Prisoner of Self

What follows is an excerpt from 'The Bet', a short story by Anton Chekhov, and a discussion upon certain aspects of it. The story is about a bet between a rich banker and a young unwise man. The banker stakes two millions that the young man wouldn't be able to spend fifteen years in solitary confinement voluntarily. The young man agrees to the bet, on the condition that he be given access to all kinds of necessities and amenities; the only condition being that he be denied the right to communicate with humans. The most critical aspect of the bet was that the confinement was voluntary on part of the Prisoner. He had the right to walk out of his room the moment he desired. Which obviously made the stay a lot more difficult. After fifteen years, around 12 hours prior to the scheduled end of the bet the Banker gets a chance to read this note written by his Prisoner:

"To-morrow at twelve o'clock I regain my freedom and the right to associate with other men, but before I leave this room and see the sunshine, I think it necessary to say a few words to you. With a clear conscience I tell you, as before God, who beholds me, that I despise freedom and life and health, and all that in your books is called the good things of the world. 

For fifteen years I have been intently studying earthly life. It is true I have not seen the earth nor men, but in your books I have drunk fragrant wine, I have sung songs, I have hunted stags and wild boars in the forests, have loved women ... Beauties as ethereal as clouds, created by the magic of your poets and geniuses, have visited me at night, and have whispered in my ears wonderful tales that have set my brain in a whirl. In your books I have climbed to the peaks of Elburz and Mont Blanc, and from there I have seen the sun rise and have watched it at evening flood the sky, the ocean, and the mountain-tops with gold and crimson. I have watched from there the lightning flashing over my head and cleaving the storm-clouds. I have seen green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, towns. I have heard the singing of the sirens, and the strains of the shepherds' pipes; I have touched the wings of comely devils who flew down to converse with me of God ... In your books I have flung myself into the bottomless pit, performed miracles, slain, burned towns, preached new religions, conquered whole kingdoms ... 

Your books have given me wisdom. All that the unresting thought of man has created in the ages is compressed into a small compass in my brain. I know that I am wiser than all of you. 

And I despise your books, I despise wisdom and the blessings of this world. It is all worthless, fleeting, illusory, and deceptive, like a mirage. You may be proud, wise, and fine, but death will wipe you off the face of the earth as though you were no more than mice burrowing under the floor, and your posterity, your history, your immortal geniuses will burn or freeze together with the earthly globe. 

You have lost your reason and taken the wrong path. You have taken lies for truth, and hideousness for beauty. You would marvel if, owing to strange events of some sorts, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit, or if roses began to smell like a sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange heaven for earth. I don't want to understand you. 

To prove to you in action how I despise all that you live by, I renounce the two million of which I once dreamed as of paradise and which now I despise. To deprive myself of the right to the money I shall go out from here five hours before the time fixed, and so break the compact ..." 

And the Prisoner of Self walked out as he said, never to claim the 2 millions he had set out to win. My dilemma here is simple: which was the greater of the two mistakes, was it the fact that he imposed that voluntary confinement upon himself; or was it his action of having walked out of the bet  just in time to lose the bet? I can't decide. Can you?

PS: You can read the full story here:  http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/Bet.shtml