Thursday 4 August 2022

Ecce Homo

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Edvard Munch Nietzsche

I’ve been wanting to know about health and illness for days now. I meant to say “write” but my fingers typed “know”, and they didn’t lie. I haven’t been feeling well enough to write.

I could write about my history of illness, but it wouldn’t be fun for you or me. Let’s not forget that this blogging business—or the writing and reading of books generally, when they are not prescribed texts in educational institutions—depends on fun. Any expectation to be edified isn’t enough. You and I want to enjoy ourselves. On the other hand, I’m not an author of pulp non-fiction. I want to change your life, for it’s a way to change the world, if only a little. That’s how serious I am. Seriously.

Are we to talk of good health, or illness? Perhaps both: but let us not fall into the easy assumption that they are mutually exclusive opposites. One might harbour both at once, like Nietzsche, sufferer of the progressive ravages of syphilis:

I took myself in hand, I myself made myself healthy again: the precondition for this—every physiologist will admit it—is that one is fundamentally healthy. A being who is typically morbid cannot become healthy, still less can he make himself healthy; conversely for one who is typically healthy being sick can even be an energetic stimulant to life, to more life. Thus in fact does that long period of sickness seem to me now; I discovered life as it were anew, myself included, I tasted all good and even petty things in a way that others could not easily taste them—I made out of my will to health, to life, my philosophy . . . For pay heed to this: it was in the years of my lowest vitality that I ceased to be a pessimist: the instinct for self-recovery forbade to me a philosophy of indigence and discouragement . . . and in what does one really recognize that someone has turned out well! In that a human being who has turned out well does our senses good: that he is carved out of wood at once hard, delicate and sweet-smelling. He has a taste only for what is beneficial to him; his pleasure, his joy ceases where the measure of what is beneficial is overstepped. He divines cures for injuries, he employs ill chances to his own advantage; what does not kill him makes him stronger.

(Unedited extract from Ecce Homo, translated by R. J. Hollingdale, Penguin Classics. The “. . .” are not ellipses but author’s punctuation.)

Let us not be deluded about Nietzsche’s health. In the year he wrote the above words, “He experiences a delusive improvement in his health, and in the last quarter of the year is the victim of a morbid euphoria which is the immediate prelude to complete collapse.” (Op. cit: chronology of Nietzsche’s life.) Still, it’s an example of morbidity (in the medical sense) and positive health co-existing. And I think we all know—only too well—of long periods in our life in which we experience neither morbidity nor good health. So let us suppose they are not necessarily opposites.

Positive health is a state subjectively recognized. It’s when I feel able to meet life’s challenges with vigour, strength and fearlessness; clear in my head, energetic in my limbs and organs. I don’t need to go for medical tests to prove it. If I did, I might be told I have high cholesterol and blood pressure, in words whose immediate effect might be the opposite of therapeutic.

The fact that medical tests can show signs of illness when we don’t know anything is amiss, may cause us to think that doctors are the ones to tell us if we are fit or not. And if their tests don’t show anything wrong then they pronounce us fit, or perhaps suffering from depression, which they think of as “psychological”; so they suggest counselling. That is in UK, anyhow. Perhaps in other countries, where doctors are funded differently, they keep running more sophisticated tests till they find something significant, and then they prescribe a barrage of drugs and supplements, till the wheels of commerce have fully revolved and all parties are satisfied. But the patient is still not happy. “Oh, why didn’t you mention it? Here are some happy pills.”

I think I shall write—as a complete amateur, a mere untrained owner of a human body—about that in-between state where one lacks both glowing health and detectable morbidity: the state in which one seeks a witch-doctor, or as we say in the West, “an alternative practitioner”.

7 thoughts on “Ecce Homo”

  1. Thanks Hayden, it was only a 'flu thing and I made no efforts to find healing. just decided to dig it, take it easy, obey my body. I am not sure that I believe in finding healing any more. But this would be to pre-empt the continuing discussion.

    Yes, Paul, indeed the culture is out of balance! And you have identified two important symptoms. When the culture is out of balance, it's hard to be well . . .

    More soon.

  2. “…what does not kill him makes him stronger.”

