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I Don’t Want to Be Lonely Anymore – Part 2

Analysis of The Man Chapter 3  Continued

A Man said to the universe:

“Sir, I exist!”

“However,” replied the universe,

“The fact has not created in me

A sense of obligation”.

Stephen Crane 1871 – 1900

Who Caused My Bad Luck?

No one can deny that Nietzsche had his fair share of ‘bad luck’ during his life time. But when things went pear shaped (bad), for example, with his relationships or his health or when he had money problems, he never complained about his bad luck or blamed his circumstances on someone else.

Nietzsche’s view, which he later developed into a philosophy of life that is the basis of his book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, was that we are responsible for our own life and for making the decisions that will affect it.

God is Dead said Nietzsche

Frustration with religion prompted Nietzsche to declare "God is Dead"

Most of you will know that Nietzsche was rabidly anti religion and he had many reasons for that but one was that he felt strongly that man uses religion like a crutch to abrogate (to do away with, to avoid) taking responsibility for his life.

Nietzsche felt we are happy to take credit for our successes (whether we were responsible for them or not) but quick to ascribe (credit, allocate) our bad decisions or our failures to “God’s will” rather than accepting that it is our responsibility to make decisions and to act on them and consequently we have to accept responsibility for the consequences they reap. This concept became very important to Nietzsche and it is echoed so succinctly (with concise and precise brevity) in the above poem by Stephen Crane.

Stephen Crane

I first read the poem “A Man said to the universe” many years ago and it made a huge impact on me that has never waned (decreased). I think of it when I am not happy with the way things are and I often quote it to clients, especially these days when they complain about business but do nothing to change the way they market.

Stephen Crane in Greece 1897

Crane was only 28 and already a great writer, poet and journalist when he died of tuberculosis in a Black Forest sanitarium.

The poem reminds us that Life, the universe, God owe us nothing. It gave us the miracle of life which as far as we know, has occurred no where else in the universe, what more do we expect? Nietzsche’s continues this theme by arguing that what we do with our life after birth, is up to us.

This is how I understand what they are saying;

Our life is our responsibility. How we live it is our responsibility. Our ethical and moral code, whether we choose to follow the Christian, Moslem, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu religion or any faith or no faith, they too are our responsibility as long as we don’t use that as an excuse for not taking responsibility for making our own decisions.

Good, bad or indifferent, we and we alone make the decisions that ultimately determine our quality of life. That applies equally if you make a decision not to make a decision or to follow someone else’s decision.

The Meaning of Life

Of course, it does not mean that you are responsible for everything that happens, for example, if you get laid off (fired) from work during a recession. But it is up to you to decide how you respond to that. You can either become bitter and hate the world for doing this to you (i.e. see yourself as a victim) or you can use the opportunity to learn a new trade, spend more time with your kids, start a business or any of a thousand other choices that are within your capacity to make. And if you don’t like the result you get, change it by making another one and so on until you get a result you are happy with.

Zarathustra is Nietzsche’s invention to enable him to answer the question “What is Truth?” Which could be restated as “What is the meaning of life?” Basically Nietzsche’s answer is; isn’t it the realization that there is no truth except the truth which you yourself are? That there is no truth, no meaning to life in the world that is relevant to you, except the truth, (the meaning) that you yourself give your life.

Nietzsche says

Friedrich Nietzsche

There is no truth, no meaning to life in the world that is relevant to you, except the truth that you yourself give your life.

“… To give life a meaning: that has been the grand endeavor of all that have preached ‘truth’; for unless life is given a meaning it has none. At this level, truth is not something that can be proved or disproved: it is something which you determine upon, which, in the language of the old psychology, you will. It is not something waiting to be discovered, (it is not) something to which you submit or at which you halt: it is something you create, it is the expression of a particular kind of life and being which has, in you, ventured to assert itself. …….. Because each particular life and being needs a fortress within which to preserve and protect itself and from which to reach out ….. and truth (your meaning to life) is this fortress.”

In the philosophical novel, The Man we have met two people so far who take responsibility for their life, the chemist and Annie and two who are victims of life, the aboriginal woman and The Man.

What we learn is that when you feel you have no control over your life it is easy to lose hope and without hope there is little point to life and no reason to look forward to the future. It is “Like standing between two mirrors, you see the future but it is just a repetition of today, through to infinity.”

The interesting thing is it can happen to anyone, whether you come from a disadvantaged position as per the Aboriginal woman or you are a hot shot like The Man you can lose the Way. However, Nietzsche says it is within the power of even the most disadvantaged person to wrest control of their life back, for example, little Annie who has only known poverty and illness.

Obviously losing control of your life would be a catastrophic situation if there was no chance of “redemption’ as Nietzsche calls it. And it was in developing this philosophy that Nietzsche invented the much misunderstood concept of the Übermensch or “Superman”.

The Übermensch or ‘Superman’

Nietzsche's Invention - The Ubermensch

The 'Superman’ is the man who is master of himself. Friedrich Nietzsche

For Nietzsche, ‘the Supermanis the man who is master of himself.

But Nietzsche tells us that to master oneself is the hardest task of all. It requires the greatest amount of ‘power’ (another misunderstood concept of Nietzsche’s).

Nietzsche believed that man was dominated by two primitive drives; the desire for power and the emotion of fear. However, Nietzsche came to understand fear as the feeling of the absence of power, so he was left with a single motivating principle for all human actions: the will to power. (Where power is the fortitude, the strength of character needed to master oneself).

Thus he who masters himself experiences the greatest increase in power and if happiness is the feeling that power increases, i.e. that a resistance (inside us) is overcome, then the Superman will be the happiest man and experiences the greatest sense of the meaning of existence.

By which Nietzsche means that, by transforming the chaos of life through the continual self-overcoming of the challenges life throws at us, we experience greater joy. This is the real meaning of life, for joy is to Nietzsche the one thing that requires no justification. It is in short, its own justification.

Which Comes First Happiness or Pain?

Nietzsche goes one step further, he says “He who had attained that joy would affirm life and love it however much pain it contained, because he would know that all things are chained and entwined together and everything is therefore part of a whole which man must accept as a whole”.

