Reading Kundera's Immortality

My first edition hardback from 1991.

Something remarkable happens at the beginning of Milan Kundera's novel, Immortality. The narrator (who is Kundera himself, omnipotent yet personified at this moment) is watching an older woman take swimming lessons at a health club. He is sitting distantly in some bleachers. The woman turns and waves to her instructor as she walks away at the end of her session. That wave immediately transfixes Kundera. It is a gesture made by an older woman but it makes her seem decades younger. This almost mediocre observation brings the novel's primary protagonist, Agnes, to life in the author's mind. From there, she inhabits the primary story within the novel's paralleling narratives. The gesture by some random middle-aged woman that he did not know inspires Kundera's entire story.

I don't know of another novel that begins this way. It is probably not an original approach. Someone else is bound to have pulled it off. Nevertheless, it gives Immortality a distinctive beginning. It introduces the narrator as the wandering mind of Kundera himself, who is not really part of the primary and secondary stories. He merely appears from time to time to wax poetically and humorously about various philosophical ideas inspired by the unfolding novel itself.

We follow Agnes in her story, which is nothing earth-shattering. Kundera tells us she is a beautiful woman. She is married to Paul, an attorney who is more socially adept than she. Agnes often feels out of place in the modern world and longs for solitude, which sometimes creates tension in her marriage. Agnes's yearning for solitude is expressed in beautifully melancholic prose: "Agnes wanted to be alone, yet the only solitude she could obtain was in small, miserable doses, like a drug administered by an unskillful doctor." Laura is her younger sister. The two have very different personalities and approaches to life, which leads to a complex and sometimes strained relationship between them. The story explores their individual struggles and the dynamics of their relationship with each other.

Alongside this contemporary narrative, the novel also includes a separate story line about the historical figures Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Bettina von Arnim, set abut two centuries ago. Absurdly (in an almost comic way), Ernest Hemingway is there too, and has several semi-whimsical conversations with Goethe. Hemingway is the Woody Allen here, without the jokes.  The book is structured in a non-linear fashion, with the author, Kundera, occasionally inserting himself, as I said, as a character-narrator who comments on the process of writing the novel.

Paul's relationship with Agnes is complex, marked by a lack of deep understanding and emotional connection. His struggle to comprehend Agnes's desire for solitude adds depth to the exploration of marital relationships and the search for meaning within the confines of family life. Brigitte, their daughter, represents generational differences and the impact of parental relationships on identity formation, adding another layer to the family dynamics explored in the novel.

Another significant character is Professor Avenarius, a friend of the narrator and a philosopher. His conversations with the narrator delve into topics such as the nature of memory, identity, and the human condition. Avenarius acts as a sounding board for the narrator's ideas and contributes to the novel's philosophical undertones.

But this is all window dressing, really. The heart of Immortality leverages the narratives as a springboard into profound philosophical reflections. The novel is about many things, one of which is, as the title would suggests, immortality or, rather, the nature of remembrance of the deceased. Kundera divides this into two categories: minor and major immortality. Minor immortality refers to the desire to be remembered after death, often manifested in everyday actions and relationships. But you are only remembered by those who knew you. Major immortality, on the other hand, is the kind achieved by historical figures like Goethe and Hemingway, whose legacies endure through their works and cultural impact. With major immortality you are remembered by people who never knew you.  Importantly, common people can attain either form of immortality, you don't have to be famous to be remembered by many people who never knew you personally.  But, it helps.

As with the beginning, the novel makes frequent use of gestures which leads to another interesting concept Kundera introduces, the intriguing idea that we don't use gestures, they use us. He suggests that human beings don't create gestures; instead, gestures exist independently and choose people to embody them. There are billions of us on the planet, but there are far fewer gestures which add meaning to our differing cultures. This concept is illustrated by Kundera's adoption of a gesture he observes at a swimming pool, which then becomes part of Agnes's identity.

