12/31 2024
Maybe I've been spending too much time Alone lately, i.e. reading The Last Psychiatrist, but narcissism has been on my mind lately.
For those not in the know: The Last Psychiatrist is a pseudonymous writer and (and psychiatrist? idk) who mostly writes about culture through a psychoanalytical lens. One of Alone's specialties is narcissism. But it isn't the run-of-the-mill definition of narcissism as inflated self-importance, lack of empathy etc. No. Instead, narcissism is primarily about identity. In one post he contrasts narcissism against psychopathy:
The psychopath is utilitarian: I needed a burger, you had it, so I stabbed you in the throat. Whatever.
As bad as that sounds, here's the narcissist's discourse on the same crime: I needed a burger, you had it, so I stabbed you in the throat. But wait, that's not the whole story, listen, what I did was justified because...
In this view, actions become a defense against identity. An identity which is not organic or true, but chosen before-hand. In another blog post, Alone retells the story about Narcissus and Echo. As he states when Narcissus lays his eyes on Echo:
"What was so wrong with her? It wasn't just that she may have been shorter or heavier than he had imagined. What was wrong was in that instant he experienced her, she stopped being anything else."
Echo reminds Narcissus of how his sense of identity does not line up with reality. Her existence becomes the pain of narcissistic injury. He attracts a certain type of woman, in this case the very extreme who can only repeat what he says, leading him to a particularly difficult conclusion to accept:
"What kind of a man attracts a woman who can only echo him? There must be a name for that kind of person, and he already had it."
And thus, the sad fate of the narcissist, stuck in front of his own reflection --- hoping in vain that just through this artificial notion of self-identity he sees a reality manifest that never could be.
Now, Alone is saying that this phenomenon is widespread in our culture. That identity precedes action, and we are stuck in a perpetual loop of looking for people that "complete us" when "us" refers to something which doesn't exist. It's ephereal. It's something we picked before we started acting, which is the only thing that matters:
This is important. It is the thesis of this blog: nothing matters more than your will. Even if wine and beer are themselves of no consequence to one's health, the lifestyle that follows with the conscious choice to drink either one is of consequence. Every choice you make influences your identity, and not the other way around; the sooner you accept this, the sooner you can become the person you want to be. You get to pick who you are. Go pick.
Just How Many Drinks Are Bad
The other day I was listening to Father John Misty's 2015 album I Love You Honeybear again, and my favorite song of his came on, Holy Shit. This song is not about one single thing, but to me what stood out was how love was presented as being in relation to identity.
Oh, and no one every really knows you and life is brief
So I've heard, but what's that gotta do with this black hole in me?
Does that remind you of anything? To me, it seems like a dead ringer for the exact same scenario as the interpretation of Narcissus and Echo above. Not convinced? Consider the next verse:
Age-old gender roles
Infotainment, capital
Golden bows and mercury
Bohemian nightmare, dust-bowl chic
This documentary's lost on me
Satirical news, free energy
Mobile lifestyle, loveless sex
Independence, happiness
The Last Psychiatrist writes a lot about identity in relation to pop culture, and one of his reoccuring themes is how in the paradigm of identity before action, the story we tell ourselves about ourselves is the thing that matters. In his series about the Matrix he writes about action movies and the expectation of love in men:
This man goes through the motions of love: he is present, he doesn't cheat-- he doesn't even have the motivation for that!-- he is warm, loving, dutiful, respectful-- but he isn't there, he is always elsewhere, he has the thousand yard stare of someone who is expecting, any moment, his real life to come marching through the tree line.
Because he is expecting something more, because that is what his identity requires for him to be "fulfilled". The expectation is, as The Last Psychiatrist puts it:
Trinity loves Neo, even before he becomes The One. She's waited her whole life for him. He doesn't (yet) know kung fu, but she knows he will. And she does know kung fu-- and chooses him, saves him. That's love.
And only that will satisfy, but it will never happen. Father John Misty's list of external causes that cannot really be understood by the protagonist, this documentary's lost on me, or should I say understood by the chosen identity of the protagonist. They are external causes, facts (or as the last psychiatrist would say, knowledge), "oh if only things were a different" --- if they were different indeed.
The Last Psychiatrist says there are three outcomes when faced with the realization that you are never going to be Neo: 1) alcohol & depression, 2) accepting reality and acting to change, and 3) the schizotypal condition. The schizotypal condition is when one attempts to maintain fantasy while at the same time trying to exist in reality. Father John Misty comes to the same conclusion about love in this way of wanting fantasy while also trying to maintain reality.
Oh, and love is just an institution based on human frailty
What's your paradise gotta do with Adam and Eve?
Maybe love is just an economy based on resource scarcity
But what I fail to see is what that's gotta do with you and me
As he states in an interview in Interview Magazine (yes, you read that right!) when asked about institutions:
/.../ you live inside this self-satisfied prison of your intellect and never do anything and never create anything because everything is an institution
/.../
For an intellectual, everything is a booby trap, and the only consolation prize is this self-satisfaction that you recognize it.
Thus Father John Misty arrives, in true Greek fashion, at the conclusion that the tragedy of love lies in its contradictory nature. Yes, maybe love is just an economy based on scarcity and we attempt to love not because we love but because we are afraid, but indeed what about you (doesn't exist) and me (yes please)? It's a schizo kind of dissonance of ideas in conflict. As Simone de Beauvoir wrote in 1953:
"The knight departing for new adventures offends his lady yet she has nothing but contempt for him if he remains at her feet. This is the torture of impossible love." (Second Sex, 1953)
By staying the knight reminds her of everything she is, not who she thinks she is. If the knight goes away, and dies during a crusade, she will be sad because she is expected to be sad but she will be happy because her identity has not been challenged. She is a princess for whom knights ride into battle and die for. And could you really blame her, having been raised that way? (see this)
Though, in the end I fail to see what all this has gotta do with me. I'm going to go get a whiskey and read of dead religions and ancient holy wars (it's important to stay informed). Because life is brief.