    Yes, it makes one psychologically or spiritually stronger. Enduring illness gives one endurance and develops character. One becomes long-suffering or patient to the point of being stoic, detached, and resigned. At least if one doesn't try to alleviate it by all means like painkillers, tobacco, alcohol, drugs and various escape techniques like prayer, faith-healing, voodoo, concentration and meditation. Enduring suffering is true meditation and leads to liberation. Scientifically speaking, the mind and body or body-mind produces the natural drugs to heal and alleviate pain. And repair the body thru rest and sleep.
    But of course, there is no cure for syphilis at an advanced stage. And no cure for aging and death. At least in our present age.

  3. I have never been the “picture of health” as they say. I have always felt an aversion to exercise for the sake of health alone.

    I enjoy many forms of physical activity, but more for the experience, than for any health benefits derived from the act.

    I guess that puts me at risk in some way, but overall I have had little to complain about. I look and feel younger than most of my friends my age, I don't get sick often.

    I have noticed however, a strange correlation between my health, creative inspiration, motivation, and ultimately my creative outbursts.

    I can go for a very long time without an idea, or without discovering that stimulus that inspires me to create. Once I get the bug, I am supremely motivated to get on with the work.

    For some strange reason, just when I have prepared to begin, I often get sick. I have no idea why this happens. It happens often enough to be beyond coincidence.

    I generally work through the sickness as I cannot ignore the inspiration and motivation. It is stronger than the message my body is sending me to rest.

    Of course this is not without a price. The illnesses last longer, are probably more severe than they would be otherwise.

    It is almost always in the form of a cold or flu.

    My sinus passages were damaged when I was a senior in high school. I was sitting next to a fire when a burning ember flew into my mouth and lodged between my tongue and the place where one of my nostrils connects to the back of my mouth.

    It burned the flesh there, and it resulted in permanent damage to my nasal cavity. I think this exacerbates my cold symptoms.

    In any case, colds seem to hit me harder than they do for most people.

    I have felt that in many ways this has inhibited me from deriving benefits from my creative exploits. But I have worked hard to avoid using it as an excuse. Perhaps there is some sort of deep seated psychological issue here. But I cannot be sure.

    My experience here in the US is that if you have money, the kind of scenario you describe with passing along your case to various specialists until everyone is satisfied is a likely outcome.

    However, for folks like me, who have basic HMO coverage, you are more likely to be provided only minimal attention. Other than prescription drugs, which supports the pharmaceutical co's., we are seldom passed along to any specialists unless we insist. This would cost the insurance companies, who are not interested in providing care as it would take away from their profits.

    Normally we get a 10 or 15 minute consultation with a doctor and a prescription and that is the end of it.


  4. It was actually my general practitioner that suggested I might have psychological symptoms. I went to him to complain about what was ailing me and he sent me off immediately to someone who specializes in head cases.

    I think this Nietzche bit might be one of the first times I've ever heard of anyone taking an optimistic stance on sickness.

    Hi, Vincent. Hope you're recovering nicely.

    Like

  5. We in the USA have insurance plans, and we have hype for those with no money, hype will get you little unless there is only a little wrong, if there is a lot wrong with you, hype gets you nothing, people die from cancer because they have no money, this is a constant fact in the USA. Compassionate Conservatism and Vampire Capitalism holding hands and kissing.

    I agree much with Siegfried, figure out how to tune in to the body, it has a soul and it can talk to you, likewise the emotions, water body with a voice, and of course the others. The voices tho might not be verbal, might be intuitive or even come out of nowhere in your face (from outside, that power is there, but you know that…the universe?).

    And something not taught, don't beg, give orders, seriously, lie down and talk to yourself, and INSIST on cooperative medicine from within, tell them what you can, and tell them to find out the rest, and get it done. Call it meditation, call it prayer, but don't beg and don't even be too nice, ask then order, it must be done. Humans Rule.

    No matter your course Vincent, I wish you the best and soon!

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The Middle of Nowhere

my horizon

On a perfect day I felt it was time to give my musings some fresh air. So I went wayfaring, to places just over the horizon seen from my study window. Walk a mile and you reach two villages, separated by common land. It’s an easy stroll or horseback ride from one to the other, or these days by bicycle. I’m pleased that there is still no straightforward route from one to the other by car; pleased that such twenty-first century pressures have been resisted. There is only a web of footpaths, bridleways and short lengths of rough track. Yet amongst the woods and open land you will find houses, small businesses and a pub, the De Spencer Arms. The area is a little Utopia (which means nowhere) and an anachronism in modern England. The first of the villages, Downley, is holding a Festival, the visible signs of which are extraordinary scarecrows, dotted here and there above garden hedges and so forth. I imagine it’s a local competition, but looking through allegorical spectacles I wonder what crows they are aiming to scare. I like to think it is the encroachment of the 21st century on their—I mean our, everyone’s precious common land.

