Living without the magnifying glass: A reflection on Nikos Kazantzakis's novel, ‘Zorba the Greek'

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3 days ago

Is reason the ultimate guide to living a successful life? Are analysis and evaluation the surest paths to a better life? Should instincts and emotional responses be dismissed from human experience altogether? To such questions, the character Zorba in Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis would offer a firm 'no.'
In a world that celebrates logic, scientific progress, and intellectual achievement, Zorba, with all his raw instinct and emotional vitality, swims, walks, and dances – effortlessly and joyfully.
Published in Greek in 1946 and later translated into English twice, Zorba the Greek is a rare novel. Its protagonist does not tell us how to live, he lives it – fully, freely, and deeply, unburdened by the weight of intellectualism, which, though powerful in its own domain, cannot alone help us understand life's meaning.
The compass for a meaningful life
Albert Camus, in The Myth of Sisyphus, famously argued that reason is just a tool – a way to grasp the observable and logical aspects of the world. But if one sees the world as more than just a collection of sensory impressions – if one believes in a deeper, mysterious layer beneath the surface – then reason alone is insufficient. At the heart of that mystery lies the question of life's meaning. Scientific reasoning, however powerful, is not equipped to unravel such existential questions.
Zorba seems to understand this instinctively. He knows that reason is a tool, but not the compass for a meaningful life.
Philosophy, especially metaphysics, tries to go further – seeking to understand life's meaning through speculation and abstract thought. But too often, it becomes entangled in endless intellectual conundrums, stripping life of its immediacy and joy. It chases understanding at the expense of experience. It is here, between the reasoning man and the metaphysical philosopher, that Zorba steps in – full of spirit, full of life.
Alongside the men who falsely believe that reason can help them live, and those lost in the quagmires of metaphysics, there are others who thoughtlessly indulge in life's sensory pleasures. These individuals live carelessly, chasing excess and luxury, without ever contemplating the value of their existence. Between these extremes – the thinker, the philosopher, and the hedonist – Zorba stands apart. And, paradoxically, he lives the kind of life that each of them may secretly envy.
Throughout the novel, Zorba delivers countless expressions of worldly wisdom – often as direct challenges to the scholarly, bookish knowledge.
The Greek tradition divides knowledge into two realms: sophia and phronesis. Sophia is scholarly knowledge, acquired through study and instruction – knowledge from books and teachers. Phronesis, on the other hand, is practical wisdom – gained not through study, but through experience, through actual doing of things, through the act of living.
Zorba is the embodiment of phronesis. His knowledge arises from experience, from fully immersing himself in the messiness and immediacy of life. He lives deeply, instinctively, without the filter of detached analysis that so often characterises the scholarly mind. While the men of Sophia, wrestle with abstractions, Zorba is already out in the world, realising those abstractions through work, song, dance, and love.
Though unschooled and at times even brutish, Zorba understands how to live – joyfully, intensely, and appreciatively. He is not dulled by the weight of reason or the lens of scientific detachment. Because he does not see the world through intellectual filters, he sees it fresh every single day. The sea, the birds, the mountain – all reveal themselves to him as if for the first time, again and again.
Through Zorba, Kazantzakis's novel glides across many philosophical ideas. Zorba often declares that he trusts only himself – because only his own actions are within his control. Others, he claims, are mere ghosts. Here we see a hint of Stoicism: the notion that we can control only our own behaviour. At the same time, we glimpse solipsism – the philosophical idea that the self is the only reality one can be sure of. Yet, Zorba is not a philosopher. He is simply a man who knows how to live, and in doing so, he becomes a living critique of all the philosophies that try to reduce life to formulas.
A novel of ideas
The novel is rich with ideas – serendipity, discovery, curiosity, and existential urgency. Zorba, with his undiminished wonder and grounded joy, feels like a prototype for today's mindfulness movement. But his mindfulness is not passive or aesthetic. He discovers joy not just in contemplation but also in effortful work.
For Zorba, true happiness is paradoxical: it is to have no ambition, yet to work like someone who has every ambition in the world. What a contrast Kazantzakis presents – living without goals, yet working with full-hearted intensity. Zorba's effort is not directed at any objective; the goal of his life is simply living itself – living fully, immersively, moment by moment.
Some readers might take issue with Zorba's religious outlook or his unorthodox behaviour. But his openness to experience – and his willingness to embrace risk – is a lesson in phronesis for anyone willing to pay attention.
At one point in the novel, Zorba condemns the magnifying glass because it reveals all the worms in a cup of water. He urges his friend to throw it away, to stop analysing the water, and instead, to drink it. That is how Zorba lives: not through analysis, but through acceptance. He drinks life deeply, without fear of worms.
Despite its philosophical richness, Zorba the Greek is not a difficult novel. It is warm, accessible, and filled with vitality. The novel is well worth the time and attention of any reader – especially if read immersively, with the same openness Zorba brings to life itself.