The Modern-Day Monk

It is not surprising that several guests at Friday’s Royal Wedding were anonymously quoted as “feeling jaded” yesterday. Anticipation of great events is commonly followed by a drained numbness, even if the event meets elevated expectations. Life thus passes by as a series of interspersed highs and, if not lows, mediocre neutrals. Is this the sum total of the human experience?

Man has historically found three ways to neutralise this nihilistic perspective: fame, religion and propagation.

Fame, with its associated glamour, can be fleeting or it can last a lifetime. Occasionally it outlasts its originating source and is considered worthy – or notorious – enough to be important to historical and cultural record. Whether transient or semi-permanent, its nourishment to the famous person is thin when weighed against the permanence of death. It can sustain the mind in the short-term, but is ultimately lacking.

To combat this failure of Temporal Power to assuage anomie, religion developed to offer believers escape from death, whether through reincarnation or heaven. Such Spiritual Might remains a comfort to many, channelling and guiding human emotion into soothingly predictable paths. Like Temporal Power, it offers individuals a larger sense of self that is part of a grander existence than Hobbes’ description of Man’s life as “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short”.

But for many, meaningful fame is impossible (the Warhol-esque 15 minutes of reality TV or social networking hardly counts) and religious faith escapes them, or is actively shunned. Frequently, their final refuge is propagation and it is a rare parent indeed that does not think of their children as the best thing they ever did.

Creating the next generation is certainly a valuable role; I would not want to see the human species wiped out! But does it truly offer a solution to the impermanence of man? I suggest not; the real essence of even the best of parents is lost from collective memory within at most four generations. As long as the parent does not think too deeply about this inevitable historical dissipation, Familial Legacy can substitute for either Temporal Power or Spiritual Might and stave off despair at the prospect of death.

What if none of the above are to the liking of the individual, if all are thought to fail the essential test of overcoming fear of death and giving life meaning, what then?

Enter the Modern-Day Monk.

The archetype of the man who seeks spiritual enlightenment through disengagement from the world is an ancient one. We see echoes of his presence in all the major world religions, mythologies and philosophies. Traditionally, the Monk has sought physical separation from the world; either to wander alone or in the company of select fellow travellers on a similar journey. He has used asceticism as a tool to aid enlightenment. Asceticism encourages the abandonment of sensual pleasure and material wealth, deeming these to be distractions from personal growth.

The Modern-Day Monk follows a different path to individuation. It is not physical abandonment of the world that is important, but intellectual detachment. This detachment from the value systems of others (the Temporal, Spiritual and Familial spheres) nonetheless permits material and emotional engagement with the world. He is able to weigh up and measure situations and people rapidly, allowing only positive effects through to his inner self. He comes across to others as tolerant and moderate, as he has no need to be otherwise. He enjoys the world, but does not let the world rule his inner heart. And in the face of new challenges, he has an inner core of willpower – a clear sense of self – to neutralise against torment.

The more philosophically (or religiously) minded will have already identified the characteristics outlined in the preceding four sentence as the Four Cardinal Virtues: Prudence, Temperance, Justice, and Fortitude respectively. The virtues are named Cardinal for being the hinge (L. cardo) upon which rests the door of life. It is not the door to a physical retreat from the world as the first step to an afterlife. It is a system to support and enhance our human desire to be part of the world, while not being ruled by it.

The Modern-Day Monk lives well, as well as wisely.

Choosing Wisdom

Hermes Trismegistus, floor mosaic, Siena Cathedral, via Wikipedia

‘I will build the Zodiac…

The lives of men,

from birth to final destruction,

shall be controlled

by the hidden workings of this mechanism.’

Destiny and Necessity are cemented together.

Destiny sows the seed.

Necessity compels the result.

Few can escape their fate

or guard against

the terrible influence of the Zodiac…

If, however,

the rational part of a man’s soul

is illuminated…

… the working of these gods is as nothing.

But such men are few.

Most are led and driven by the gods

which govern earthly life…

To my way of thinking, however,

it is our duty not simply to acquiesce

in our human state,

but, through intense contemplation

of divine things,

to detach ourselves from our merely mortal nature.

