I believe they call this coming full circle.
I have been thinking a lot about Narcissus, for more than his alleged vanity or the cause for it. I have been thinking of him because I may just have developed a hyperbolic admiration for the symbol. Perhaps it is that simple... self love? Does loving ones' self mean one can't love others or is it the other way around? Considering I find myself inordinately incapable of this degenerate act: 'loving', I must admit the paradox plagues me to no end.
There are three different accounts of the tale in Greek myth but I tend to prefer the archaic, mortal version over Ovid's overtly poetic account - perhaps because it is the only one I have actually read outside the limited sphere that embodies the marvellous merits of Google- Narcissus was basically a jerk and therefore had many-a-man and maiden in love with him. This in my world is termed as possessing more-than-ample doses of the 'Asshole Gene'. That elusive strain incorporated in a man's genetic make-up that allows him to solicit admiration, lust and - yes sometimes even love- on the premise of his being a rancorous beast. This tendency in women is usually accompanied by the 'Saviour Complex' accounting for the not-so-complimentary strain in their genetic make-up that propels them to want to rescue and redeem men from themselves. It goes without saying (still, this is for the cheap seats in the back):
'People don't change.'
Let it be Written.
Let it be Done.
I am digressing from the subject (yet unheard of), Narcissus the Jerk was punished by the Gods (because apparently Gods have always only been there to do just that) for having spurned -in this case- his male suitors in the glorious tradition of Greek pederasty. The man in question being a chit of a dude named Ameinias who was ga-ga over Ass-isus. Narcissus gave him a sword as a gift, basically saying "Well if you'll die without me might as well get on with it" and the poor puppy did just that. The curse was put in motion, Narcissus fell even more in love with himself, this time via a pond and when he was met with the colossal indifference his reflection threw in his general direction, he called on the sword again, this time for himself. The entire transaction was commemorated in the birth of a beautiful flower by the same name - incidentally my favourite - growing out of his remains and doomed to stand at the banks of lakes and rivers staring at its reflection until plucked.
The reason I have been thinking about Narcissus is, once again, Dearest Nietzsche. I have only recently begun reading 'Why I am so Wise' and I must say that I have seldom encountered the pleasure of reading a more profoundly gripping 89 pages. The contents are intriguing:
1. ECCE HOMO - How one becomes what one Is.
2. Why I am so Wise
3. Why I am so Clever
4. Why I write such good Books
5. Why I am a Destiny
6. Twilight of the Idols - How to Philosophise with a Hammer
7. Maxims and Arrows
8. The Four Great Errors
9. The Hammer Speaks
Were it anyone else the blatant self-love reflected in every sentence would probably prove disturbing, but then that is why anyone who loves Nietzsche loves him. Because he sets the premise for the fact that modesty and humility, while very pretty precepts, are inherently dishonest. Pretending not to be good at something that one is - beyond all doubt- good at, is basically lying if one were to tell the truth. Then again pretty lies are based on the premise of disregarding the truth. The cover of the book reads " I know my fate. One day there will be associated with my name the recollection of something frightful - of a crisis like no other before on Earth, of the profoundest collision of conscience." Ah, the blissfully brash iconoclast!
The narrative follows to cement the premise, Zarathustra doesn't lie even when he is lying, because he admits to it being the default human setting. House, the new silver screen synonym for Holmes, attests to this with his 'Everybody Lies'. How then, are we to disregard eons of conditioning towards upholding the perverse pillars of humility and virtue...both of which are associated with catalogues of social conditioning? A few days ago I told a friend of how I had been cheated out of a stellar concept during a board meeting, the concept was mine and the individual in question simply entered the room, cutting me off mid-presentation and claiming it as its own. It later on turned and flashed me a megawatt smile. I had two options: I could leave the boardroom and pick a fight, snitch or ignore it. I picked the latter and this time not because of my overwhelming cowardice regarding confrontations of all kinds, but because it was a conscious choice. This individual couldn't probably think up an idea like that if its life depended on it, I knew that I would just need a couple of hours to improve upon the premise .
Was this Vanity or Cowardice?
My friend told me I was a doormat, that I would be breakfast mulch in less then a week. I have a different take: I work hard to keep my cool. Really hard. I meditate, I read, I write ...all in the attempt to improve my person. That fabled improvement can only be made evident if I act different from most of the people surrounding me, it isn't idealistic... it is vanity. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but somewhere in my head I know what Nietzsche means when he says "But the disparity between the greatness of my task and the smallness of my contemporaries has found expression in the fact that I have been neither heard nor even so much as seen." I read it and a malicious corner in my abdomen admonishes me for my hoity-toityness, but then I get it. Were I to stay in the doldrums with everyone else I should just quit while I am ahead, buy a pint of face plaster, a pair of stilettos and a brain that stops asking questions. But I need to keep asking something, so that's out.
