This essay is not finished. You opened up so many strands of thought and left them there ... just dangling ... towards the depths.
Please take this as an invitation to write more about/tangent to this. Not to clarify necessarily, but to go further through the dark cavern.
I have so many questions!
Why do we think greatness requires depth? I 'felt' the statement as true, like I feel the statement 'weather has an effect on our psyche' to be also true. But do we believe greatness requires depth because we recognize great people by their achievements and by some scars that they wear that must have come from the depths? And why do we call them great? If almost everybody could write music like Bach, we wouldn't call Bach great, right? Sure, we associate effort and talent with greatness, but we also know that that's not all. Do we recognize Bach as great because we enjoy his work, even though most seldom understand it. We appreciate the great because they dug something (presumably from the depths) and brought it up while remaining recognizable - you could still speak to and understand Bach, unlike a lunatic. But, I would bet that most would not have understood him if he spoke from his depths, if he spoke about how he dug up his achievements; he probably would not even know how to speak about it. Epigones and students most often can't reach the depths their masters reached.
If we're actually drawn to the Other when we're looking into ourselves, is it because the Other is really there, or are we fundamentally mistaken? Or are we just looking into what feels to be the most probable place for the Other, where we see the most accessible cavern?
Do we need to take a physical tool with us in the depths to prevent us from going insane? A writer takes a pen, a musician, his instrument, a painter his brush, colors and easel, an insane person ... well ... nothing. An incomprehensible person with nothing to show is called insane; an incomprehensible person with stacks of paintings in his basement is called great. Is the object in her hand the last remaining reminder of the reality she descended from?
In this train of thought, Jesus, who so many consider great, is the closest man to an insane man. He left nothing to show for his work in the depths. He called himself son of God, the Word of God, descended into the lowest depths and has risen only to show himself to a handful of people, never to be seen again, left the most mysterious, obscure 'entity' called the Holy Ghost. Kierkegaard makes a very compelling point about the fact that it would have been incomparably harder to have believed in Jesus if they met him in the flesh than 2000 years after. The story of Jesus is easier to believe than the person.
I remember a National Geographic documentary about a lioness caring for a springbok like her own cub. Would that lioness be considered insane or great? And I don't know the true story. I've only seen the footage where the little springbok, which was uncontrollably shaking (as I presume we would start to uncontrollably shake if we were made to spend the night with a known serial killer) as the lioness would keep her paw with claws retracted on the little creature's back, caring for her. I don't know how the story could be true - in the sense that I don't see how this could have happened in an environment where humans weren't involved. I believe a singular lioness may come to believe once in 1 million years that a springbok can be her cub, but I don't see how the pack would be made to believe the same for any meaningful time period. What I'm trying to say is that only the human consciousness can even create the 'insane' and 'great' - even in other species - and what we consider great or insane looks like they spring from an awfully simple observation and thought - something like "I notice an unexpected behavior in an individual, something that I don't see in the majority of the individuals like me or it, so I name this insane or great".
Species not weighed down by a conscience have no depths. They recognize their "other", their kin, their parents, their predators, and some, maybe even themselves. One of the great differences between us and animals is how little the individual means to itself. Sure, the animal does everything it can to survive, but it never stops when it sees itself in the pond. We not only stop to look at ourselves in the pond, but when we stop, we erase the world and, insanely or greatly, replace it with what we find in that pause.
James, I've been following you for some time, and I find your essays more and more intriguing. Thank you again for throwing a pebble into the existential pond.
Your hall of mirrors metaphor brought me to mind of the 'labyrinth', a symbol I've been stuck on lately. Something in your hall of mirrors/strange loops calls it to mind - the darkness of a sinister labyrinth like the House or the Labyrinth of Daedalus, and the meditative, religious versions that pop up in many religions across the world.
If we're getting granular, the sinister labyrinths are actually mazes: multiple paths to choose and intended to confound the walker. (Multicursal). A labyrinth in the original sense of the word has only one path, albeit long and winding, to the Center. There is no choice, no confusion. (Unicursal)
Madness, as you mention, is getting lost in the Strange Loops of the Maze. Greatness is the endurance and grit to reach the Center of the Labyrinth. Maybe I'm mixing my metaphors here but I'm sharing my thoughts as they came - bear with me!