Hermes Trismegistus in The Hermetica, as translated by Timothy Freke & Peter Gandy

Borrowed from the library of Dr Neel Burton

Compiled thousands of years ago at the time of the Pharoahs, is there any more prescient statement of Man’s current condition?

Beyond the mortal influences of genetic nature (Destiny) and environmental nurture with its unconscious influence on behaviour (Necessity), lies choice.

It is up to us to choose to think, to act freely, to gain insight, and so also gain Enlightenment.

Few make that choice.

Roman Roulette

Image via Wikipedia

There are times where one must simply choose: which fork in the road of life do we follow?

Often, these crucial decisions can be delayed or the terms of the choice reframed so as to offer a more palatable contrast. And by planning ahead and understanding both yourself and your hopes for the future, the right answer can become self-evident.

But sometimes, even the wisest and most artful can find themselves faced with a crossroads that they have done little to prepare for, and a solution must be extemporised.

So it was with Josephus, a commander of the Jews in their rebellion against Roman rule in the 1st century AD. Legions led first by Vespasian and later his son Titus (both future Emperors) were wreaking revenge across Judaea, razing cities and massacring local populations. Josephus and 40 of his comrades found themselves cornered in a hideout in the city of Jotapata. He had predicted that the city would fall on the 47th day of the Roman siege, and his prediction had now come true.

Josephus, a moderate man, wanted to surrender and seek clemency. His colleagues felt death by suicide was the only honourable option. A man at ease with words, Josephus attempted to persuade them away from this decision, arguing it would be against God’s will to suicide. He failed in that line of argument, but convinced them that rather than each man killing himself, they should instead kill each other as this would be less likely to offend God.

We will never know whether what happened next was pure luck or brilliant inspiration, though the circumstances are all so odd that I rather suspect the latter. Josephus said that they should all stand in a circle and then every third man should be killed by his neighbour.

The brilliance lies in where Josephus stood in that circle. By positioning himself correctly, he ensured that every time the count went round, he was never the third man, and so was never killed. He and one other man were the last two survivors and with only one man left to persuade, he was now able to argue successfully in favour of surrender.

He lived, became a Roman citizen and left several important histories of the age behind. Some have painted him as a traitor, others as an opportunist. Perhaps he was. But I have to admire his skill and tenacity in surviving such a lethal situation. True, we’re unlikely to ever be in the exact same situation (though if you are, I recommend standing either 16th or 31st in the circle), but the ability to improvise and to persuade remains vital to survival.

The painting is The Triumph of Titus, 1885, by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, and can be clicked for a larger image

The Anti-hero

There are two kinds of anti-hero: the Everyman, and the character that contributors to the TV Tropes website would call the Magnificent Bastard. I’ve always loved reading and watching the exploits of the second kind of anti-hero.

The Everyman type is typically thrown into a difficult situation, fights against adversity and his baser nature and at the end of the piece, if not actually triumphant, at least survives in some way to fight another day. These are the Holden Caulfields, Arthur Dents, Winston Smiths and even Homer Simpsons of the world. They’re buffeted about, occasionally managing to stand up and make a difference, but rarely have full insight into what they’re doing and more usually get out of dangerous situations through a combination of luck and tenacity.

The Magnificent Bastard is entirely different. He is still a flawed character, but his flaw is not one of general mediocrity but that of a gaping mental chasm created by a deep psychological imbalance. These are the characters one loves to hate, the characters that are not all unsympathetic to the reader/viewer but those that society tells us we should not really be sympathising with. The sympathy is generated not so much because we approve of their actions, but because their actions reveal something of their flaw, and we – perhaps still undeservedly – admire them for their attempt to compensate for their flaw. Not for them a carefully planned course of therapy to find inner peace; these characters take revenge on the world that they feel made them this way.

