The world is inundated with celebrities. They dance, kick balls and eat slugs underwater en route to fame. Their stars burn bright for a short while then disappear into oblivion, not having done much harm—except perhaps to themselves. But every now and then a person emerges who has an earth-shattering effect on our future.
They’re usually weirdos. Now a sex-offending, unstable felon is to lead the western world. He’s less lethal than Hitler and Stalin, but he’s still disturbing. What quality do these people have in common—how do they blind us to their danger and make us follow them?
Well, they all have what my dad would call “the gift of the gab”. The content of what they say is, at best, rubbish and, at worst, evil—but they say it with panache. They are entertainers. They are grotesquely over the top, but all of them have the multitudes grinning, weeping, cheering and doing whatever they demand, however stupid or cruel. Most of them are immoral, ludicrous figures. What on earth makes us worship these idiotic, ugly examples of humanity?
I think we are lazy. We like shelving responsibility and being told what to do. As soon as someone is appointed to a leadership position, we start obeying their orders and treating them with respect, whether they have earned it or not.
I’ve often seen it in the theatre. It is obvious in the first week of rehearsal that the director is useless—but we still go on doing what he says right up to the last-minute panic, just before a potentially disastrous opening night, when the actors dream up their own survival strategy among themselves. They secretly agree to change moves, rewrite awkward lines and speed it up or slow it down. Because they did one spectacular show in the past, these rubbish directors are highly respected. Liz Truss once held the title of prime minister for a few weeks, and she still has the effrontery to join other PMs at the cenotaph and no one kicks her off.
Hitler, Stalin and potentially Trump leave behind them death and destruction. It is comforting to remember that there are others who illuminate our world for a while and leave it richer and finer.
When I was 15 years old, I went to an art gallery in Paris called the Jeu de Paume and saw my first real painting. I had seen posters and my dad’s watercolours, but these chunks of raw paint swirling on a canvas made me tremble with amazement. That same painting, Starry Night, was recently displayed at the National Gallery, and I had to cling on to my daughter as I squinted at its blazing glory.
Whereas our villains appear to have no skill but plenty of showmanship, Vincent van Gogh literally taught himself to draw from an instruction book then laboriously studied and experimented with colour and texture, driving himself insane in the quest for perfection. It is all-consuming work to be a genius. How blessed are we that he flashed through our world.
Another of these enriching geniuses is still with us. I recently went to a workshop given by Steven Isserlis. He is a superlative cellist, conjuring up magic using wood, horsehair and goat gut. He explained how he uses visualisation when he’s playing. For instance, he demonstrated how a single note can be transformed by caressing a string with your bow while imagining you are going into a beautiful chapel. It was the difference between accuracy and ecstasy. He made the students aware of nuance and delicacy, things completely alien to our storming dictators. Hopefully, the students will pass on his skills ad infinitum.
Isserlis’s presence in the world is a doorway to endless other geniuses—Beethoven, Fauré, Ravel—without whom my life in a time of hideous dictators would be impossible. I must never forget that, despite our idiotic compliance with false prophets, the human animal is capable of superhuman creativity.
So let us keep a wary eye on the dictators and treasure our geniuses in this festive season, when we celebrate the arrival of a very exceptional baby, who was destined to make his mark.
