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Does Creativity Drive People Crazy? |
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 Does Creativity Drive People Crazy?
I recently attended a lecture by a prominent
academic who theorized that creativity was
somehow connected to mental illness. She cited
a number of examples that ran the gamut from
Lincoln and
Churchill to numerous famous writers like
Hemingway,
Faulkner, and
Fitzgerald, and artists like the
posthumously acclaimed, institutionally
committed painter
Vincent Van Gogh.
Citing the fact that Lincoln and Churchill
allegedly suffered from depression and
novelists like Hemingway committed suicide,
while Faulkner and Fitzgerald were alcoholics,
she seemed quite positive that her theory was
correct. As further evidence, she named a
number of other brilliant scientists like
Newton and
Einstein, the latter because he had a
schizophrenic son.
What began as mere disagreement with this
thesis, grew into a vehement and accelerating
antagonism. Boiled down to its essence, this
academic spread the notion that to be truly
creative you had to be off the beam or
whatever the politically correct term is these
days for varying degrees of mental illness.
The absurdity of this idea amounts to insult.
It is probably true that some creative people,
like others in the population, have some form
of mental illness. But, I would argue, that
the vast majority of creative people do not
fall into this category. There is only one
common thread. They are creative. They create
ideas and invent things that have not existed
before. That alone makes them different.
Like love, no one has adequately explained why
some people are creative and some are not.
Neuroscientists offering theories and
speculations might tell you that they know
where in the brain creativity takes place, but
they can't tell you why or how.
Nevertheless, once the anger passed, the idea
did spawn some thoughts, not only about the
nature of creativity but how worldly
validation, meaning success and celebrity, and
its dark opposite, failure and
non-recognition can lead an artistic creator
to a form of pathological behavior.
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One might
even speculate that writers became
mentally unbalanced by their inability to
match the very creativity that had made
them famous. |
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It is quite true that so-called famous writers
have, indeed, succumbed to what might be
termed mental illness or its various
manifestations like depression, addiction,
paranoia or suicidal behavior. Hemingway was
hospitalized in the
Mayo Clinic for paranoia and later put a
shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
In his case, suicide was a family disease.
Faulkner in his later years was a drunk and
apparently died from falling off his horse
while under the influence.
Fitzgerald became a hopeless alcoholic and
died at age 40 from the addiction.
Jack London disappeared at sea, an alleged
suicide.
Edgar Allen Poe was found dead on a
Baltimore street, presumably from alcoholism.
To compound the mystery of this degrading
death he was not even wearing his own clothes.
Von Gogh checked himself into a mental
hospital and, as further proof of his
unbalanced state, cut off an ear.
 As for Lincoln and Churchill, who, I suppose
can be characterized as creative, their
admitted depressions may qualify for mental
illness, but I wouldn't attribute their
creativity to that ailment. I'm not sure that
Lincoln, a great President, can qualify as
being "creative," although I would dub
Churchill, a novelist and writer, certainly a
creative force.
Creativity is not necessarily the province of
only those who have attained worldly success.
In fact, I would say that worldly success is
probably the enemy of creativity. All of the
writers cited above were enormously successful
early in life. They were lauded, lionized, and
celebrated. In my opinion, it was this very
early success that brought them down. Perhaps
they had either lost faith in their creativity
or for one reason or another felt they could
not match their earlier creative surge. One
might even speculate that they became mentally
unbalanced by their inability to match the
very creativity that had made them famous.
But, it was not, as the professor had alleged,
because their creativity was a byproduct of
mental illness.
In the case of Vincent Van Gogh, the opposite
seems more to the point. While he painted
furiously and longed for recognition, he could
not achieve it, selling only two paintings in
his lifetime. One might infer from that that
his failure and constant rejection drove him
over the mental brink.
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I often
wonder what became of all my talented
acquaintances who burned with artistic
zeal and creative ambition and disappeared
into oblivion. |
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In my lifetime I have associated with writers
who were, in my opinion, enormously talented,
many of them more so than those in my circle
who did achieve recognition and commercial
success. Their creative work was dazzling
and incandescent. But for some reason, they
never fulfilled their dreams of validation by
others, meaning worldly success. The landscape
is littered with such enormously creative
people who, for one reason or another, never
achieved their dream of recognition, although
they might have been satisfied with a very
personal fulfillment.
Perhaps they were lacking in drive or could
not handle rejection or were intimidated by
the arrogance and criticism of the doorkeepers
of the moment. Or they might have grown tired
of being pummeled by the combat of the
marketplace and no longer submitted their work
to anyone. They might have plied their
creativity in secret, filling trunks with
manuscripts and closets and basements with
paintings, hoping that a next generation might
stumble on their work and publish it for
posterity. On the other hand, they might have
deliberately chosen anonymity and
non-recognition, pursuing their creative art
to satisfy a very private dream.
The battle for recognition is fierce and
mostly unfair. The bitch
Goddess of Luck is fickle and unmerciful.
And God help those who are blessed with luck
that abruptly runs out and leaves their ship
of success stranded in a windless sea. I
wonder which is worse, no success at all or
success that mysteriously aborts after an
initial spurt?
Because I am a writer, I am using the creative
writing analogy, but it applies equally to all
artists, painters, composers or anyone that
creates something that had never existed
before. The analogy also applies to
scientists, inventors and those who embellish
and interpret the creative achievements of
others like actors, singers, and dancers as
well. Such performers may resent being
relegated to mere interpreters of other
people's creativity and I will concede I could
be accused of too narrow a definition.
 The fact is that worldly success for a
creative person requires, aside from Lady
Luck, a certain singular mindset, an obsessive
pursuit of recognition, a selfishly organized
life in pursuit of one's creative dream which
can be stressful enough to push people over
the edge of sanity and, perhaps, bring on some
manifestation of mental illness.
I often wonder what became of all my talented
acquaintances who burned with artistic zeal
and creative ambition and disappeared into
oblivion, the oblivion of my own perspective
at least. Were they failures in the worldly
sense, dropouts in the game of life, cursed or
blessed by the creative spark? Or simply
losers in a race where there is no finish
line?
I am in no way trying to denigrate the great
creative minds that have made it into the
pantheon of immortality. That too, is an
unpredictable war of survival drawn from a
pool of mostly recognized creators, many of
them, well known in their day, Michelangelo
and Rembrandt, for example. Their immortality
is well deserved and we all recognize their
work as pinnacles of creative effort and an
invaluable contribution to world culture.
I am paying tribute here to the unrecognized,
the
anonymous, the unknown, the
unsung, that intrepid band of creative
writers and artists who, for one reason or
another, have failed to garner any traction
among the doorkeepers of their era, but,
nevertheless, deserve our praise and
admiration for their efforts and our loss.
Not to realize one's
dream can, indeed, drive one crazy. It
is not, as the professor alleges, the other
way around.
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