Classics of the type would be Milton’s Lucifer (histrionic narcissist), Shakespeare’s Iago (morbidly jealous) and Macbeth (inferiority complex), Dorian Grey (another narcissist) and Machiavelli’s idealised Prince. Modern equivalents would be Patrick Bateman (narcissistic rage) and psychopaths like Hannibal Lecter, Gordon Gekko and James Bond. Not that they’re all men (though there tends to be preponderance of male characters), as women such as Becky Sharp, Miranda Frost and The White Witch also get in on the act.

I started thinking about this topic while chatting about the 80s supersoap Dallas elsewhere. You may have read recently that Larry Hagman (who of course played star of the show JR Ewing) recently won substantial damages against Citigroup for mismanagement of his investments. Naturally, that led to a slew of JR-related puns and quips, plus some nostalgic reminiscing of what a fun bit of escapist entertainment Dallas was. The character that made the show so watchable was JR Ewing, and he’s pretty much an archetypal example of the Magnificent Bastard antihero.

What stops him being a cartoon villain is that his character never acts out of pure evil, but always from a position that can be understood and, on a good day, sympathised with. He has a slew of what you might call “daddy issues”, and one could ascribe a good deal of his actions to a feeling that he could never quite measure up to Jock Ewing’s legacy, and a (probably failed) desire on his part for his son John Ross to never feel that way about him as a father figure. His extreme competitiveness with Jock and Bobby, his dismissive behaviour towards Gary and Ray, his general perception of people as dumb instruments to be manipulated, and his virgin madonna/whore dichotomous attitude towards women are all consistent with a theme of male inadequacy and arrested development due to an overbearing yet unloving father.

This is also probably what lets his character connect so brilliantly with the audience, especially men in the audience. By transposing the Jock Ewing father figure onto a patriachal and hierarchical society, we enjoy watching JR do all the things we, as individuals with a more rounded and mature personalities, could never do. He’s a classic anti-hero, collecting power and feeding off other people’s emotional distress, as a substitute for inner peace.

Characters are compelling because of their psychological reality, even when the that reality is stretched to an extreme caricature. We love reading about and watching anti-heros because they let us live out a few of our fantasies – even those we do not like to admit to ourselves – and this fantasy allows  us to stabilise our own psychological attitude to the world.

PS. if any of the characters mentioned above don’t instantly bring the source to mind, your reading/viewing list is, in order of appearance from the illustrating photo down: The Devil’s Advocate, Catcher in the Rye, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, 1984, The Simpsons, Paradise Lost, Othello, Macbeth, Portrait of Dorian Grey, The Prince, American Psycho, Silence of the Lambs, Wall Street, James Bond (any), Vanity Fair, The Devil Wears Prada, The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe, and, of course, Dallas. An eclectic list to keep you busy for a while!

A Guided Tour of Dreams

I have been busy the past two days, which both explains the lack of posts here and provides the foundation for my entry today. Last night I had a pleasant dinner with friends I first met while working my last job before leaving full-time employment in favour of my current lifestyle. It was fun to catch up with them and I indulged in rather more food and wine than usual which led to some intriguing dreams overnight.

I am not a complete believer in dream analysis but the unique nature of dreams can be a good jumping-off point to spark discussion about one’s current psychological state. It is two months since I left that job and I have noticed occasional unexpected thoughts regarding this recently. Thoughts such as “I really don’t have to go back” and “I wonder what I’ll do tomorrow”. These are not wistful or regretful thoughts but have the feel of a genuine and deeper sense of freedom than the initial exuberance of the first flush of liberty.

Last night’s dreams fed into this deeper quandary of choice.

The first dream I can recall put me back in that last job on a normal working day. I was doing the work well, but just as I was getting close to completing one task, another was given to me, and I became increasingly irritated by the incessant workload. So far, so simple to interpret. I then experienced a brief interlude as a mediaeval knight in armour riding through a forest (which was in fact a more thicketed version of the land near my last workplace) and I knew that I was searching for something but I knew not what.

The Questing Knight is a classic Jungian archetype of the collective unconscious and is also found in some form within every world mythology. It represents travel towards a lofty goal and the classic flaw of the Knight is that he fears nothing but that he will fall prey to personal weakness at the height of crisis. What is also interesting is that the Knight usually achieves his goal by confrontation or violence, and this symbolic conflict led directly into the next dream element.