Ever since my last post, I’ve had Meister Eckhart on my mind; he who was bound by the rules of his Catholic order and the state of 13th century European civilization, and yet cut through them cleanly, just escaping being tagged a heretic. He also cut through all the Popish & theological encumbrances of the time to reach a timeless essence, wherein lies freedom and an ecstatic way of being. Most of his writings are in the form of sermons, challenging but exciting. Click here to download a pdf copy. Then as now, you would have had to decide whether the price was worth paying for the great adventure that his words inspire. Not everyone could follow. Can I? It is probably easier today, for more people, to achieve the kind of detachment he advocates, to discover deep within ourselves that great connecting principle which unites the whole of creation, which he orthodoxly calls God. (I believe that the path and goal he delineates is identical to those pointed to by the god-free discipline known as Zen. For while there may be innumerable contradictory notions dreamed up by our fecund minds, when you approach the essence, you reach a dimensionless point where truth must surely be singular.)

I passed this pub in the middle of the common

I’m in no position to add further preaching to that of Meister Eckhart OP, that most eminent member of the Dominican Order of Preachers. But I carried him in my mind, through Downley and Naphill. In that web of footpaths it is easy to have no agenda—that’s my modern expression for “detachment”. No desire, no regret, no guilt, no indebtedness, no resentment, no fear. I am not pure in these matters, but the shortfall gives me no care or anxiety. It is enough to feel blessed and give thanks for one’s life, one’s work in progress.

part of Naphill Common

I pass a parked not-very-modern tractor with attachments for digging and bulldozing, painted in brown livery and emblazoned “Downley Common Preservation Society”. I note the absence of licence plates, reflecting its domicile in these hallowed Commons, which lack public roads. In this spot, I’m surrounded by paddocks, orchards, the sound of cocks crowing, dilapidated sheds, aromas of horse-dung and creosote. I reach the end of this short drivable length of rough track, almost blocked by a small horsebox, parked with a wheel-lock, and continue on a narrower path through the woods.

narrow path through the wilderness . . .

I haven’t consciously renounced anything. Advancing age achieves that for you naturally. Knowing what to expect in the future, you embrace gladly that which still remains. I was given a few months’ work to do at home. After some research I worked out I could do it with the aid of Microsoft Visual Studio 2013. I visualized clearly how to proceed, saw the end result in my mind’s eye. But—as I ruefully wrote to my client—“I felt like a passenger trying to take over the controls in an airliner cockpit, after the sudden death of the pilot. One hopes to learn by repetition but I could never manage to retrace my own footsteps. The screen never looked the same twice. It must be a combination of age and never having had enough aptitude even when young.” Realizations like this are salutary and bracing, healthier for the soul than ambition.

. . . then suddenly a manicured lawn

As I proceed from Downley to Naphill, aromas from verdure warmed in the sun evoke memories of long summers between ’48 and ’54, boarding at a small prep school in rural Sussex. I was already then what I am now, drawn to reading, day-dreaming, aloof wanderings in the countryside. I rediscover that child. I accept being the result of that combination of nature and nurture, or whatever it is that shakes the dice on our behalf, deals out our particular hand from the deck of cards. You play with what you’re given. Now, what shall I do with the time I’ve saved by not taking on that project?

Visual Studio 2013 is a fine and versatile toolbox, but then so are the words and grammar of the English language, wherein each sentence can be a handcrafted original; each paragraph an intricate construction, potentially capable of conveying “What oft was Thought, but ne’er so well Exprest”. I am content to return to the same topics, year after year, till I’ve managed to say the thing I feel, and point to the thing which cannot be said. Dipping into Eckhart, I see how useful is the word “God”, so long as it’s trimmed of unworthy usages, dogmas and assertions we don’t actually know from experience. If there is to be religion, if it is not to be trampled by ignorance and extremism, let it at least remain a shelter and refuge wherein a person may stay safe, and find God, and others of like mind. Ditch the rest by all means, and I’ll be grateful, but not that.

I was just wondering whether Downley Common merges into Naphill Common, and if so where, when a display hove into view, with a map and accompanying text.


