(no subject)
There is no pre-destiny. Fates are written, but not in the stars. They are written by people. There is no self-determination. Freedom is a lie, not because we are all preordained to walk a chosen path, but because all free will is always mediated by the free will of others, making in many instances the choices we have so limited as to be barely a choice at all. What is left lies in the murky waters inbetween. And it is as inexplicable as it is terrifying.
The opposite to pre-destination is not self-determination. They are both pretty little myths used by those who are afraid. People speak of destiny and fate when they wish to absolve themselves of responsibility for who they are and what they became. They speak of self-determination when they are too weak to face the terrifying fact that their fate left in the hands of something as banal and plebian as other people. They want control which does not exist and explanations that are subesquently irrelevant.
People will make you into what they need you to be. If they need a lover they will see in you the moon and the stars and place you upon a balcony to call down to your lover and speak of beauty and despair. If they need a scapegoat they will cover your hands in blood and without a great deal of ceremony, throw you off the nearest tower. They will create you as a Juliet or a Lady Macbeth at a moments notice and without even realising what they have done. That is not destiny. That is choice. It is simply that it is not always a choice we make for ourselves, it is a choice moulded for us by the actions of others. Take Judas, for example. He had a role to play, and he played it well. Where should have Jesus been without Judas? It is a thankless task to be a villian, but without us, there could be no heroes. And it would seem so many of you here would then find yourselves cashing in food stamps and trying to re-evaluate your own sorry place in this universe.
It would seem to some that I was predestined to play the role of the most villianious of the women my author created. It is, however, a villanry that falls short of the deeds my male friends committed, and so I feel both dishonest to accept the title and as if it is unfair of you to burden me with it. Why should I be the ill fated villian and yet Juliet and her Romeo are remembered as star crossed lovers? What makes us so different? I love Edmund as dearly as she loves her silly Romeo. The only difference is that, having a tad more common sense, I would rather kill than die for him.
Of course, in a sense I am incorrect and there is pre-destiny for us all. For there is one likeness between Juliet, Lady Macbeth and myself. By the final curtain call, we are of course, all dead.
The opposite to pre-destination is not self-determination. They are both pretty little myths used by those who are afraid. People speak of destiny and fate when they wish to absolve themselves of responsibility for who they are and what they became. They speak of self-determination when they are too weak to face the terrifying fact that their fate left in the hands of something as banal and plebian as other people. They want control which does not exist and explanations that are subesquently irrelevant.
People will make you into what they need you to be. If they need a lover they will see in you the moon and the stars and place you upon a balcony to call down to your lover and speak of beauty and despair. If they need a scapegoat they will cover your hands in blood and without a great deal of ceremony, throw you off the nearest tower. They will create you as a Juliet or a Lady Macbeth at a moments notice and without even realising what they have done. That is not destiny. That is choice. It is simply that it is not always a choice we make for ourselves, it is a choice moulded for us by the actions of others. Take Judas, for example. He had a role to play, and he played it well. Where should have Jesus been without Judas? It is a thankless task to be a villian, but without us, there could be no heroes. And it would seem so many of you here would then find yourselves cashing in food stamps and trying to re-evaluate your own sorry place in this universe.
It would seem to some that I was predestined to play the role of the most villianious of the women my author created. It is, however, a villanry that falls short of the deeds my male friends committed, and so I feel both dishonest to accept the title and as if it is unfair of you to burden me with it. Why should I be the ill fated villian and yet Juliet and her Romeo are remembered as star crossed lovers? What makes us so different? I love Edmund as dearly as she loves her silly Romeo. The only difference is that, having a tad more common sense, I would rather kill than die for him.
Of course, in a sense I am incorrect and there is pre-destiny for us all. For there is one likeness between Juliet, Lady Macbeth and myself. By the final curtain call, we are of course, all dead.