There is something really horrific for any human being who feels

The words of Wole Soyinka, the wise poet and fierce guardian of truth, strike deep into the soul of all who have ever been misunderstood: “There is something really horrific for any human being who feels he is being consumed by other people. I'm talking about a writer's critics, who don't address what you've written, but want to probe into your existence and magnify the trivia of your life without any sense of humor, without any sense of context.” This is not merely a complaint about the burden of fame — it is a lamentation on the violation of the human spirit, a cry against the devouring hunger of a world that feeds not on ideas, but on the flesh of those who dare to speak them.

From the dawn of time, those who have spoken truth have faced this same consuming fire. The prophet who calls his people to righteousness, the poet who reveals the hypocrisy of kings, the thinker who exposes the illusions of the age — all have been torn apart not for their message, but for their human frailty. The world, unable to defeat their ideas, turns instead upon their person. And in that act, the horrific unfolds — the transformation of a living soul into an object of curiosity, stripped of context, stripped of dignity. Soyinka names this horror: to be consumed by other people, to feel the slow erosion of self beneath the gaze of those who do not seek understanding, but entertainment.

Let us remember Socrates, the wise man of Athens, who spoke not for glory but for truth. When his words unsettled the proud, his enemies turned not against his teaching, but against his life. They painted him as a corrupter of youth, mocked his poverty, magnified the trivia of his being. They could not bear his wisdom, so they poisoned his name before they poisoned his body. This is the ancient mirror of Soyinka’s lament: that the critic, when lacking context and humor, becomes the destroyer of meaning. He does not engage the work — he feeds on the man.

To probe into a person’s existence without understanding is to pluck the petals of a flower and call it knowledge of the garden. Soyinka warns against this cruelty — a cruelty made greater by its ignorance. For a writer, every word is a gift of the inner self; to distort that gift by prying into his private shadow is to betray the covenant between artist and world. The true critic, like the wise elder of old, approaches the work with humor — the humility to laugh at the smallness of human effort — and with context, the grace to see how each word is born of struggle, history, and soul.

There was once Oscar Wilde, brilliant and radiant, who dared to live and write with unflinching honesty. The world, enchanted by his art yet uneasy with his truth, turned against him. They dissected his life with venom, mocked his trials, magnified the trivia of his love until it eclipsed the radiance of his words. In consuming Wilde, they believed they had silenced him — but his spirit endured. The very thing they sought to destroy became immortal, proving Soyinka’s warning and his hope: that though men may devour the body of the artist, they cannot swallow the essence of his truth.

The lesson, dear listener, is one of balance and mercy. Be wary of the hunger to dissect others. When you behold a writer, a leader, a creator — see not a figure to be consumed, but a soul in motion, struggling as you do between shadow and light. When you encounter art, address the work, not the wounds of the one who made it. Let humor soften your judgment, and let context expand your understanding. The ancients taught that to know is to empathize — and without empathy, there can be no wisdom.

And to the creators, the poets, and the thinkers who tremble under the gaze of the world, take heart. The horrific feeling of being consumed is but proof that your fire burns bright. Do not retreat from truth because others would twist it. Guard your inner sanctum, but let your words fly free. Remember that those who magnify your trivia cannot diminish your essence. Stand as Soyinka stood — unbroken, fierce, and wise — for the world may consume your image, but it cannot possess your spirit.

Thus, let this teaching be carried forward: judge the work, not the worker; seek to understand, not to devour. For the heart that respects the sacred privacy of another soul is the heart that keeps humanity alive. And when we speak, when we write, when we dare to live truthfully — let us do so with courage, knowing that the gaze of others cannot destroy what is born from the eternal flame within.