From hunting knight, I then found myself hunted prey. I was a forensic psychiatric patient, detained under the Mental Health Act, and fleeing the authorities as they tried to recapture me. The police were after me, but so too was a paramilitary organisation. This part of the dream did not last long; just as I was about to be captured, I became the paramilitary sniper tracking me. I was looking down a rifle’s sights, flitting from one potential target to another before finally hitting the fugitive with a tranquillising dart. My squad members congratulated me on the successful hit as we drove back to our base.

In the foyer, there was a poster advertising for applicants for a space mission to a red planet, possibly Venus or Mars. I then flash-forwarded to successfully landing on the planet – effectively conquering it – and returning home. From that successful return home, I segued into returning back to my parents’ home of 10 or 15 years ago and was congratulated and welcomed back by my late mother. I woke up shortly afterwards, with a vaguely perplexed sense of both happiness and curiosity.

A simple interpretation would be to suggest that my unconscious mind still seeks a task to complete to validate my existence. This is something I consciously reject, believing such tasks to be self-imposed constructs. So it is not surprising that these thoughts instead found voice in my dreams.

They represent my Jungian Shadow, that part of the unconscious mind that is a conglomerate of repressed weaknesses and instincts. It is the part of us that defies everything we believe true about ourselves. My conscious self – my Persona – is calm, controlled, even-tempered and often dispassionate. The Shadow (whether as Knight, Sniper, Fugitive or Conqueror) is the more violent and passionate undercurrent of my unconscious mind.

The presence of my mother at the end of the dream could be interpreted as part of my Anima – the feminine side of my nature – congratulating me on the acceptance of emotionality (the thrill of the chase, the triumph of the planetary landing, the completion of the quest) into my life.

The turbulent and emotional natures of Shadow and Anima have the capacity to drive creativity, in a way the conscious Persona cannot. But the Shadow cannot be allowed to overwhelm the Persona. As Jung himself said in Archetypes, to do so would result in “a man… always standing in his own light and falling into his own traps… living below his own level”. If the Shadow is not recognised it leads to over-identification with the Anima in order to satisfy the Shadow’s desires: “Possession caused by the anima [results in] the anima surround[ing] herself with inferior people”.

The task facing me – as it is to all of us – is acknowledging the creative power of the Shadow and the Anima, integrating them into the Persona without letting them overwhelm it. Writing about the dreams I experienced last night is thus one step in the ultimate life-task of individuation and perhaps the dream also expresses a residual creative hope that others will attempt their own similar journeys.

Procrastinating Life, Hastening Death

We are born once and cannot be born twice, but we must be no more for all time. Not being master of tomorrow, you nonetheless delay your happiness. Life is consumed by procrastination, and each of us dies without providing leisure for himself.

- Epicurus, the 14th Vatican Saying

The topic of death has been playing on my mind recently. I have blogged about death previously, but my most recent post, combined with the blog entry of a friend, has motivated me to revisit the topic. The more I consider matters, the more I feel that Epicurus is correct.

The image of Death as the Grim Reaper is responsible for much of the structure of our society. Together with Birth, it provides a narrative structure of life, with a beginning and an end. There naturally follows a desire to be able to tell a good tale – to give the ending some drama and meaning – much like the successful denouement of a play.

This encourages us to measure our achievements against those of others, to consider our status in the eyes of the world and in posterity. Will our descendants speak fondly of us, will others still read our wisdom after we are gone, will some part of us thus live forever? All of the structures of society stem from these core concerns.

The problem with this way of thinking is that it forces us to view Life as an unfinished work-in-progress, not to be considered complete until we die. This is a dangerous way to interpret our existence as it encourages us to procrastinate happiness in favour of working on our image. What is the true value of respectful descendants, or the admiration of a future world, or a glowing place in the history books, when we are dead?

I would argue, there is none. It can offer us no joy after we are gone.