The opening gesture of waving is expressive and innocent, which makes it somewhat “ageless” according to Kundera. It embodies a unique beauty and grace that resonates with the narrator in the form of Agnes. This gesture is a simple human action that transcends its immediate context to achieve lasting significance through literature. Agnes, born from this evocative gesture, endures in the novel and in the minds of readers, representing a form of immortality that is not confined to personal interactions but reaches a broader, more enduring familiarity.

The novel is chocked full of gestures. My favorite one occurs about halfway through the novel when Laura makes a gesture where she conveys to Agnes that she "has the urge to do something," gesturing outward with both hands from her chest into the air. This gesture is emblematic of Laura’s desire for expression and her struggle for significance. Laura has never made such a gesture before. We are told that “It was as if that gesture had its own will: it led her and she merely followed.” (page 167) “Laura, though she only aspires to small immortality, wants the same: to transcend herself and the unhappy moment in which she lives to do “something” to make everyone who has known her remember her.” (page 168) Kundera calls this “the gesture of longing for immortality.” In another post, I described it as a gesture of Being.

However, her gesture does not materialize into anything substantial, symbolizing the concept of minor immortality. Laura’s actions and desires are limited to the memories of those who know her personally, and despite her intense longing for significance, she fails to leave a lasting impact beyond her immediate circle (except for the fact readers like myself can choose to remember her). Unlike the wave that created Agnes, Laura's gesture (also fictional) does not lead to the birth of a lasting idea or persona (in the story). It represents her yearning for expression and recognition but does not materialize into anything substantial.

So Kundera serves up these two powerful gestures (among many others). Gestures give birth to ideas and even personas. Laura (who is contemplating suicide a moment before her gesture) has no idea what she wants to do but her gesture indicates that her "something" is expressive, coming out of herself and into the world. Agnes is born of a gesture and given life in the novel. Laura has the desire for major immortality but her gesture does not spark anything at all.

The contrast between Agnes and Laura highlights the different kinds of immortality in Kundera's philosophical framework. He suggests that the quest for immortality, whether major or minor, is a fundamental aspect of human existence. Gestures, as physical manifestations of inner desires and ideas, can hold the potential for lasting impact, but this potential is realized only in certain conditions.

The wave that creates Agnes is imbued with a unique significance that the narrator perceives and transforms into a lasting literary figure. Laura's outward gesture, though expressive, lacks the same transformative power. Either way, Kundera tells us, immortality is achieved through images and gestures, how we appear to others and are remembered by them. In fact, the power of the image (the gesture frozen in place) is so substantial that it overwhelms all other forms of human ideology. Kundera, as the narrator, explains his unique idea of “imagology” in several passages.

The concept of imagology, explored primarily through the character of Paul, further deepens the novel’s examination of identity and immortality. Imagology, in Kundera’s context, refers to the study and analysis of images that shape public perception and cultural identity. Paul works in advertising and media, making him a relevant figure in discussing how images are constructed and manipulated to create certain perceptions and realities. His profession involves crafting and disseminating these images, rendering him both a creator and a critic of imagology.

Paul’s role in media and advertising highlights the artificial nature of the images presented to the public. He is acutely aware that these images are often deceptive, designed to manipulate emotions and desires. For example, advertisements create idealized images of beauty, happiness, and success that people strive to emulate. These constructed images can be powerful, shaping societal norms and individual aspirations. Paul’s awareness of the dissonance between these idealized images and reality underscores the impact of imagology on self-perception and personal relationships.

Through Paul, Kundera critiques modern society’s reliance on images. The prevalence of media and advertising fosters a culture where appearances often matter more than substance. People are judged based on the images they project rather than their true selves. Paul’s reflections on his work and its effects on society reveal the superficiality and emptiness of the images he helps propagate, contributing to his existential angst. He recognizes that these images dominate public consciousness and dictate behavior, illustrating the power of imagology to shape reality.

