On rereading Hannibal and gaining back weight
There is a place inside me, deep, deep down, under layers of cognizance, experience, and self-righteousness where there remains a dark visceral admiration for and envy of psychopaths and anorexics. In different yet basically similar ways - control over others and control over the self.
In certain, oversimplified ways, they see above societal constraints. The mores and expectations that are the grid lines that most of us follow, boxing us in to straight lines and pre-approved spaces are laughable to them, easily dismissed as looking down upon cardboard model houses in a scaled-down diaorama of the world. Nothing of relevance, nothing of substance, nothing of import, easily pushed aside or crushed.
They *are* something other. And they suffer for it more than I'm depicting here, but...the difference between them and other mental illnesses is that they *know* they've won. They know they're right. And they know that people find them so monstrous because they can't be dissuaded, won't be dissuaded. Because they've seen the light, and for the rest of their lives they will never be able to view the world in the same way again.
There is a heady, electric, keen sense of control in eschewing the things most of us find indispensable. We find them disturbing because it calls into question our own entire way of seeing the world. That these things *can* be gone without. That perhaps we could be the ones who are wrong. Easily rectified by labeling them "ill", by creating an insurance-billable code. But they sow the seed of doubt in us, if we're really paying attention. We wonder what they know that we don't. We wonder if they have the answer, whether or not it brings them happiness.
In a romanticized view, knowledge is pain and pain is truth. We're taught to be mindful of that, that there is no universal truth and that its pursuit is a pointless, irrelevant, useless, and ultimately detrimental exercise. But for those with curious minds, how difficult a pill is that to swallow? That the price to pay for the alleviation of suffering is ignorance. That the solution is to give up rather than to fight. There is a certain bravery in that to be sure, in accepting the things you cannot change. But it's partly a bravery in self-sacrifice, in that it's the sacrificing of your self. Giving up your values, the things in life you prize most highly, for the sake of equanimity and contentment, is ultimately the easy way out.
To see through it all, to stick to what you know is right no matter how much it costs you - *that* is the definition of noble. That that idea could be turned on its head and yet remain true - *that* is why they're found disturbing.
In certain, oversimplified ways, they see above societal constraints. The mores and expectations that are the grid lines that most of us follow, boxing us in to straight lines and pre-approved spaces are laughable to them, easily dismissed as looking down upon cardboard model houses in a scaled-down diaorama of the world. Nothing of relevance, nothing of substance, nothing of import, easily pushed aside or crushed.
They *are* something other. And they suffer for it more than I'm depicting here, but...the difference between them and other mental illnesses is that they *know* they've won. They know they're right. And they know that people find them so monstrous because they can't be dissuaded, won't be dissuaded. Because they've seen the light, and for the rest of their lives they will never be able to view the world in the same way again.
There is a heady, electric, keen sense of control in eschewing the things most of us find indispensable. We find them disturbing because it calls into question our own entire way of seeing the world. That these things *can* be gone without. That perhaps we could be the ones who are wrong. Easily rectified by labeling them "ill", by creating an insurance-billable code. But they sow the seed of doubt in us, if we're really paying attention. We wonder what they know that we don't. We wonder if they have the answer, whether or not it brings them happiness.
In a romanticized view, knowledge is pain and pain is truth. We're taught to be mindful of that, that there is no universal truth and that its pursuit is a pointless, irrelevant, useless, and ultimately detrimental exercise. But for those with curious minds, how difficult a pill is that to swallow? That the price to pay for the alleviation of suffering is ignorance. That the solution is to give up rather than to fight. There is a certain bravery in that to be sure, in accepting the things you cannot change. But it's partly a bravery in self-sacrifice, in that it's the sacrificing of your self. Giving up your values, the things in life you prize most highly, for the sake of equanimity and contentment, is ultimately the easy way out.
To see through it all, to stick to what you know is right no matter how much it costs you - *that* is the definition of noble. That that idea could be turned on its head and yet remain true - *that* is why they're found disturbing.