Nitimur in vetitum
We strive after what is forbidden
Well so be it! The only point so far that I don't see eye to eye with the man on is here 'One repays a teacher badly if one remains only a pupil' Neitzsche has downplayed the pupil grossly. What is so wrong with craving a life filled with questions, there is never an end of answers and the different trajectories that each answer proffers. Why then limit oneself to one question and one answer...which is the only path available to surpass the pupil and enter the realm of the professor- limiting the expanse of question. Now why would I want to do that? Although I suppose this choice may well be a passive-aggressive attempt to retain that venomous strain of humility. If one is predisposed to admit that one cannot ever know all the answers, vanity - however she comes- will always only be a polite acquaintance, never an intimate lover like Nietzsche likes her to be.
Perhaps this explains the man's penchance for Dionysos as the choice Deity - the proverbial God of Wine, Women and Song. The promoter of civilization, a lawgiver and lover of peace — as well as the Liberator, his purpose to free one from one's normal self, by madness, ecstasy and inebriation. The divine mission of Dionysus was to mingle the music of the flute and bring an end to care and worry.
If this be Nietzsche's mission than sign me up, but his account discounts the fall out. Pitting the Satyr (Dionysos) and the Sinner (Narcissus) against the Sainthood may not be the best thing. Although, I must admit that my apprehension draws largely from years of adverse conditioning in the gross glorification of all 'Glory Be' religious genres.
The Man said "Here there speaks no 'prophet', none of those gruesome hybrids of sickness and will to power called founders of religions."
Perhaps I am finally ready to listen to plain, intelligent prose over prophecy.
I have been thinking a lot about Narcissus, for more than his alleged vanity or the cause for it. I have been thinking of him because I may just have developed a hyperbolic admiration for the symbol. Perhaps it is that simple... self love? Does loving ones' self mean one can't love others or is it the other way around? Considering I find myself inordinately incapable of this degenerate act: 'loving', I must admit the paradox plagues me to no end.
There are three different accounts of the tale in Greek myth but I tend to prefer the archaic, mortal version over Ovid's overtly poetic account - perhaps because it is the only one I have actually read outside the limited sphere that embodies the marvellous merits of Google- Narcissus was basically a jerk and therefore had many-a-man and maiden in love with him. This in my world is termed as possessing more-than-ample doses of the 'Asshole Gene'. That elusive strain incorporated in a man's genetic make-up that allows him to solicit admiration, lust and - yes sometimes even love- on the premise of his being a rancorous beast. This tendency in women is usually accompanied by the 'Saviour Complex' accounting for the not-so-complimentary strain in their genetic make-up that propels them to want to rescue and redeem men from themselves. It goes without saying (still, this is for the cheap seats in the back):
'People don't change.'
Let it be Written.
Let it be Done.
I am digressing from the subject (yet unheard of), Narcissus the Jerk was punished by the Gods (because apparently Gods have always only been there to do just that) for having spurned -in this case- his male suitors in the glorious tradition of Greek pederasty. The man in question being a chit of a dude named Ameinias who was ga-ga over Ass-isus. Narcissus gave him a sword as a gift, basically saying "Well if you'll die without me might as well get on with it" and the poor puppy did just that. The curse was put in motion, Narcissus fell even more in love with himself, this time via a pond and when he was met with the colossal indifference his reflection threw in his general direction, he called on the sword again, this time for himself. The entire transaction was commemorated in the birth of a beautiful flower by the same name - incidentally my favourite - growing out of his remains and doomed to stand at the banks of lakes and rivers staring at its reflection until plucked.