Wow! So now we know how Nietzsche was able to cope in the face of so many disappointments and perceived failures (I say perceived because that is how he saw himself although we now know that he was not a failed writer, thinker and philosopher, far from it). He saw all the pain, the trials and tribulations he experienced as stepping stones to the joy he experienced such as when he was in love or writing.

Annie seems to naturally know this; “She knew the melody for she was the composer” and as such she is able to be defiant in the face of her mortal illness rather than be a victim of it. She is in Nietzsche’s words a “Superman” and an excellent role model although I must admit, I had no idea she would turn out that way when I planned the story.

So, The Man A philosophical Novel, asks the question “What is reality?” is it what is happening to you or what you make it?

Annie created her own reality because “She revelled in the knowledge that her truth was indeed the truth. No matter what anyone said, it was her life and it was up to her to give it meaning for surely, if life is not given meaning, it has none

I think this is the secret that Nietzsche discovered that enabled him to live a happy and fruitful life. Mind you, ‘happy’ is a subjective term, if you want love and you don’t get it, can you be truly happy? But that is a topic for another day.

This is the end of the analysis of The Man chapter 3, and also concludes my sub theme on Nietzsche (for now :-) ).

The next two or three  posts will be a short series submitted by a reader on the Philosophy of Change. It is really great so I know you will like it and while that is happening here I hope to use the time to post some articles on the Chinese Philosophy section of this blog which I have neglected this year. I also intend to start work on Chapter 4 of The Man.

The Man, A Philosophical Novel –  The Chapters So Far:

The Man Chapter 1

The Man Chapter 2

The Man Chapter 3

Read an Analysis of Each Chapter – The Philosophy and Ideas behind the Story

Analysis of The Man Chapter 1

Analysis of The Man Chapter 2

A Readers Analysis of The Man Chapter 2

Pre Analysis Background Information for The Man Chapter 3

I Don’t Want to be Lonely – Author’s Analysis of the Man Chapter 3 – Part 1

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Category: Friedrich Nietzsche, Kitchen Sink Philosophy, The Man  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  
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Sex and the Philosopher who Specialised in Feeling Wretched

A young Friedrich Nietzsche and his famous handle bar mustache

Chapter 3 of The Man draws strongly on the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche, certainly one of the greatest philosophical writers of the nineteenth century and one of my personal favourites. So before I embark on the analysis of chapter 3 I thought it would be a good idea to introduce you to Nietzsche.

This is not a biography; It is more a snap shot about one aspect of his life that I think has not been covered in detail and yet the more I read him, the more convinced I am, that it was a major driving force in Nietzsche’s writing.

You could say it drove him “mad” but of course his eventual collapse had more to do with the syphilis he contracted on his first and possibly, his only sexual encounter. However, I believe that the sexual tension Nietzsche experienced all his life is central to understanding his philosophy and I want to look at that aspect in more detail than is usual.

Nietzsche’s Problem with Sex


In 1865 Nietzsche visited a Cologne brothel with some fellow students from Bonn University. This was not unusual at the time as it was quite common for German University students in the 1860s and 1870s to learn about sex this way and it would have been unusual if he had not visited a brothel at least once.

However, Nietzsche told his friend Paul Deussen, that he was taken there against his will and left immediately. But as Nietzsche subsequently contracted and eventually died from syphilis this is probably a white lie.

Nietzsche was first treated for a syphilitic infection in 1867 in Leipzig and suffered his first incapacitation in 1871. The course of his illness from 1871 up until his total collapse in 1889 is quite typical of the disease. The only unusual aspect was how long it took for him to die after his collapse. It took eleven (11) years and for practically all of this period he was in a catatonic state having suffered a complete mental breakdown.

Nietzsche suffered from debilitating headaches and bouts of depression and euphoria all his life. The final mental breakdown happened when he was in Italy in 1889. While walking through the piazza Carlo Alberto in Turin, he saw a carthorse being whipped by the driver and immediately jumped to its aid wrapping his arms around its neck, crying and pleading with it for forgiveness.

While Nietzsche never admitted to having syphilis H. W. Brann in his book on Nietzsche’s sex life, Nietzsche und die Frauen, interprets the long poem in the chapter “Among the Daughters of the Desert” in part four of Zarathustra as a barely disguised recollection of a visit to a brothel. He noticed similarities between its phraseology and that of the version given to Deussen. (I have added the poem separately if you would like to read it for yourself)

Nietzsche and Women


Many passages in Nietzsche’s writing and especially the uninhibited “Ecco Homo” his “un-autobiography” show that Nietzsche was highly sexed and very attracted to women. Yet there is no record or even a hint that he ever went to bed with a woman of his own class. Taking into account his possible concern for privacy there is still so much other material written about him by his contemporaries that we can safely conclude that her never had sex with a woman from his own class.

Why Did Nietzsche Have a Problem with Sex?

Nietzsche had many women friends but never married or had a mistress. Despite his attraction to women all his relationships suffered from his inhibitions and failure to reach the “next level” i.e. to form a long term relationship, marriage and a healthy sex life.

Most biographers have generally assumed Nietzsche suffered from some paralyzing mental or physical inhibition

Nietzsche with his over sized mustache

Do you think these handlebars scared women off?

(some speculate it was his huge mustache) that inhibited his relations with women but if there was such an inhibition I think it could well have been his knowledge that he suffered from a disease that would be transmitted to his sexual partner. This theory is supported by our knowledge that Nietzsche was a man of honour which probably led to him leading a celibate life at least in relation to women of his own class. (I know I have mentioned class a few times and while this may seem strange today, it was a very real consideration in the nineteenth century and still is among some people who have delusions of grandeur).

I think this was a huge burden for a man who would have loved nothing more than to meet and marry the right woman and have children. I think it led to a skewing of his views about women but more importantly, it caused him to lead a very solitary and lonely life. Nietzsche was not fortunate enough to find a soul mate with whom he could lead an intellectually stimulating life, which I believe, he would have wanted even if he could have performed sexual intercourse.