“And precisely because the remnants of Marx no longer form any logical system of ideas, but only a series of suggestive images and slogans (a smiling worker with a hammer, black, white, and yellow men fraternally holding hands, the dove of peace rising to the sky, and so on and so on), we can rightfully talk of a gradual, general, planetary transformation of ideology into imagology. Imagology! Who first thought up this remarkable neologism? Paul or I? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that this word finally lets us put under one roof something that goes by so many names: advertising agencies; political campaign managers; designers who devise the shape of everything from cars to gym equipment; fashion stylists; barbers; show-business stars dictating the norms of physical beauty that all branches of imagology obey.” (pp. 117-118)

Just as with his examination of “kitsch” in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Kundera concentrates the idea of imagology over just a few pages but the concept haunts the entire novel. The above section is noteworthy for a couple of reasons. First of all, he uses Marxism as his starting point for proving that ideas are weaker than images. Secondly, the whole concept of “branding” in consumerism is, ironically, the strongest part of the argument. Kundera simultaneously discredits Marxism while elevating the “kitsch” of consumerism as a force in the world (though kitsch is not his focus here).

Finally, it is worth noting that this quote is a fine example if how Kundera inserts himself as the narrator into the story. He asks who thought of the idea first, himself as the author or Paul, who is one of his fictional characters. This is a great illustration of this aspect of Kundera's humorous, lighthearted style with this novel regardless of how “serious” the subject might be.

Kundera continues, imagology has triumphed over every contender for meaning and purpose in our lives and, therefore, has become the whole of contemporary human reality. “Nowadays, however, the imagologue not only does not try to hide his activity, but often even speaks for his politician clients, explains to the public what he taught them to do or not to do, how he told them to behave, what formula they are likely to use, and what tie they are likely to wear. We needn’t be surprised by this self-confidence: in the last few decades, imagology has gained a historic victory over ideology. All ideologies have been defeated: in the end their dogmas were unmasked as illusions and people stopped taking them seriously.” (p. 118)

He continues to hammer Marx and the failure of communism in this section. “...communists used to believe that in the course of capitalist development the proletariat would gradually grow poorer and poorer, but when it finally became clear that all over Europe workers were driving to work in their own cars, they felt like shouting that reality was deceiving them. Reality was stronger than ideology. And it is in this sense that imagology surpassed it: imagology is stronger than reality...” (p. 118)

“I want to add to this comparison of ideology and imagology: ideology was like a set of enormous wheels at the back of the stage, turning and setting in motion wars, revolutions, reforms. The wheels of imagology turn without having any effect upon history. Ideologies fought with one another, and each of them was capable of filling a whole epoch with its thinking. Imagology organizes peaceful alternation of its systems in lively seasonal rhythms. In Paul’s words: ideology belonged to history, while the reign of imagology begins where history ends. (pp. 119-120)

I am reminded of the infamous “end of history” absurdly proclaimed by Francis Fukuyama 32 years ago. Fukuyama was discussing political and economic theory and thought capitalism, democracy and globalism had brought this chapter of human history to a close. But he was wrong. And the reason he was wrong could be attributed to Kundera's imagology, which originated about the same time as Fukuyama's mistake. The end of history turns out to be the full immersion into advertising, politics, the design of goods and services, fashion, and the structure of physical beauty. These are forces more powerful than any other ideology. Kundera offers a thoughtful and prescient understanding of the contemporary world.

He continues the novel with his philosophical wrecking ball. This time on one of the cornerstones of western thought. “I think, therefore I am is the statement of an intellectual who underrates toothaches. I feel, therefore I am is a truth much more universally valid, and it applies to everything that’s alive. My self does not differ substantially from yours in terms of its thought. Many people, few ideas: we all think more or less the same, and we exchange, borrow, steal thoughts from one another. However, when someone steps on my foot, only I feel the pain. The basis of the self is not thought but suffering, which is the most fundamental of all feelings. While it suffers, not even a cat can doubt its unique and uninterchangeable self. In intense suffering the world disappears and each of us is alone with his self. Suffering is the university of egocentrism.” (p. 205)

Kundera uses gestures not merely as physical actions but as profound symbols that convey deeper meanings about his characters and themes. From Agnes’s introspective hand on her forehead to Laura’s expressive outward movement, and from Bettina’s reverent bow to Paul’s defensive postures, each gesture adds a layer of complexity to the narrative. These gestures enrich the novel's exploration of identity, memory, and the human condition, making them integral to understanding Kundera’s philosophical inquiries. By paying close attention to these gestures, readers can gain a deeper appreciation of the subtle ways in which Kundera portrays the quest for immortality and the intricate dynamics of human existence.

