You can determine much of your life, minimizing the role of chance. Yet society, the collection of all of us, can’t. The life of society and thus its history, if Vladimir Nabokov is right, is much at the mercy of a crap shoot:
One such wise man, a penetrating historian, was working one day on the description of some ancient war, when suddenly a noise reached his ears from the street. A crowd was separating two fighting men. And neither the very sight of the scuffle, nor the expressions of the scuffling men, nor the explanations of the onlookers could give the curious historian an accurate picture of what exactly had happened. He pondered the fact that it was impossible to get to the bottom even of a chance street scuffle, which he had personally witnessed; he reread the description of the ancient war that he was working on and understood how arbitrary and haphazard were all his profound arguments about that ancient war. Let us admit to ourselves, once and for all, that the notion of history as an exact science is just for convenience—“for simple folk”, as the museum guard used to say, showing two skulls—in youth and old age—of one and the same criminal.
If each of man’s days is a sequence of chance occurrences—and in this lies its divinity and power—then the history of mankind is even more so mere chance. You can combine those occurrences, tie them into a tidy bouquet of periods and ideas; but the fine scent of the past is lost in the process, and we are now seeing, not that which was, but that which we wish to see. By chance a commander has an acute stomach ache—and now a venerable royal dynasty is replaced by the dynasty of a neighbouring power. By chance a restless eccentric gets the impulse to sail across the ocean—and now trade is transformed and a maritime nation made rich. Why indeed should we take after those paradoxical enemies of risk, who sit for years at the green baize in Monte Carlo calculating how many spins will fall on red and how many on black, all in order to find a fail-safe system? There is no system. History’s roulette wheel knows no laws.
(Quoted from page 17, the May 13 2016 issue of the Times Literary Supplement.)
For a brief biography of Vladimir Nabokov, click here. For images of or relating to Vladimir Nabokov, click here.
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