Nietzsche’s Two Great Loves


Despite Nietzsche’s “problem” there were two women that we know of for whom Nietzsche really had the hots.

Cosima Wagner


Nietzsche was a close friend of the Wagner’s who he met when he was appointed to the Chair of Classical Philology at Basle University in 1869, aged 24. He shared a common love with them for the pessimistic Schopenhauer who Nietzsche had discovered four years earlier while a student at Leipzig University. Schopenhauer’s philosophy can be summed up as “The prudent man strives for freedom from pain, not pleasure” which is a quote from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. It was a philosophy that Nietzsche would later eschew (shun).

Cosima Wagner wife of the famous composer Richard Wagner

Cosima Wagner, Nietzsche's first great unrequited love.

Schopenhauer was not the only one that Nietzsche loved, he fell madly in love with Richard Wagner’s wife Cosima. He never told Cosima of his deep feelings for her until he finally lost his mind in 1889 when he sent her a postcard from Turin in which he wrote ”Ariadne, I love you” and signed it Dionysus.

However, can you imagine the effect that this life long love for Cosima had on Nietzsche which he kept bottled up inside him? Certainly it fueled Nietzsche’s frustration and sense of loneliness and contributed to him making somewhat acerbic comments about women such as “They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent”

Lou Salome


The second true love of his life was Lou Salome (although he did propose to Mathilde Trampedach a few days after meeting her in 1876 but he was rejected). Nietzsche was introduced to Salome by Paul Ree a friend of his who was also in love with her.

Lou Salome was 21, she was the intellectual equal of Friedrich Nietzsche and the least straight laced (Socially uninhibited new style of liberated feminist dedicated to independence) and the most entertaining woman Nietzsche had ever met. She was also frigid and in her Nietzsche thought he had finally found his soul mate.

Lou Salome was beautiful, Intelligent and Frigid

Lou Salome - She was beautiful, Intelligent and Frigid.

Amazingly, Nietzsche asked Paul Ree to propose to Salome on his behalf which possibly says something about his emotional IQ.

Salome refused to marry either Nietzsche or Ree and counter proposes a platonic Menage-a-trios (a threesome) with Ree and Nietzsche.

They spend much time together and are photographed in a mock up of a cart with Nietzsche and Ree between the shafts and Salome driving them flourishing a whip. I think this is one of those images when art speaks louder than words.

In May 1882 while the three of them are on a holiday in Lucerne, Nietzsche proposes to Salome again, this time in person. He is rejected and the trio leave for Leipzig where after three weeks Salome and Ree leave Nietzsche without arranging to meet him again.

Nietzsche waits for a month hoping to hear from them before he realises he has been abandoned. By now he is emotionally and physically exhausted and beset with disappointment and self contempt.

The rejection by Salome and not least the manner of it was the bitterest pill Nietzsche ever endured and led to his most severe bout of depression yet. However, part of his strategy to recover his equilibrium was to embark on a new book; Thus Spoke Zarathustra.

Salome in the driver's seat with whip - Nietzsche and Ree the compliant donkeys.

Nietzsche’s Crisis Leads to New Philosophy of Hope

One of the things that characterizes Thus Spoke Zarathustra is the excessive and grandiose manner in which it is written. One can feel the depths of Nietzsche’s depression and the inevitable euphoria that usually follows it. I have posted an excerpt from part two, The Night Song, for you to read for yourself.

But Thus Spoke Zarathustra is also the resolution of Nietzsche’s intellectual crisis and he emerges from it with a new philosophy of hope. Hope for a world for which Nietzsche was previously pessimistic.

Nietzsche’s Concept of Fulfillment

It is at this point Nietzsche shakes off the influence of Schopenhauer with his view that:

“……the happiest lot is that of the man who has got through life without any very great pain, bodily or mental.”

and he replaces it with a new philosophy that declares fulfillment in life can only be reached not by avoiding pain but by embracing its role as a natural, inevitable step on the way to achieving anything good.


Nietzsche Emerges from the dark


Thus as Nietzsche emerges from his darkest days he experiences a revelation that all the demolition that goes on in life may be only the essential preliminary and prerequisite condition for a new construction of it. He puts it far more eloquently himself at the end of his book, Dawn:

We aeronauts of the spirit! All those brave birds which fly out into the distance, into the farthest distance – it is certain! somewhere or other they will be unable to go on and will perch down on a mast or a bare cliff-face – and they will be thankful for this miserable accommodation! But who could venture to infer from that, that there was not an immense open space before them, that they had flown as far as one could fly! All our great teachers and predecessors have at last come to a stop…; it will be the same with you and me! But what does that matter to you and me! Other birds will fly farther!

Authors Note:

I sincerely apologise that I have left so much out and yet the article is still too long. I thank you for flying this far with me. Excelsior!

P.S. I have posted separately the two extracts from Thus Spoke Zarathustra mentioned above.

Ric Vatner

The Chapters So Far:

The Man Chapter 1

The Man Chapter 2

The Man Chapter 3

Read an Analysis of Each Chapter – The Philosophy and Ideas behind the Story

Analysis of The Man Chapter 1

Analysis of The Man Chapter 2

A Readers Analysis of The Man Chapter 2

Pre Analysis Background Information for The Man Chapter 3

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The Night-Song by Friedrich Nietzsche

Excerpt from Part 2 Thus Spoke Zarathustra


By Friedrich Nietzsche


This is the second excerpt from Thus Spoke Zarathustra mentioned in the post headed “Sex and the Philosopher who Specialised in Feeling Wretched

The Night-Song


‘TIS night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.

‘Tis night: only now do all songs of the loving ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a loving one.

Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it wants to find expression. A craving for love is within me, which speaks itself the language of love.

Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is my lonesomeness to be begirt*[1] with light!

Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would I suck at the breasts of light!

And I would bless you, ye twinkling stars and glow-worms above!- and would rejoice in the gifts of your light.

But I live in my own light, I drink back into myself the flames that break forth from me.

I know not the happiness of the receiver; and oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than receiving.