Imagology is our obsession with image and appearance. Kundera's posture that the image has become more important than the reality is explored through the characters' preoccupations with how they are perceived by others and the world at large. This reminds me of Jean-Paul Sartre's fascinating concept of “the Look” as articulated in Being and Nothingness. To me, the concept makes more sense and becomes more powerful through Kundera's approach rather than what Sartre originally wrote.

Mirrors and reflections also play significant roles in the novel, serving as metaphors for self-perception and identity. Agnes's discomfort with her reflection in the gym mirror represents a deeper alienation from her physical self, raising questions about the relationship between our inner selves and our external appearances.  They function simultaneously as physical objects and complex metaphorical devices that explore themes of identity, self-perception, and existential reflection. For characters like Agnes, mirrors symbolize the tension between inner life and outer appearance, creating a sense of alienation when her reflection seems disconnected from her deeper self.

This alienation connects to the novel's broader narrative technique of fragmentation and reflection - just as mirrors create infinite reflections when facing each other, the novel's structure creates multiple layers of meaning that reflect across different characters and timelines. Meanwhile, Laura engages with mirrors in her pursuit of "big immortality" through beauty and fame, Agnes's uncomfortable mirror encounters trigger philosophical digressions about authenticity and embodiment, highlighting what Kundera sees as a modern crisis of maintaining an authentic self in a world dominated by images and performance.

The mirror motif organically interacts with the novel's exploration of gestures, as characters' movements seen in mirrors suggests a form of immortality through the reproduction of human expression. This creates an intriguing tension between individual identity - what we see in the mirror - and the universal aspects of human behavior that transcend individual existence. Again, Sartre comes to mind here.

Through mirrors, Kundera critiques the superficiality of appearances while pondering how much of our identity is defined by external perception rather than inner reality. The mirrors thus illuminate the gap between Being and seeming, while simultaneously revealing how human gestures and behaviors are reflected and repeated through time, creating a kind of immortality through reproduction and echo.

Then we come to what Kundera calls “hypertrophy of the soul,” which is the essence of Laura's outward gesture. It is something also seen in Paul's engagement with the superficial world of advertising. Agnes also experiences this through her quest for meaning and solitude. Hypertrophy is an excessive or overgrown state of emotional or spiritual experience that exaggerates the significance of your emotions.

“What makes people raise their fists in the air, puts rifles in their hands, drives them to join struggles for just and unjust causes, is not reason but a hypertrophied soul. It is the fuel without which the motor of history would stop turning and Europe would lie down in the grass and placidly watch clouds sail across the sky.” (p. 217) Fukuyama's end of history can only occur in the absence of the massive human self-pity or hubris or aggrandizement which is the hypertrophied soul. As such, Trump's MAGA movement is the hypertrophied soul.

Kundera continues his rather bizarre narration when he inserts himself in the story to speak with one of his minor characters about what is coming next in the story. ““I am really looking forward to Part Six. A completely new character will enter the novel. And at the end of that part he will disappear without a trace. He causes nothing and leaves no effects. That is precisely what I like about him. Part Six will be a novel within a novel, as well as the saddest erotic story I have ever written. It will make you sad, too.”

““Avenarius lapsed into a perplexed silence. After a while, he asked me in a kindly voice, “And what will your novel be called?”

““The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”

““I think somebody has already written that.”