“Near this point Naphill and Downley Commons run into one another and both reward exploration. While much of Downley Common is still grassland with shrubs and heathland flowers, Naphill Common has an abundance of ancient trees, glades and ponds, the mysterious ‘Clumps’, a Romano-British farmstead and many historic banks and ditches interlaced by a network of footpaths and bridleways.

“These Commons are ancient. Queen Elizabeth I crossed them in 1566 on her way to Hughenden. Drovers grazed and watered their stock on their way from the West to London. Pits show where clay has been dug for brick-making. There are 18th and 19th century sawpits. There are tank tracks from World War II.”

In short, the Commons, like all of creation, are a palimpsest repeatedly inscribed by time. I pay homage to those who acknowledge and preserve such marks from the past, as a minor dissent from the tyranny of consumerism that makes modern life such a strenuous race, merely to stand still.

Maid Marian & friend go . . .
. . . to see the Merry Men

I came back in the early evening to take some photos, and found that the local youth were congregating there, boys and girls with bicycles and dogs. A small fire was lit, and the greenwoods rang with barking and merry laughter as in the mythical Sherwood Forest. To those who labour to preserve these commons, Robin of Loxley wasn’t so long ago, just a few centuries before Good Queen Bess.

The best moment for me that day is hard to describe: a moment when I didn’t know where I was. When you don’t take a map along, and there’s nowhere else you have to be, that is Utopia, the middle of nowhere. And it’s good enough. More than. Your presence turns “Nowhere” into somewhere, because you are truly “someone” when you are mainly occupied just being.


I saw some notable entries in the Downley Common Preservation Society’s annual Scarecrow Contest:

scarecrow couple
sc2
gardening scarecrow, or tutelary goddess
cricket & tennis scarecrow
Neighbourhood Watch scarecrow

13 thoughts on “The Middle of Nowhere”

  1. Thank you for this Vincent. I loved it all, particularly the way you seemed to skip from one subject to another and then back again. And then you finished on that wonderful and courageous man, the Meister himself. Somehow, your words flowed around and through me, soothing and supporting. That answered a need the depth of which I still have not fathomed.

  2. Thanks, Tom. I've edited it slightly since your comment, examining it again with reader's eyes, so to speak.

    “Answered a need the depth of which I still have not fathomed”—yes that describes exactly what Eckhart does for me, his meanings resonating long after I read his words; as a piece of music one has replayed many times takes residence within us and goes on playing soundlessly.

    Sometimes an answer provokes the question, exposes the need. Did you ever encounter a little book called “Mister God, this is Anna”? This six-year-old theologian/scientist/mathematician plays a game with her grown-up friend Fynn, on the lines of “What's the question to this answer?” There are many possible questions to each answer, in fact.

    And as the song says, “There are more questions than answers”.

  3. I wish Meister Eckhart was still alive so you could meet him. I can only imagine all the wonderful chats you would share, as you walked together, among those ancient trees, with red-tail kites soaring overhead.
    Kind of makes me wish time travel was possible so I could smile at the both of you, as you stroll by.

  4. Nice thought and something to ponder about, Cindy. Eckhart and I might not get on at all. Some things he says are quite opposite to how I see them, for example this:

    “Every man, who loves God, only uses his outer senses so far as absolutely necessary; he takes care that they do not drag him down to the level of the beasts, as they do some who might rather be termed beasts than men.”

    To me, focus on the outer senses, when out of doors, is a remedy against the barren machinations of intellect. I’ve never felt at risk of being “dragged down to the level of the beasts”.On the contrary, I have a high respect for our fellow-creatures, apart from the horrific behaviour of certain insects and other arthropods. Loving the creation, as perceived in nature and man, and the depths of my own consciousness, is the only way to God that I know.

    In spite of this, or perhaps because of this, I think he has something to teach me. Contact with his writings is all I ask! But I’m grateful to you for the thought experiment.

  5. I've been looking for Loren Eisley, but could only find his work in expensive editions from the States. But when I look for Loren Eiseley, there are used editions some hardback costing about a penny, which I can ship from the States via Amazon.co.uk without paying the international postage. From what I read of Loren already, he would be an ideal companion on outdoor trips. Thanks for the introduction!