It is my poverty that my hand never rests from giving; it is mine envy that I see expectant eyes and the brightened nights of desire.

Oh, the misery of all givers! Oh, the eclipse of my sun! Oh, the craving for desire! Oh, the violent hunger in satiety!

They take from me: but do I yet touch their soul? There is a gap between giving and receiving; and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.

A hunger arises out of my beauty: I should like to rob those to whom I illumine; I should like to rob those to whom I give – thus do I hunger for wickedness.

Withdrawing my hand when another hand already reaches out to it; hesitating like the waterfall, which hesitates even in its plunge – thus do I hunger for wickedness!

Such vengeance does my abundance think of; such spite wells out of my lonesomeness.

My joy in giving died in giving; my virtue grew weary of itself through its abundance!

He who is ever giving is in danger of losing his shame; the hand and heart of him who distributes grow callous through sheer distributing.

My eye no longer overflows with the shame of suppliants[2]; my hand has become too hard for the trembling of hands that have been filled.

Where have the tears of my eye and the bloom of my heart gone? Oh, the lonesomeness of all givers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones[3]!

Many suns circle in empty space: to all that is dark they speak with their light – but to me they are silent.

Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one: unpitying it pursues its course.

Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart, cold towards suns – thus travels every sun.

Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses: that is their travelling. Their inexorable[4] will do they follow: that is their coldness.

Oh, it is only you, obscure, dark ones, who extract warmth from the light-givers! Oh, only you drink milk and comfort from the udders of light!

Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burns with the iciness! Ah, there is thirst in me, which yearns after your thirst!

‘Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And thirst for the things of night! And lonesomeness!

‘Tis night: now my longing breaks from me as a fountain,- I long for speech. ‘Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.

‘Tis night: only now do all songs of lovers awaken. And my soul too is the song of a lover.

Thus sang Zarathustra.


[1] begirt: Surrounded, to surround as with a band

[2] suppliants: Asking humbly and earnestly

[3] shining ones: light givers

[4] inexorable: grim determination

Go To Post: Sex and the Philosopher who Specialised in Feeling Wretched

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Among the Daughters of the Desert

From Part 4 Thus Spoke Zarathustra


By Friedrich Nietzsche


This is the Poem referred to by H. W. Brann in his book on Nietzsche’s sex life, Nietzsche und die Frauen mentioned in the post headed “Sex and the Philosopher who Specialised in Feeling Wretched” In his book Brann interprets this poem as a barely disguised recollection of a visit to a brothel. He noticed similarities between its phraseology and that of the version given to Deussen.

Among the Daughters of the Desert


The deserts grow: woe him who doth them hide!

-Ha!

Solemnly!

In effect solemnly!

A worthy beginning!

African manner, solemnly!

Of a lion worthy,

Or perhaps of a virtuous howl-monkey-

-But it’s naught to you,

Ye friendly damsels dearly loved,

At whose own feet to me,

The first occasion,

To a European under palm-trees,

At seat is now granted. Selah.

Wonderful, truly!

Here do I sit now,

The desert nigh, and yet I am

So far still from the desert,

Even in naught yet deserted:

That is, I’m swallowed down

By this the smallest oasis-:

-It opened up just yawning,

Its loveliest mouth agape,

Most sweet-odoured of all mouthlets:

Then fell I right in,

Right down, right through- in ‘mong you,

Ye friendly damsels dearly loved! Selah.

Hail! hail! to that whale, fishlike,

If it thus for its guest’s convenience

Made things nice!- (ye well know,

Surely, my learned allusion?)

Hail to its belly,

If it had e’er

A such loveliest oasis-belly

As this is: though however I doubt about it,

-With this come I out of Old-Europe,

That doubt’th more eagerly than doth any

Elderly married woman.

May the Lord improve it!

Amen!

Here do I sit now,

In this the smallest oasis,

Like a date indeed,

Brown, quite sweet, gold-suppurating,

For rounded mouth of maiden longing,

But yet still more for youthful, maidlike,

Ice-cold and snow-white and incisory

Front teeth: and for such assuredly,

Pine the hearts all  of ardent date-fruits. Selah.

To the there-named south-fruits now,

Similar, all-too-similar,

Do I lie here; by little

Flying insects

Round-sniffled and round-played,

And also by yet littler,

Foolisher, and peccabler

Wishes and phantasies,-

Environed by you,

Ye silent, Maiden-kittens,

Full of Misgivings,

Dudu and Suleika,

-Round sphinxed, that into one word

I may crowd much feeling:

(Forgive me, O God,

All such speech-sinning!)

-Sit I here the best of air sniffling,

Paradisal air, truly,

Bright and buoyant air, golden-mottled,

As goodly air as ever

From lunar orb downfell-

Be it by hazard,

Or supervened it by arrogancy?

As the ancient poets relate it.

But doubter, I’m now calling it

In question: with this do I come indeed

Out of Europe,

That doubt’th more eagerly than doth any

Elderly married woman.

May the Lord improve it!

Amen.

This the finest air drinking,

With nostrils out-swelled like goblets,

Lacking future, lacking remembrances,

Thus do I sit here, ye

Friendly damsels dearly loved,

And look at the palm-tree there,

How it, to a dance-girl, like,

Doth bow and bend and on its haunches bob,

-One doth it too, when one view’th it long!-

To a dance-girl like, who as it seem’th to me,

Too long, and dangerously persistent,

Always, always, just on single leg hath stood?

-Then forgot she thereby, as it seem’th to me,

The other leg?

For vainly I, at least,

Did search for the amissing

Fellow-jewel

-Namely, the other leg-

In the sanctified precincts,

Nigh her very dearest, very tenderest,

Flapping and fluttering and flickering skirting.

Yea, if ye should, ye beauteous friendly ones,

Quite take my word:

She hath, alas! lost it!

Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu!

It is away!

For ever away!

The other leg!

Oh, pity for that loveliest other leg!

Where may it now tarry, all-forsaken weeping?

The lonesomest leg?

In fear perhaps before a

Furious, yellow, blond and curled

Leonine monster? Or perhaps even

Gnawed away, nibbled badly-

Most wretched, woeful! woeful! nibbled badly! Selah.

