation that sanctified both love and the self. This constituted his contentment, which he wasn’t willing to sacrifice. As they parted company, he thought, They don’t understand. . They can’t seem to fathom. .

He wandered along the old Theodosian ramparts till twilight. He ambled, disassociated from his self, hopeless, unaware of even his own fatigue, taking refuge in the torment of his abandonment. At times he could see reality clearly: I’m senselessly blaming Nuran.

This arose out of his sentimentality, an emotion that weakened the entire structure. We’re all overly romantic, he told himself. Myself, and Ihsan, and Suad as well. . We couldn’t do anything to help him! There’s something in us that weakens others! On account of it, the semblance of miraculous love had gradually withered away.

In a more balanced man this love couldn’t have been attained. He stopped short. Would someone more stable have been able to express love this way? Or could he have even loved at all?

He was standing before a dilapidated tomb that had taken on exceptional beauty through the aesthetic of a terebinth tree growing out of its center. From the epitaph, Mümtaz learned that here rested Shaykh Sinanî Erdibli.

The fifteenth century, more or less at the end of Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror’s reign. He was face-to-face with one of the city’s oldest inhabitants. A waif of ten or eleven, her entire being covered in whelks and wounds, sat in the middle of the grave collecting candle butts from the surrounding stones.

When she noticed Mümtaz’s attention, she said, “Tie just one votive and your wish will come true.”

At this age even, she displayed a posture that was prepared to sell everything for five or ten cents. Mümtaz was saddened, assuming that she’d extend her palms to beg. But, as if reading something on Mümtaz’s face, the girl said, “You’re upset. You might as well offer a prayer to him, he has experience!”

Mümtaz realized the frivolity of his previous thought, and the superiority of this sick little girl with her faith and conviction. Mümtaz gave alms to the boy playing at her feet with a bone, perhaps one belonging to a corpse. The girl said she lived with seven siblings in a house below the Merkez Efendi Mosque. Their mother was a charwoman, and this was how they survived.

Maybe İhsan does have a point! This society wants ideas and maybe even a struggle out of me. Not romantic posturing! Suddenly a feeling of rebellion rose within him. But to achieve this end, must I forget about Nuran? And why should he forget her? Why should he impoverish himself? He walked onward beneath the sun, wiping his sweat and talking to himself. Resentment against İhsan knotted within him. As if I’m to forgo Nuran for the sake of this urchin and others like her! And will they themselves, in their own lives, reciprocate through similar sacrifices?

He sensed a base and crude human throng proliferating to unseen and unknown horizons around him, having abandoned itself to its own urges, covetous of what it assumed were its rights, and ready to transgress all cultures and social etiquettes.

But do I even have the right to demand this sacrifice from them? If I give myself over to them, shouldn’t I do so without expecting anything in return?

He entered the city through a gate in the ramparts that he didn’t recognize. An Armenian woman crouching beside a small concrete police kiosk stretched out a hand. “My son, help me so I might stand up. .”

After gazing at her as if to say, “Do you really need to get up?” he lent her a hand. The elderly woman stood with difficulty.

“There’s a church nearby. It’s a sacred place. It’s worn down, though. . If you have the desire to make an offering, go ahead and do so. . It’ll be granted. I’m heading there myself!”

Mümtaz continued to wander down streets that more resembled abandoned lots and by houses, most of which resembled gramophone cases: Yes, those who want to benefit social life should devote themselves to it generously. Yet thoughts of Nuran recast this sentence: Those who genuinely love do so without expecting anything in return. .

He couldn’t deliver himself of the notion that he’d been unjust to Nuran, and he couldn’t endure living apart from her.

İhsan’s always rambling on about conviction. . But I’m so damn miserable. . He again felt the same ire and resentment toward İhsan.

Why don’t those advocating for society understand people?

Man and life were separate entities. The former created the latter through flesh, bone, sweat, and thought. But they weren’t commensurate. It was necessary to be partial to one or the other. Yet Mümtaz knew he’d remain in a perpetual state of ambivalence between them. He’d neither be able to forgo his individual contentment nor forget about the terrible needs of the society that surrounded him, including the hapless ten-year-old girl attending to a saint’s tomb and the aged Armenian woman.

I’m feeble, a feeble man simply created out of weakness. Which of us isn’t? As he uttered this last part, he realized that he had Suad in mind. In the little coffeehouse that he’d ducked into, he removed Suad’s letter from his pocket and began to read it for the umpteenth time.