Thinking and planning ahead is always going to be part of ensuring joy over our entire lifespan, but essential planning should not be allowed to mutate into indefinite procrastination of pleasure. The true value of Life is not in the tale that will be told of us after we are dead, but in the joy of the living.

Dinosaurs, robots and gorgons

Three of my favourite – and admittedly more than slightly geeky – boyhood interests were robots, dinosaurs and myths.

I would happily spend hours playing with toy robots and dinosaurs, and reading science-fiction, fantasy and mythology. That last interest was piqued by my mother, who had studied something of the structure and nature of the Greek myths in her youth. She would tell them to me as bedtime stories.

It probably says something about my psyche that I always loved these gruesome and psychologically complex tales though it is worth noting that even more traditional fairy tales tend to be equally deep and blood-soaked if read with a critical eye.

Children naturally need something larger than life to believe in. They are exposed to a constant barrage of new information and need to integrate that fresh data into their worldview. This is an intensely complex challenge and potentially highly destructive if not managed well.

The metaphors and allegories of a fantasy world help them find their place in the real world. Play becomes a vehicle for expressing their own desires, fears and beliefs at a time when they cannot articulate them clearly. Imagination and play are conduits for expression and understanding.

Most adults have lost this ability. Through education we tend to acquire a reductionist tendency; the desire to understand complex issues by breaking them down into a smaller set of more digestible facts. But many life systems cannot easily be reduced and are best understood by appreciating the effects of changes upon the system, rather than trying to understand the individual cogs and gears of the system itself.

Metaphor and allegory, including satire, are ways of quickly grasping the functional nature of a system even if we cannot understand its inner workings. After all, most organisations have their fair share of dinosaurs, robots and gorgons within them.

This is not idle cynicism. This is about allying observation to symbolism, improving our pattern-recognition and ability to hypothesise and plan. Imagination is thus the cornerstone of success and happiness.

The painting is Giordano’s dramatic capturing of the moment in Ovid’s Metamorphoses when Perseus reveals the severed head of the Gorgon Medusa. Even the severed head retains the power to petrify Phineas, his rival for the love of the princess Andromeda. The Gorgon, here used as a metaphor for Andromeda’s own female ambiguity and rage, is tamed and controlled by the hero Perseus, thus securing her love and defeating all other potential suitors.

The psychology of clothes: Part II – colour

In part one of this short series, I discussed the symbolism of uniforms. This post discusses the impact of colour. Colour has meaning largely because of its cultural connotations, though some may argue for at least a degree of evolutionary association for certain colours. One colour can have different meanings across cultures, and within subcultures. An example would be the historical wearing of white at a Japanese funeral whereas black would be traditional in the West.

Whilst acknowledging this cultural relativism, it is still worth understanding the symbolic tradition of different colours within the mainstream culture here in the UK. Most associations happen at an unconscious level, and can of course be overriden by other factors such as style of dress or manner of a person, but they are still useful to know when creating first impressions.

Black - black has become, at the expense of almost all other colours, a proxy marker for fashion and elegance, with both edge and restraint. Its dominance in this role is relatively recent, though it has had historical periods of similar popularity. For instance, King Philip II of Spain routinely wore luxurious black clothes. Nowadays, its position as the dominant reference colour to which all others are compared (“colour X is the new black”) has been cemented by the imagery of James Bond’s dinner jacket, Coco Chanel’s little black dress, 60s counter-culture, various creative industries, the popularity of a slim silhouette (which black enhances) and recent fare like Men in Black, The Matrix and Goth/Emo subcultures.

White - probably the only colour to come close to challenging black’s dominance. White stands for simplicity, purity and clarity of purpose. From bridal gowns to tropical suits through to the ubiquitous white business shirt, it is the colour used to reflect away light and evil, and to draw attention to oneself as having singular purpose.

Blue - formerly heavily associated with the Virgin Mary, in most shades blue now occupies a position associated with  small-c conservativism, influence, and a certain degree of serenity. The vivid shades of blue, like French and Electric, are more challenging, forcing others to take notice and consider your actions.