The reason I have been thinking about Narcissus is, once again, Dearest Nietzsche. I have only recently begun reading 'Why I am so Wise' and I must say that I have seldom encountered the pleasure of reading a more profoundly gripping 89 pages. The contents are intriguing:
1. ECCE HOMO - How one becomes what one Is.
2. Why I am so Wise
3. Why I am so Clever
4. Why I write such good Books
5. Why I am a Destiny
6. Twilight of the Idols - How to Philosophise with a Hammer
7. Maxims and Arrows
8. The Four Great Errors
9. The Hammer Speaks
Were it anyone else the blatant self-love reflected in every sentence would probably prove disturbing, but then that is why anyone who loves Nietzsche loves him. Because he sets the premise for the fact that modesty and humility, while very pretty precepts, are inherently dishonest. Pretending not to be good at something that one is - beyond all doubt- good at, is basically lying if one were to tell the truth. Then again pretty lies are based on the premise of disregarding the truth. The cover of the book reads " I know my fate. One day there will be associated with my name the recollection of something frightful - of a crisis like no other before on Earth, of the profoundest collision of conscience." Ah, the blissfully brash iconoclast!
The narrative follows to cement the premise, Zarathustra doesn't lie even when he is lying, because he admits to it being the default human setting. House, the new silver screen synonym for Holmes, attests to this with his 'Everybody Lies'. How then, are we to disregard eons of conditioning towards upholding the perverse pillars of humility and virtue...both of which are associated with catalogues of social conditioning? A few days ago I told a friend of how I had been cheated out of a stellar concept during a board meeting, the concept was mine and the individual in question simply entered the room, cutting me off mid-presentation and claiming it as its own. It later on turned and flashed me a megawatt smile. I had two options: I could leave the boardroom and pick a fight, snitch or ignore it. I picked the latter and this time not because of my overwhelming cowardice regarding confrontations of all kinds, but because it was a conscious choice. This individual couldn't probably think up an idea like that if its life depended on it, I knew that I would just need a couple of hours to improve upon the premise .
Was this Vanity or Cowardice?
My friend told me I was a doormat, that I would be breakfast mulch in less then a week. I have a different take: I work hard to keep my cool. Really hard. I meditate, I read, I write ...all in the attempt to improve my person. That fabled improvement can only be made evident if I act different from most of the people surrounding me, it isn't idealistic... it is vanity. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but somewhere in my head I know what Nietzsche means when he says "But the disparity between the greatness of my task and the smallness of my contemporaries has found expression in the fact that I have been neither heard nor even so much as seen." I read it and a malicious corner in my abdomen admonishes me for my hoity-toityness, but then I get it. Were I to stay in the doldrums with everyone else I should just quit while I am ahead, buy a pint of face plaster, a pair of stilettos and a brain that stops asking questions. But I need to keep asking something, so that's out.
Nitimur in vetitum
We strive after what is forbidden
Well so be it! The only point so far that I don't see eye to eye with the man on is here 'One repays a teacher badly if one remains only a pupil' Neitzsche has downplayed the pupil grossly. What is so wrong with craving a life filled with questions, there is never an end of answers and the different trajectories that each answer proffers. Why then limit oneself to one question and one answer...which is the only path available to surpass the pupil and enter the realm of the professor- limiting the expanse of question. Now why would I want to do that? Although I suppose this choice may well be a passive-aggressive attempt to retain that venomous strain of humility. If one is predisposed to admit that one cannot ever know all the answers, vanity - however she comes- will always only be a polite acquaintance, never an intimate lover like Nietzsche likes her to be.
Perhaps this explains the man's penchance for Dionysos as the choice Deity - the proverbial God of Wine, Women and Song. The promoter of civilization, a lawgiver and lover of peace — as well as the Liberator, his purpose to free one from one's normal self, by madness, ecstasy and inebriation. The divine mission of Dionysus was to mingle the music of the flute and bring an end to care and worry.
If this be Nietzsche's mission than sign me up, but his account discounts the fall out. Pitting the Satyr (Dionysos) and the Sinner (Narcissus) against the Sainthood may not be the best thing. Although, I must admit that my apprehension draws largely from years of adverse conditioning in the gross glorification of all 'Glory Be' religious genres.
The Man said "Here there speaks no 'prophet', none of those gruesome hybrids of sickness and will to power called founders of religions."
Perhaps I am finally ready to listen to plain, intelligent prose over prophecy.
...aah,Nargis.I always relate the flower not to the reflective greek gentleman(no pun there),but to the actress.And then not our homegrown meaty mutiyar at that,but Nargis Dutt.
ReplyDeleteThe Asshole gene..Nowhere would you see more of the 'Ein Arseholengeist' ,to quote Berti Vogts,than where I'm situated,in the armed forces.It's prob'ly the only place where it can be a positive influence.But you have conceded the fact that it is a gene,hence accepting it as part of a person's inherent make-up,and not something under conscious control.The same is the case with the Saviour Complex,and it's erstwhile offshoot,the Martyr Syndrome...