Yep, you got it. The maze is akin to a person trying to think their way out and achieve a final (right) outcome. The labyrinth is initiatory, an embodied process that facilitates transformation if a person keeps walking.
Reminds me of Chesterton's bit on the madman, who "is not the man who has lost his reason. The madman is the man who has lost everything except his reason. The madman's explanation of a thing is always complete and, in a purely rational sense, satisfactory."
Phenomenal breakdown of the narcissus patern. The distinction between madness breaking on contradictions versus greatness floating through them is sharp. I've noticed in my own work that the moments when I'm most stuck are when I'm treating paradox like a puzzle to be solved rather than a current to ride. The bit about Kierkegaard sensing that language itself is the trap hits hard becuase it means even talking about the way out is part of the problem.
Talk about synchronicity! I actually just wrote something about Douglas Hofstadter and Caravaggio (who painted that Narcissus piece) recently. Great post as always!
“Here’s what you’d actually notice about insane people if you could allow yourself: they are insufferable. They are your thoughtless aunt times a thousand. They are the final boss of soulless bureaucrats. Generally, they are not spooky, mystical, or insightful. They are paranoid and selfish to the extreme. They never see you, but only themselves in you, and they both hate and love themselves. If you let them, they will take everything from you and make you hate and love yourself, too.”
There are so many things in this post I want to highlight, but this is a start. A close relationship with a psychotic relative bears up this truth. But my start at reflecting on your post is not a dive into the depth as you show several paragraphs down. Am I paralyzed on the high dive again?
What?!?
This essay is not finished. You opened up so many strands of thought and left them there ... just dangling ... towards the depths.
Please take this as an invitation to write more about/tangent to this. Not to clarify necessarily, but to go further through the dark cavern.
I have so many questions!
Why do we think greatness requires depth? I 'felt' the statement as true, like I feel the statement 'weather has an effect on our psyche' to be also true. But do we believe greatness requires depth because we recognize great people by their achievements and by some scars that they wear that must have come from the depths? And why do we call them great? If almost everybody could write music like Bach, we wouldn't call Bach great, right? Sure, we associate effort and talent with greatness, but we also know that that's not all. Do we recognize Bach as great because we enjoy his work, even though most seldom understand it. We appreciate the great because they dug something (presumably from the depths) and brought it up while remaining recognizable - you could still speak to and understand Bach, unlike a lunatic. But, I would bet that most would not have understood him if he spoke from his depths, if he spoke about how he dug up his achievements; he probably would not even know how to speak about it. Epigones and students most often can't reach the depths their masters reached.
If we're actually drawn to the Other when we're looking into ourselves, is it because the Other is really there, or are we fundamentally mistaken? Or are we just looking into what feels to be the most probable place for the Other, where we see the most accessible cavern?
Do we need to take a physical tool with us in the depths to prevent us from going insane? A writer takes a pen, a musician, his instrument, a painter his brush, colors and easel, an insane person ... well ... nothing. An incomprehensible person with nothing to show is called insane; an incomprehensible person with stacks of paintings in his basement is called great. Is the object in her hand the last remaining reminder of the reality she descended from?
In this train of thought, Jesus, who so many consider great, is the closest man to an insane man. He left nothing to show for his work in the depths. He called himself son of God, the Word of God, descended into the lowest depths and has risen only to show himself to a handful of people, never to be seen again, left the most mysterious, obscure 'entity' called the Holy Ghost. Kierkegaard makes a very compelling point about the fact that it would have been incomparably harder to have believed in Jesus if they met him in the flesh than 2000 years after. The story of Jesus is easier to believe than the person.