Oh, weep ye not,

Gentle spirits!

Weep ye not, ye

Date-fruit spirits! Milk-bosoms!

Ye sweetwood-heart

Purselets!

Weep ye no more,

Pallid Dudu!

Be a man, Suleika! Bold! Bold!

-Or else should there perhaps

Something strengthening, heart-strengthening,

Here most proper be?

Some inspiring text?

Some solemn exhortation?-

Ha! Up now! honour!

Moral honour! European honour!

Blow again, continue,

Bellows-box of virtue!

Ha!

Once more thy roaring,

Thy moral roaring!

As a virtuous lion

Nigh the daughters of deserts roaring!

-For virtue’s out-howl,

Ye very dearest maidens,

Is more than every

European fervour, European hot-hunger!

And now do I stand here,

As European,

I can’t be different, God’s help to me!

Amen!

The deserts grow: woe him who doth them hide!

Go to Post: Sex and the Philosopher who Specialised in Feeling Wretched

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A Reader’s Review of The Man Chapter 3

Hi, Ric.

I have just read the re-written version of The Man Chapter 3. Overall, it is better than last version. I have seen quite lot of nice comments from the readers.

But here I have some opinion, it may be not right, you may not agree with it but I would like to just share it with you.

To be honest, I cannot remember every word of the last version. But I do remember the ending..

What I want to talk about is a concept called  ”the fourth wall”

” the fourth wall” is a very famous rule in art and literature.

When you write an article it is like building a house, but you should only build three walls, and give the readers a space to imagine the fourth wall. In essence you should allow the reader to “build” the fourth wall by their imagination, by their effort.

This enables the reader to become involved in the creation of the story and when that happens they get the optimal satisfaction from reading it.

A good end to an article or a chapter always looks like it is not the end. That way readers can use their imagination to construct their own ending. Different readers will see various endings of their own creation.

So, I think the end of last version was better.

I suggest you move the last paragraph of chapter 3 to the beginning of Chapter 4. That would also have the advantage that it may make new readers curious about what happened in the previous Chapter.

That is just my personal feeling, may not be right.

Look forward to reading Chapter 4 in near future.

Thanks Ric for your great effort for creating so nice a blog.

Susan LI

Author’s Reply:

Thank you Susan, I think that is a priceless lesson in how to write a good article. Which is why I have taken the liberty of posting your comment as an article. I think all of our readers, most of whom are bloggers themselves, will benefit from reading your advice.

I must admit I really stressed over that ending. I was worried because I know a lot of our readers do not speak English as a first language and I was concerned about making it too difficult for them.

I also think the problem was caused because I have not made up my mind whether each chapter is a stand alone story as well as being a part of a serial. To some degree I have been treating each post as a stand alone story but also as being associated with the other chapters.

In fact I need to make a decision one way or the other. I think because each “chapter” is relatively short as far as regular chapters in a book go but they are  definitely not short for a blog post, that it would be wise to go for the “continuous” model that you suggest as opposed to treating each post as a stand alone story, which entails a beginning and an end.

I would certainly welcome comments on this issue from our readers. Or on any other aspects you would like to discuss.

So to conclude, I think if I had had the benefit of your advice and had known about the fourth wall concept, I would have written it the way you suggest. Thank you for pointing it out to all of us.

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Chapter 3 The Man Revised Today

Hello everyone.

Thank you so much for all your comments they really do give me the incentive to keep writing. More than that, they are an important part of the blog.

Today I made some slight changes to chapter 3. Most are quite minor but I rewrote the ending which I felt was a little rushed before.

I thought you would like to know a funny story about this chapter. Recently my car was stolen so I have been going to work by train. I first had the idea for this chapter while on the train and started to make notes. As I got to the part where Anna dies I couldn’t help but start to cry and I know many of you have said you had the same experience. I hope for your sake you were not in as public a place as I was.

When I reached my station I had to get off but I couldn’t walk to work as my eyes were still red and wet so I had to stand in a corner until I was in a better state. It was quite an experience and I think from now on I will write the stories at home or in the office after work. :-) .

I like Anna and the story has made me want to find out more about Aboriginal culture which I am ashamed to say, I know very little about. I have no idea for example about their philosophy and as I find out more, you may see it pop up in future stories and I also have a sneaky suspicion that so might Anna.

I am working on the analysis of The Man chapter 3 which owes a lot to Nietzsche as I had just finished reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra before I wrote it. I love Nietzsche which is where I got the name and tag line for this blog “The flame is not so bright to itself as to those on whom it shines: so to the wise man”.

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Chapter 3 The Man Discovers the Aboriginal Settlement

The Man – A Philosophical Novel

The flame is not so bright to itself as to those on whom it shines

Chapter 3

Revised 15th September 2010

As he walked into town the Man passed the Aboriginal settlement. The houses, seemingly frozen in the process of being demolished had tell tale holes in the fibro and sacks soiled with the  muck of everyday life for curtains. The front yard of each house was littered with rubbish between obnoxious weeds and patches of dirty grass that stood out like dreary islands in a sea of mud.

He smelt the large metal drums of garbage and putrefied rain water in which were thrown the broken pieces of asbestos fibro and the discarded remains of plastic take out, the remnants of a diet of cheap calories. He noted the derelict cars half assembled or were they half stripped down, the owner had long ago forgotten which.

Young snotty nosed Aboriginal children ran amok, one waving a stick with a dead rat skewered to it chasing the others who were laughing and screaming.

Young girls were playing hop scotch but there were no chalk marks on the ground, they just knew where the invisible squares were. Another group were swinging a skipping rope singing a dimly recognisable ditty while the girl in the middle effortlessly danced with the rope.

Sitting with their backs against one of the skeleton cars a group of teenagers sat sniffing petrol from an old coke bottle, their dull eyes wide and unseeing.

