(no subject)
Self-interest has not come easily to me. Life would be easier if it had. It's something I'm trying to change; that is, fueling myself with artificial self-interest, while closely guarding my inner disinterest in myself, which I think is worth something - to inspire my ideas, to ensure my integrity, if nothing more.
Knowing this about myself, I know how important it is for me in my next great phase of life to have a partner for whom I work for. For when I substitute self-interest for the desire to be the best for my designated loved one, I have no problem with ambition. You could call it a form of estrangement from the self - to be sure, there's no dearth of self-loathing where that comes from - but, really, I'm 27 and I don't want to become a self-sustaining utopia and follow some Nietzschean religion of myself, though I could - and in more desperate moments think I ought.
But I'd rather scourge myself for another. Since I was 18 and read Macbeth in high school, I was always attracted to the marriage between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, though I couldn't articulate why until years later. Their lack of moral scruples didn't bother me; what I found inspiring was their devil be damned partnership. They egg each other on to spectacular acts. Nothing exists for them beyond securing power for their marriage, which is their religion. Lady Macbeth suborns her husband into murder. Neither of them would've had the will power to carry out their murderous plot as individuals, but only through their shared psychosis were they able to override their natural aversion to their horrible deeds.
And so I too am a killer, but a killer estranged from his killer's instincts. If only these killer's instincts could be freed of my fool's conscience, by and for a self outside of my self.
Knowing this about myself, I know how important it is for me in my next great phase of life to have a partner for whom I work for. For when I substitute self-interest for the desire to be the best for my designated loved one, I have no problem with ambition. You could call it a form of estrangement from the self - to be sure, there's no dearth of self-loathing where that comes from - but, really, I'm 27 and I don't want to become a self-sustaining utopia and follow some Nietzschean religion of myself, though I could - and in more desperate moments think I ought.
But I'd rather scourge myself for another. Since I was 18 and read Macbeth in high school, I was always attracted to the marriage between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, though I couldn't articulate why until years later. Their lack of moral scruples didn't bother me; what I found inspiring was their devil be damned partnership. They egg each other on to spectacular acts. Nothing exists for them beyond securing power for their marriage, which is their religion. Lady Macbeth suborns her husband into murder. Neither of them would've had the will power to carry out their murderous plot as individuals, but only through their shared psychosis were they able to override their natural aversion to their horrible deeds.
And so I too am a killer, but a killer estranged from his killer's instincts. If only these killer's instincts could be freed of my fool's conscience, by and for a self outside of my self.