Stalin could not help thinking that although people called him the wisest of the wise, they had still not given him his full due. Their enthusiasm, he felt, was superficial and they did not truly appreciate the extent of his genius. He had lately been obsessed with the idea of making one major contribution to learning, of leaving his indelible stamp on something else besides philosophy or history. He could not help feeling envious when he read those passages in The Dialectic of Nature about zero and minus one squared. But despite long sessions with Kiselyov's Algebra or Sokolov's Advanced Physics, he found nothing to inspire him. [...]
It would, of course, have made a bigger splash to have refuted that counter-revolutionary theory of Relativity, or wave mechanics, but he was so busy with affairs of state that there just hadn't been time.
[...]
He began to write: 'Whatever national language of the Soviet Union we may take - Russian, Ukrainian, Byelorussian, Uzbek, Kazakh, Georgian, Armenian, Estonian, Latvian, Lithuanian, Moldavian, Tartar, Azerbaijani, Bashkir, Turkmen... (hell, he was finding it more and more difficult to stop himself from reeling off great lists like this. It impressed the reader and made it harder for him to answer back)... it is obvious. ...' H'm. Here he had better put in something that was obvious.
But what was obvious? Nothing was obvious... It was all very hard going.
[...]
There was no one to advise him, he was alone in the world, like all great philosophers. If only Kant or Spinoza were still alive, or anyone of that calibre, even if they were bourgeois.
The midnight musings of a seventy year-old Josef Stalin in Alexander Solzhenitsyn's The First Circle. I was roaring with laughter for ten minutes reading the above passage in a coffee shop the other day. The most scathing and hilarious analysis of Stalin's mediocrity and psychological pathologies ever written.