A Life Without Hope

The Aboriginal woman from the chemist shop was sitting on a door step, a burnt out cigarette languidly hanging from her purple, puffy, unkissed sunburnt lips. Looking but long ago resigned to not seeing she had abandoned desire and with that began the inevitable decline that ended with the loss of all hope. For her there was no joy in existence, all she had now was her little Anna and she was losing her ounce by ounce.

It seemed she was cursed to always be the giver, to never know the joy of receiving. Just once she wanted to experience that.

Then she remembered the Man in the chemist shop. She had been so caught up in her panic and the stress of getting the drugs Anna needed that she had not noticed his helping hand. Indeed she had mistaken it for a threat. At that moment she noticed the white fella passing the house, wasn’t that him? She cried out “Hey whitey where you going? Come and have a smoke with me”

The children looked at him. One little girl raised a leg and rested it on the other just above the knee, standing on one leg like a black swan.

He didn’t know whether to stop or keep going but she called again plaintively “Come here white fella” He turned and looked at her.

Beckoning him with her left arm “Come and say hello to my Anna” she tried. He wasn’t sure if he should but his legs moved independently of his mind. He entered the yard and the girls took a step back to put some distance between them and him. It was very rare to see a white man in this place unless it was for no good.

He approached the woman as she struggled to stand up. She literally climbed up the door jam, wobbling and unsteady on her legs. She held on to the door jam as though the house was part of her support system. “Come in” she said in a horse voice. Her voice was rough and she spoke with a heavy Aboriginal accent.

Inside the house he was assaulted by the smell. It was dark and the smell permeated everything. It was a cocktail of dirt, stale cooking smells, shit from the unflushed black toilet and damp mould. It made him gag and shiver.

The Man Meets Anna

The girl was on what passed for a bed, sitting up.

“She ain’t slept for two days” said the woman as if she was talking to a doctor “she think she won’t wake up”.

He moved to the bed. “Hello Anna”

“’lo” she said in a quite voice “Who you?”

“I’m a friend of your mama’s”.

“No you ain’t! She ain’t got no white friends” There was no anger in her statement, it was a mere matter of fact.

Her straight forward no nonsense reply startled him. He made to sit on the bed.

“You can sit on that chair” she said pointing to a dilapidated arm chair. He pulled it closer to the bed and sat down. Her body was thin and weightless but her eyes shone like black pearls.

“You goin’ to hurt my mommy?” she asked in that matter of fact voice.

“No, not at all. I just came here to say hello to you. Your mummy told me all about you when I met her in town. How old are you?”

“I, thirteen” She looked as though she was nine or ten.

“Did you really come to see me?” she asked looking at him doubtfully but with a slither of hope.

“Yes, I did”

And so started the conversation between the man who had lost all reason to live and the girl who would not die.

They talked for hours as the mother watched. She had never been able to talk with her daughter like this. How could this man know so many words? Will he never run out of stories? She was happy for the first time in years. Anna slowly accepted him, welcomed him as the dad she had desired for so long. Although it had never crossed her mind that he would be white!

Anna asked questions and finished some of his sentences.

She called him a liar, she called him a clown and finally she called him over.

What Is Truth?

“I ain’t never had a dad” she confided as though it were a precious secret. “Can I sit on your lap?”

“Of course you can my darling”. He leaned over and kissed her forehead as he slid his arms under her; shocked by how light she was he imagined her as a human feather.

As he lifted her she wound her arms around his neck and said in a low sleepy voice “daddy”.

The Man sat in the chair and the woman covered them with a smelly blanket that offended his nose. But it was warm and she laid it on them with love and tenderness.

“Tell me more stories Daddy” she whispered. He thought of another little girl who once said the same thing. If only he had known then that while stories are infinite the time for telling them is limited.

As he spoke she hugged him so hard that he worried that she would hurt her fragile arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and said in a low urgent voice “keep talking” “Yes my darling” he said. The tears were streaming down his face but he could not free his hands to rub them away.

“If I go to sleep will you wake me up?”

“Yes my darling I will wake you up” he lied.

For the first time in days she felt confident enough to close her eyes. She felt so lucky to find her daddy just when she needed him. She loved him tenderly and without reservation.

As he sat holding her in his arms, his inactivity gave him no way to hide from the nagging thoughts he usually avoided by keeping busy. When he was young and even when he was a rising star in the business world, he was confident he knew who he was, what he needed to make him happy and satisfied.

Truth or Myth? A Future with No Future

But life has a way of whisking the ground out from under the feet of unwary travellers and laughing at them as they fall into chaos. When you lose all hope for tomorrow you realise how important and yet how difficult it is to believe in a tomorrow. Worse, you come to hate it. Every day is today. Like standing between two mirrors, you see the future but it is just a repetition of today, through to infinity. Is that it? Is the future inevitable and unchangeable? But you don’t ask because you are a coward and whatever the answer it will require you act one way or the other and you are not sure you have what it takes to implement either course.

He felt the girl nestle deeper into his arms and make her head comfortable on his chest. She had no doubt; her daddy had come to her as she knew he would. She revelled in the knowledge that her truth was indeed the truth. No matter what anyone said, it was her life and it was up to her to give it meaning for surely, if life is not given meaning, it has none.

Anna’s Last Dream

The rhythm of his strong heartbeat filled her head with music and her mother was the conductor. The composition rose and fell and like the waves of the ocean she had once seen. It surrounded her and engulfed her. She knew the melody for she was the composer and together, she and he and her mother,  they created a grand symphony.

Out of the mist she could see a great procession winding its way through the woods. She was seated in an open carriage preceded by kangaroos and wallabies; there were koala bears waving eucalypt branches and three proud emus marching in step and lots of other animals, hob goblins and children playing flutes and beating tin drums.

The trees waved at her and the birds sang a great chorus that was a fitting welcome for a princess. She was coming home. Strangely she felt very happy and slowly allowed herself to fall into a deep sleep.

The Man cried and the woman sat sobbing at his feet. Good night my darling. He reached out and held the woman’s hand and they cried together and knew that their life had been touched.