““I did! But I was wrong about the title then. That title was supposed to belong to the novel I’m writing right now.”” (p. 244)

This is another example of Kundera's lighthearted approach to his subject matter. He flippantly tells one of his fictional characters that he misnamed his most famous book. That title should have gone to Immortality. But why does he even suggest such a thing? Well, for one thing he focuses on imagology in this novel and kitsch in the other. Perhaps he thinks the images have more to do with Being than the fleeting lightness of Being itself. Then we come to a quote to help clarify this, focusing not on Being itself but upon its unbearable nature.

“What is unbearable in life is not being but being one’s self. The Creator, with his computer, released into the world billions of selves as well as their lives. But apart from this quantity of lives it is possible to imagine some primordial being that was present even before the Creator began to create, a being that was—and still is—beyond his influence. When she lay on the ground that day and the monotonous song of the stream flowed into her, cleansing her of the self, the dirt of the self, she participated in that primordial being, which manifested itself in the voice of fleeting time and the blue of the sky; she now knows there is nothing more beautiful. The secondary road she drove onto from the highway was quiet, and distant stars, infinitely distant stars, shone over it. Agnes drove on and thought: Living, there is no happiness in that. Living: carrying one’s hurting self through the world. But being, being is happiness. Being: becoming a fountain, a fountain on which the universe falls like warm rain.” (pp. 265-266)

This ties the earlier novel's title to Immortality. It is also an excellent example of Kundera's beautiful, poignant prose. Then we come to Part Six, which is, indeed, a separate story. We meet Rubens, who has nothing to do with Agnes or Goethe or anything else in the novel. It is basically a chronology of the women and girls he had relationships with during his life. The female in each sexual liaison is designated simply by a letter. “A,” “B,” “C,” etc. until Rubens encounters a lute player.

“...the lute player quickly turned back into her image, as drawn long ago in Rubens’s memory: she concealed herself behind her image. Image: Rubens has known for a long time what that means. Hiding behind the bodies of his schoolmates on the bench in front of him, he secretly drew a caricature of the teacher. Then he lifted his eyes from his drawing; the teacher’s features were in constant motion and did not resemble the picture. Nevertheless, whenever the teacher disappeared from his field of vision, Rubens was unable (then and now) to imagine him in any way other than in the form of his caricature. The teacher disappeared forever behind his image. ...A person may conceal himself behind his image, he can disappear forever behind his image, he can be completely separated from his image: a person can never be his image.” (p. 327, Kundera's emphasis)

Again, imagology triumphs over not only ideology but reality itself. The contemporary hypertrophied world is a world where gestures and images are more real and knowable than the people to which they apply. The essence of Kundera's exploration remains with images and gestures throughout the course of the narrative. Importantly, observed behavior is an image for the observer (gestures become images to those who see them). In this way, images enter the memory of the observer and are carried on in either a large or small way. Gestures indeed give birth to ideas and personas, but their ultimate impact depends on the context and the perception of those who witness them as images. Agnes (and Goethe, Hemingway) represents the rare instances where a gesture achieves major immortality, while Laura embodies the more common experience of minor immortality, where personal expressions are transient and eventually forgotten, even by those who knew you.

Imaginary dialogues between historical figures like Goethe and Hemingway provide a platform for broader philosophical discussions. These conversations allow for a rich exploration of literary fame, artistic legacy, and the differences between classical and contemporary approaches to literature. "If we can put a man on the moon, then we can also imagine Goethe having a conversation with Hemingway. The magic of literature is that it allows us to transcend time and space, bringing together minds that never met but always had something to say to each other," reflects Goethe in one such dialogue, highlighting the timeless and universal nature of philosophical inquiry.

Immortality is a rich, oftentimes delightfully entertaining, philosophical novel, exploring profound themes of gestures, images, identity, memory, and the human condition. Through its intricate narrative structure and philosophical reflections, the novel invites readers to engage with deep questions about life, legacy, and the nature of existence. Kundera's beautifully crafted, succinct prose and his ability to blend philosophical depth with lyrical beauty make Immortality a solidly evocative read that continues to reward readers, helping to cement the author as an one of the most insightful and thought-provoking of the twentieth century.

 

 

(Written with assistance from Claude and ChatGPT.)