  6. This is a 'thought experiment' using Jung's four functions. It can be done in various situations. I present this as a explanation for Eckhart's stated attitude toward using the senses in your comment to Cindy. But I am attracted to your posts because you respond to your total environment intuitively.
    ______________
    Sensation – describe only by sense data – size, color, temperature, smell, taste, sound:

    'The sky was blue, the trees were big, the flower was fragrant.'
    ______________
    Emotion – express only the emotion or value judgement which the scene produces in you:

    'I felt insecure because of the strange surroundings.'
    _____________
    Reason – put the scene into a rational framework, explain what is going on as a part of a reasoning pattern:

    'I found myself in a second growth forest where the pines were being replaced by deciduous trees.'
    ____________
    Intuition – look for relationships which allow you to experience the whole:

    'Nothing was isolated, everything invited me to participate in the kaleidoscope of which I am a part.'

  7. I have a confession to make, that the portrait on my edition of sermons is not of Eckhart at all. I realized that it could not be a portrait from the life because it is done in a Renaissance style, a hundred years after Eckhart's death. Now I see that the portrait in fact is of someone else entirely, as a reproduction in http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Giovanni_Bellini_025.jpg is attributed clearly as follows:

    Portrait of Fra Theodoro da Urbino, 1515 Tempera on panel, 24 3/4 x 19 3/8 inches (63 x 49.5 cm) National Gallery, London

    The artist was Giovanni Bellini (or his workshop).

    Many sites on Google say that it's a portrait of Meister Eckhart, This leaves me with a dilemma. Should I perpetuate the falsehood, or make a new cover? I was set on doing the honest thing, until I looked up Fra Theodoro da Urbino, and discovered that he has no other claim to fame but this portrait, in which he sat as an allegorical model for the founder of the Dominican Order, St Dominic himself. I quote from a book Wisdom for Life edited by Michael Kelly, Mark A. O'Brien:

    “This type of portrait, where the sitter presents him or herself under the guise of a saint or a famed character from history or mythology, was not uncommon in the Renaissance. Such an image is known as an allegorical or a disguised portrait. Subjects would choose to identify themselves with a famed model from the real or imagined past as a way of declaring a desire to model one’s behaviour on a virtuous exemplar. Saints like Mary Magdalen, Agnes or the Roman matron Lucretia inspired emulation amongst women. Religious might choose to present themselves with the attributes of a saint of his or her order. Giovanni Bellini painted a friar with the attributes of St Dominic in his portrait of Fra Teodoro da Urbino as St Dominic.
    . . .
    “In most examples of these allegorical portraits the allusion to the exemplar was indicated through the inclusion of attributes or
    emblems. Thus Bellini’s Fra Teodoro da Urbino as St Dominic included a lily and a book, that saint’s identifying attributes.”

    I shall leave the cover as it is for now but put a note inside confessing all. Conscience salved.

  8. Ellie, you remind me again of Theodore Faithfull who taught me about the Fourfold Nature of Man, and attributed it to William Blake.

    Your timely intervention mediates between the two positions, pro- and anti-sensuality by suggesting that when the four functions are together present they give balance to man so that no harm is done.

    And now writing this, I am put in mind of book-length essay I much admire: In Defence of Sensuality. by John Cowper Powys. He dedicates it to Jean-Jacques Rousseau. His praise is for what he calls the ichthyosaurus-ego, something which he feels is repressed in most of us. I'm not sure where it fits in the four-fold structure but he uses it to examine the hypocrisies and self-deceptions that plague the modern human soul, in a kind of Nietzschean revaluation of all values. But having just written this, I have doubts that I can express his position with any reliability in one paragraph, without rereading his entire book, which I'm certainly not ready to do. Not till December at least when it gets dark at four in the afternoon, and one is glad to have an indoor hearth and bookshelves full of old friends one has not listened to for years.

  9. Middle of nowhere??? and you describe this? Heh. Ya wanna live where i live.
    (PS. just making an irrelevant comment to let you know that remain alive, and more or less physically and mentally intact …heh).

  10. That you remain alive, at a satisfactory level of intactness, is never irrelevant to me, Davo, & the uncounted myriads of readers of this blog & your own. I hear on the radio that some man with money to spare has bought a ticket to go into space, just to look out the window and see this little globe whose surface we cling to through no effort of our own, gravity doing all the hard work, which hangs in the middle of — creation? — nowhere?

    The main word to me was “middle”. No matter that from a certain point of view your place is at the very edge of the bush and civilization: on a dotted line which marks their common boundary. You and I are privileged to have ringside seats at the very middle of it all, where the best thing is happening. Or so it felt in a particular moment which I was feebly attempting to describe.

    It's a place where no map can take you.