YouTube DirektThe Forest Sings for Little Anna

The Chapters So Far:

The Man Chapter 1

The Man Chapter 2

The Man Chapter 3

Read an Analysis of Each Chapter – The Philosophy and Ideas behind the Story

Analysis of The Man Chapter 1

Analysis of The Man Chapter 2

A Readers Analysis of The Man Chapter 2

Pre Analysis Background Information for The Man Chapter 3

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Category: Kitchen Sink Philosophy, Practical Philosophy, The Man  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  
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The Philosophy of Breaking Up

Reader Comments on Shadow in the Flame

I value all our reader comments and I know that many of you read them as avidly as you do the articles. They are all great and contribute a tremendous amount towards making this blog the community it has become. But from time to time we get one that stands out because of the thought that has gone into it (for example the guest posts by Blue Ocean and Anthony Bell) or because of the feeling and insight that it gives us, like the one I received below.

Hi Ric,

I am not very busy this weekend, so read some articles on your few websites and blogs. That make me remember the time I worked as an editor and reporter for a University in Qingdao. I felt great and excited. Compare the work you do now, that is gram comparing with kilogram.

Human Nature Knows No Borders

I quite like “the man”, I like the story happened out of my expectation. I like the way you use it to discover the spark of human nature’s good part. My heart has been touched, I cried. People like to see human nature’s beautiful part, no matter, the skin color or the nationality, the emotional experience is so similar; love, hate, happy, sad…

I just finished a very short but very great love affair with a western gentleman few days ago. I could hear the sound when my heart was broken to thousands pieces, I felt ice full of my bone. But I was very calm, looked no love and no hate.

When I passed the street we walked before, the happiest time we were together, was just in front of my eyes. It seem happened one second ago. I want to cry.

I feel sad, the beautiful story just started but ended. The most painful part is misunderstanding between us. In some aspect, that is misunderstanding of western and eastern culture.

I have been in Australia for 8 years, but the first 28 year time, I was in China. The Chinese philosophy thought has deep stamp in my mind, no matter good or bad. In a country’s culture, we cannot say, because it is bad, then should not in culture, because it is good, then it should exist. Bad and good, they always have a balance system. So, the 1.6 billion Chinese still can live well.

Doctrine of the Mean

I know lot of western people think that modern Chinese have lost touch with their traditional Confucius philosophy. Maybe, like nature the world is changing but the system has a nature correct skill, and makes things balance.

I know Ric has quite many years study of Chinese philosophy, so I am happy to share the gold mean of Confucian philosophy. It is hard to translate to English, but in Chinese is “中庸是儒学一切的基础,中庸之道的核心,强调的是中和与平衡,对什么事都不偏执.中庸就是在矛盾两极间找到最佳途径.在诸多可选择的可能性中取得最佳的,最合情合理的选择.(调以静制).

This is the foundation to Chinese traditional culture. In some way, things are not just black and white, there is a field in between.

This three months experience make me think, and I will learn more, and I hope I will have chance to discuss with you in the future.

The Importance of Communication

I am very happy there is a lot of western people like Ric, who like Chinese traditional philosophy. But if they want practical knowledge of Chinese philosophy, or they want to discover Chinese and then can get more successful business with Chinese in China, they still need good communication with real modern Chinese.

All the best for you and your study.

Sorry, my English is limited, hope I express my self clear. Excuse me for the grammar mistake.

Susan :)

Editor’s Comment:

Please note the headers were added by me not the writer.

A Translation of the Chinese quote in the article above:

” The doctrine of the mean is the foundation of Confucianism, the core of the Golden Mean, what it stresses is being neutral and balanced, i.e. unbiased in any matter. The doctrine of the mean teaches us to find the optimal path between two contradictory poles. It teaches us to choose the best possibility, the fairest choice. (emphasis by static brake)”

I’m afraid I didn’t understand the last bit in brackets but I included a literal translation in case you can.

You make a very valid point. I used to think that because I studied Chinese philosophy I could understand Chinese people better. Of course that is silly it is like saying if we study the ancient Greeks we will understand modern Greeks or even Western people better. The truth is they are not only different cultures but different people. In fact the ancient Greeks and the ancient Chinese are more different to their current descendants than, for example, English and Chinese are today.  So to understand anyone, we need more than a history book. We need, as you say, to communicate. Which unfortunately, is a skill that is not our best trait.

Susan, I know what it is like to break up with someone you love because of an inability to see the middle path between two opposing views. I really appreciate your comment, it makes all this philosophy stuff very personal. You live what I study and I feel very humble in her shadow.

I also had a bit of time this weekend and found this song on You Tube. I would like to dedicate it to you because you never know, he may be missing you as much as you miss him. I also dedicate this to all lovers who have a broken heart. Breaking up may not be philosophy but it sure does change your view of life :-) .


YouTube DirektIt would be Wrong for me to say...

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How A Bully Changed My Life

Hello, I had planned to post chapter 3 of the Man this week but I want to rework a couple of parts of it before I do and I have been soooo busy (for our readers who speak English as a second language, read that as “so busy” but add a lot of emphasis to the “so”).

In the mean time you may like to read a short story I added to my personal blog at Ric Vatner.com called How My Mum Beat the School Bully.

Have you ever had a problem with bullies or a bully? I always associate bullies with school but some people meet them in the army, at work, in a volunteer organisation or even at home. In fact you can meet them anywhere. Well my mum was fed up with one that was giving me a hard time at school and her solution taught me a lesson I never forgot.

If you would like to read about it please click this link http://bit.ly/9XurOO

If you have had an experience with a bully that you would like to share with us please add it to the comments either here or on my Ric Vatner blog.

Of course it is not only people that act like bullies, politicians do it often and some times a country can act like a bully.

When you think about it, the world would be a different place today if there were no bullies because often they were the ones responsible for piecing together the disparate groups of people we now call countries. But of course quite often the countries they created have inbuilt fractures that have led to years if not hundreds of years of discontent.

Mmm I am just beginning to realise how big a topic this could be, we might have to put this on the list of blogs to do. If you like reading history then you have read quite a lot on this topic already, one way or another. But looking at it from the philosophical prospective could be really interesting.