Green - obviously a colour of nature, and as such green can be seen as organic, caring and calming. However, its association with military camouflage can draw other associations if combined with more earthy tones and its more acid shades can be draining.

Red - rarely used in nature apart from to draw attention to danger or sexual potency, red is also the colour of blood. All these associations demand attention and alertness, but also caution and care. Used carefully, it can project an air of control and authority, but do not be surprised if overuse results in others steering clear, or being reluctant to trust you.

Brown - the colour of earth, brown is  associated with similar qualities of dependability, solidity, continuity but also potential intransigence, stubborness and being wedded to traditional methods.

Yellow - echoing sunlight, yellow is vibrant, energising and thought-provoking. And in larger quantities, blinding and unpleasant.

Pink - the colours associated with different genders have flipped at least once. Before the late-Victorian period, dark blue was associated with womanhood (cf the association with the Virgin Mary), and so pale/sky blue was the colour for girls. In similar vein, pink was the colour for boys, as red was the virile masculine colour for grown men (cf. the Redcoats of the British Army of the period). Sometime after World War One, or even later, the colours reversed, and pink became associated with femininity. There is certainly something of another reversal of this association now, with men choosing pink for shirts and other items with increasing regularity. Pink can now be viewed as the choice of a man in touch with his emotions, though the more vibrant shades will continue to polarise opinion.

Purple - Tyrian purple was a dye extracted from sea-snails and worth its weight in silver on the ancient markets of Phoenicia, according to Greek historian Theopompus. Its value led to exclusivity, and association with wealth and splendour. It was later designated an Imperial colour first in Rome, then Byzantium, before returning to Western Europe by way of the Holy Roman Emperor. It still retains associations of mystery, power and opulence, especially in its darker shades.

Grey - always the colour left to the end, grey is anonymous, pale and invisible. It symbolises conformity and melancholy, but also lends an impression of sobriety and timelessness.

We rarely wear monochrome outfits, and some colours will naturally suit certain complexions better than others. Combining colours well is an artform that improves with practice. But being aware of the in-built symbolic qualities of different colours can provide an added dimension for you to enjoy experimenting with when choosing what to wear.

Have fun trying different combinations and see what effect colour has on those around you!

If you go down to the woods today

Barbarian invasion of Oxford this past weekend (also known as the Cowley Road Carnival) forced me to wander slightly further afield for some peace and quiet. A friend suggested Wytham Woods and the associated village. Unaccustomed as I try to be to the concept of exercise, a walk in the woods nonetheless offered the prospect of most welcome respite.

Wytham Woods is quite unique, being an Site of Special Scientific Interest and bequeathed to the University by the previous owner in the 1940s for the purposes of scientific research. It’s one of the most studied ecological habitats in the world and ongoing research still takes place regularly. The woods are dense, with heavy canopy, and its often narrow paths have undulations sufficient to make the prospect of tea and cakes at the local village shop a welcome reward for the effort. Even a summer’s afternoon walk through the woods was enough to forcefully remind me that I live in Hobbit country, as the wood is evocative of the Old Forest near the Shire in Tolkien’s works. Fortunately my journey to the village at the other end of the wood was swifter and safer than Frodo’s. The pretty and unspoilt village of Wytham was previously under the ownership of the Earl of Abingdon but like the woods, is now also in University hands.

There is a great deal to be said for a brief commune with nature, even of the relatively tame variety usually found within Oxfordshire’s borders. The separation from the crowds and noise of urban and suburban life allows the mind to wander more freely and unexpected associations can coalesce. Today’s walk resulted in a discussion on the relative benefits of the Roman Republic versus the Empire, prompted initially by our mutual inability to recall the proper name for dryads that lived in ash trees* which itself arose from sighting a hollowed-out ash that a man could stand within.

Free association of ideas is a key concept within psychoanalysis. The process of allowing the mind to wander as freely as possible from concept to concept is crucial to the attempt to bring the unconscious out into the open. It is only by knowing our unconscious mind that we can understand inner conflicts and so develop new personal insights and work towards a clearer sense of self and a happier future.

*The answer, which I looked up later, is that they are the Meliae.