I remember a National Geographic documentary about a lioness caring for a springbok like her own cub. Would that lioness be considered insane or great? And I don't know the true story. I've only seen the footage where the little springbok, which was uncontrollably shaking (as I presume we would start to uncontrollably shake if we were made to spend the night with a known serial killer) as the lioness would keep her paw with claws retracted on the little creature's back, caring for her. I don't know how the story could be true - in the sense that I don't see how this could have happened in an environment where humans weren't involved. I believe a singular lioness may come to believe once in 1 million years that a springbok can be her cub, but I don't see how the pack would be made to believe the same for any meaningful time period. What I'm trying to say is that only the human consciousness can even create the 'insane' and 'great' - even in other species - and what we consider great or insane looks like they spring from an awfully simple observation and thought - something like "I notice an unexpected behavior in an individual, something that I don't see in the majority of the individuals like me or it, so I name this insane or great".
Species not weighed down by a conscience have no depths. They recognize their "other", their kin, their parents, their predators, and some, maybe even themselves. One of the great differences between us and animals is how little the individual means to itself. Sure, the animal does everything it can to survive, but it never stops when it sees itself in the pond. We not only stop to look at ourselves in the pond, but when we stop, we erase the world and, insanely or greatly, replace it with what we find in that pause.
James, I've been following you for some time, and I find your essays more and more intriguing. Thank you again for throwing a pebble into the existential pond.
I enjoyed reading this, thank you!
It makes me wonder, have you read or heard of the book 'House of Leaves' by Danielewski? It is a big tangled knot of a Strange Loop.
It's awesome that you mention that book - I was highly influenced by it about a decade ago. Blew my mind.
Your hall of mirrors metaphor brought me to mind of the 'labyrinth', a symbol I've been stuck on lately. Something in your hall of mirrors/strange loops calls it to mind - the darkness of a sinister labyrinth like the House or the Labyrinth of Daedalus, and the meditative, religious versions that pop up in many religions across the world.
If we're getting granular, the sinister labyrinths are actually mazes: multiple paths to choose and intended to confound the walker. (Multicursal). A labyrinth in the original sense of the word has only one path, albeit long and winding, to the Center. There is no choice, no confusion. (Unicursal)
Madness, as you mention, is getting lost in the Strange Loops of the Maze. Greatness is the endurance and grit to reach the Center of the Labyrinth. Maybe I'm mixing my metaphors here but I'm sharing my thoughts as they came - bear with me!
Yep, you got it. The maze is akin to a person trying to think their way out and achieve a final (right) outcome. The labyrinth is initiatory, an embodied process that facilitates transformation if a person keeps walking.
Most small government people think it was wrong to close the asylums. It was also wrong to make the coed. The Left only destroys.
Reminds me of Chesterton's bit on the madman, who "is not the man who has lost his reason. The madman is the man who has lost everything except his reason. The madman's explanation of a thing is always complete and, in a purely rational sense, satisfactory."
Beautiful- thank you for this thought provoking piece! 🤯
well-done
Phenomenal breakdown of the narcissus patern. The distinction between madness breaking on contradictions versus greatness floating through them is sharp. I've noticed in my own work that the moments when I'm most stuck are when I'm treating paradox like a puzzle to be solved rather than a current to ride. The bit about Kierkegaard sensing that language itself is the trap hits hard becuase it means even talking about the way out is part of the problem.
Talk about synchronicity! I actually just wrote something about Douglas Hofstadter and Caravaggio (who painted that Narcissus piece) recently. Great post as always!
“Here’s what you’d actually notice about insane people if you could allow yourself: they are insufferable. They are your thoughtless aunt times a thousand. They are the final boss of soulless bureaucrats. Generally, they are not spooky, mystical, or insightful. They are paranoid and selfish to the extreme. They never see you, but only themselves in you, and they both hate and love themselves. If you let them, they will take everything from you and make you hate and love yourself, too.”
There are so many things in this post I want to highlight, but this is a start. A close relationship with a psychotic relative bears up this truth. But my start at reflecting on your post is not a dive into the depth as you show several paragraphs down. Am I paralyzed on the high dive again?
What is the way out?
The dose makes the poison?
Too little language, too little thinking and you're stuck with parochial thinking.
Too much language, too much advice consumed, too little action and you're also stuck in inaction.
I guess one must learn to follow language with physical movement, combining both in this neverending dance.
(Some assembly required)
Can we forgive the mirror for presenting a false image, and forgive ourselves for producing the mirror?