I can see the title now

“The Good, the Bad and the Ugly – How Bullies made the World

What do you think, should we tackle it at some stage?

-: Read Full Story :-

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The Man – Chapter 1 The Town

The Man

working Title

The road into town was long, straight and dusty. The kind of road you knew would lead to no where special and the reward for arriving was less than his lowest expectations.

Good.

He spat the word out though there was no one to hear it.

First order of business he thought, get some headache tablets. He had been driving for a long time. How long? He had no idea.

He found a chemist shop, entered and stood behind an Aboriginal woman who was swearing at the chemist. She was wearing an old beanie, yellow with green strips interrupted with holes where a moth had carelessly eaten the line and part of the yellow. Her jacket was an equally old and shabby track suit top that had once been colourful but was now as faded as the jaded look on her face.

“I’ll get me money in a few days but she needs this shit now. Don’t be a bastard all your life. You know she needs it”

Being a shopkeeper in a country town is not as straight forward as it is in the city. When the countryside has been in drought for years and the bank and the post office closed down yonks ago, they are the de facto bank, credit agency, Para-psychologist, social worker and when all else fails; whipping boy.

His face was ……….. impassive. He looked like he wasn’t really there. Where was he right now?

On a beach? No, that’s not his style.

In the garden pulling weeds with a ferocity that he couldn’t bring to work? Maybe.

In the TAB (the ubiquitous betting shop) listening to his horse running a poor race as usual. It didn’t even have the grace to come last. Just one of the pack, like him, ordinary, average, never a winner but not a complete loser either.

“G’on you bastard, you couldn’t deliver milk on time” he would shout to no one in particular. In the betting shop he is one of the boys, he doesn’t lose too much and he always has a funny quip to make when his horse loses. Yes this was his favourite place, the place he goes to in his mind.

The argument went back and forth and the man’s headache was pounding. He stepped forward, “excuse me”

“Piss off” she spat at him.

“Look maybe I can help”

“Oh yea of course. Who the fuck are you. The cops?”

“No” he said hurt. What’s the problem?” He looked at the chemist

“She already owes me more than the money she gets on benefits and now she wants more. I don’t get this stuff for free to distribute to the bloody community” he said. “I have to buy it and pay for it” he said looking at the woman.

“What does she want?” the man said

“Oh, morphine for pain, sleeping tablets, and some heavy shit that costs a fortune”

“Is it for her?”

“No, for her kid”

“Look I’ll pay for it” the man said as the woman looked at him suspiciously. “What do you want?” she asked accusingly. “Like a bit of black do you?”

“No” he answered meekly.

“Oh, your a racist. Black not good enough for you your majesty” she made every word a dagger and threw them all at him with as much brutality as she could muster. She hated the world and right now she hated the two of them the most.

The woman snatched the medicine from the chemist’s outstretched hand. She showed no sign of gratitude. She needed it and they had it but they didn’t need it. Why shouldn’t he pay for it? He’s white and haven’t they caused us black fellas enough trouble. He’s got the money to buy the stuff but he doesn’t need it. She needs it but has no money. “It’s a shit world. If you don’t take what you can get, you don’t deserve it” that was her considered opinion.

She walked out of the shop, her head high. She had got the drugs her daughter needed. It was an unexpected win; you never get anything if you don’t try she thought. The woman, who could have been thirty but looked more like fifty headed home. Along the way she wondered, would her daughter miss just one vial of the morphine? She deserved some too, wasn’t she hurting as well? Why shouldn’t she have just one hit to help her cope.

The man turned to the chemist, “What’s wrong with her daughter?” he asked.

“Cancer” the chemist said. That one word tells the whole story, it is the one word in the English language that is guaranteed to send shivers down your back. It speaks of pain and terror, of sleepless nights and worry filled days. It recounts a tale of hopelessness, of going into battle with spears to fight an enemy that arrives in Planes and rides on tanks.

“How bad is it?” he asked. “Pretty bad. I’m surprised she is still alive. Sometimes I think she just hangs on so I go broke supplying her drugs” the chemist joked. “I don’t want you to think I’m heartless but if I give in too easy, I’ll have the whole lot of ‘em in here demanding free drugs. I’m not the national health system you know”. He said defensively.

The man asked how much the drugs cost. He pulled out his credit card and told the chemist to bill the drugs to his card. He asked him not to tell the woman. “And don’t go crazy with it, I’m not rich but whatever she really needs, just put it on this” he handed the chemist his card.

The chemist shrugged, took down the details while the man swallowed a couple of headache tablets the chemist gave him and washed them down with a plastic cup of water. They looked at each other, no words passed between them but there was a mutual understanding that from now on they shared the burden.

The man left without looking back.

He walked through the drab sun burnt town now descending into the cold dreary months of winter. It was quite empty other than the shopkeepers, two drivers in the garage getting petrol and some mothers pushing strollers aimlessly window shopping and talking to their children who had already learned not to listen.

He felt hungry and seeing a supermarket he decided to buy some supplies. He did a modest shopping and took it to the check out. “Do you take credit cards” he asked. “Sure” came the brief but not unfriendly reply. He handed his card over and waited.

“It’s declined” she said looking at him with a frown. “Do you have another one?”  “No” he replied almost dreamily. “Do you want to pay with cash?” she asked summing him up in her practiced way. “No not now, I’ll come back later”

He knew it wouldn’t take long but he had hoped the card would last a little longer.

He sighed. Looked for his car and when he saw it he walked towards it. For a few brief seconds he had a sense of purpose, he knew where he was going but as soon as he arrived it disappeared and he felt emotionally drained.

Read a review of the ideas behind this chapter

To Be Continued …………

The Chapters So Far:

The Man Chapter 1

The Man Chapter 2

The Man Chapter 3

Read an Analysis of Each Chapter – The Philosophy and Ideas behind the Story

Analysis of The Man Chapter 1

Analysis of The Man Chapter 2

A Readers Analysis of The Man Chapter 2

Pre Analysis Background Information for The Man Chapter 3

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Category: Kitchen Sink Philosophy, Practical Philosophy, The Man  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  
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