than we. For example, dates, which we forget more easily than they do — why were there flowers on the table today? Right — it was the anniversary of our first night together. Then again, a favorite dish would be on the table, or else she was wearing the cheap jewelry that I had given her in our student days, and her hairdo was the same as back then. These were memories of the old times, but only memories.
50
We would have drifted apart even without my work, which occupied me more and more, ultimately affecting my health, especially when the firm rose to sudden notoriety. If anyone was at fault, it was I — because of my character, which was exposed by my profession; however, time would have done the same, even under different circumstances. As a moralist once said: Aging makes not only our profiles but also our characters more distinct.
I wonder whether, in regard to eros, I fit into one of the prevailing typologies. If I were to fill out a test questionnaire, I would be the paragon of a normal spouse. I cannot oblige with any surprise, any physical or mental deviation.
One should not be content with that; statistics are devised for parochial minds. What does, say, the question "What is your favorite color?" mean to someone who feels good in a fog or who is delighted by a palette, an opal, a rainbow, a sunset in Manila? Besides, under every normal stratum, we come upon a more deeply universal stratum, the human one. Man remains the enigma per se.
After putting aside the books, I reached a conclusion: You are an erotic nihilist. What does that mean? To put it tritely: the kind of woman I like best is the one whose presence does not disturb me, who is simply not there. This, as I have said, is a very general case, and that was what disturbed Bertha about me.
Now I could get out of the predicament by claiming that I may even be an erotic idealist. A beloved's presence would be disturbing insofar as it interfered with. Aphrodite. The final chamber remains locked, and only a ray of light flashes through. That is the secret reason for so many disappointments.
The yearning for a new life can become very strong. I am thinking of the influence that the Provencal love cult exerted on the Renaissance. La vita nuova — nine-year-old Dante is transformed by Beatrice, as P etrarch by Laura; the poem is for human beings what a flood is for the cosmos: a response to vast distances.
However, I do not wish to play the metaphysical swain. Aphrodite may be missing or veil her face: the Great Mother is always there. Love changes to the extent that materialism progresses.
My nihilism is based on concrete experiences. And, as so often, it was the first encounter that served as a model, preshaping the subsequent ones.
51
It is, above all, the gods who change. Either they assume different forms and faces, or they vanish altogether. But similarities always remain, no matter how many generations are produced. It is the same as with breeds of animals.
I regard it as a mistake to call Dionysus a god; I contest it. He has a place on Mount Olympus as a close relative, also as a guest of honor. Dionysus is more than a god and less — he is earth exposed, nature revealed. He is a demon, a polymorphic Titan. This is not contradicted by one of the myths about him which says he was torn to shreds by the Titans — that is simply the way they are. Dionysus himself is torn, he tears, he is overpowering. His place is not so much on Olympus as in Eleusis, between Persephone and Demeter.
I therefore feel that Old Gunpowder-Head was wrong to put Dionysus as a god opposite Apollo — theirs was actually an encounter between Titanic-demonic and divine power. Still, Gunpowder-Head did understand that this conflict brought forth two kinds of art, especially two kinds ofmusic. He returned to Dionysus. Rather than expatiating on this, I wish to focus on the present. The fact that we, largely in a passive manner, are participating in a fall of the gods is
50
We would have drifted apart even without my work, which occupied me more and more, ultimately affecting my health, especially when the firm rose to sudden notoriety. If anyone was at fault, it was I — because of my character, which was exposed by my profession; however, time would have done the same, even under different circumstances. As a moralist once said: Aging makes not only our profiles but also our characters more distinct.
I wonder whether, in regard to eros, I fit into one of the prevailing typologies. If I were to fill out a test questionnaire, I would be the paragon of a normal spouse. I cannot oblige with any surprise, any physical or mental deviation.
One should not be content with that; statistics are devised for parochial minds. What does, say, the question "What is your favorite color?" mean to someone who feels good in a fog or who is delighted by a palette, an opal, a rainbow, a sunset in Manila? Besides, under every normal stratum, we come upon a more deeply universal stratum, the human one. Man remains the enigma per se.
After putting aside the books, I reached a conclusion: You are an erotic nihilist. What does that mean? To put it tritely: the kind of woman I like best is the one whose presence does not disturb me, who is simply not there. This, as I have said, is a very general case, and that was what disturbed Bertha about me.
Now I could get out of the predicament by claiming that I may even be an erotic idealist. A beloved's presence would be disturbing insofar as it interfered with. Aphrodite. The final chamber remains locked, and only a ray of light flashes through. That is the secret reason for so many disappointments.
The yearning for a new life can become very strong. I am thinking of the influence that the Provencal love cult exerted on the Renaissance. La vita nuova — nine-year-old Dante is transformed by Beatrice, as P etrarch by Laura; the poem is for human beings what a flood is for the cosmos: a response to vast distances.
However, I do not wish to play the metaphysical swain. Aphrodite may be missing or veil her face: the Great Mother is always there. Love changes to the extent that materialism progresses.
My nihilism is based on concrete experiences. And, as so often, it was the first encounter that served as a model, preshaping the subsequent ones.
51
It is, above all, the gods who change. Either they assume different forms and faces, or they vanish altogether. But similarities always remain, no matter how many generations are produced. It is the same as with breeds of animals.
I regard it as a mistake to call Dionysus a god; I contest it. He has a place on Mount Olympus as a close relative, also as a guest of honor. Dionysus is more than a god and less — he is earth exposed, nature revealed. He is a demon, a polymorphic Titan. This is not contradicted by one of the myths about him which says he was torn to shreds by the Titans — that is simply the way they are. Dionysus himself is torn, he tears, he is overpowering. His place is not so much on Olympus as in Eleusis, between Persephone and Demeter.
I therefore feel that Old Gunpowder-Head was wrong to put Dionysus as a god opposite Apollo — theirs was actually an encounter between Titanic-demonic and divine power. Still, Gunpowder-Head did understand that this conflict brought forth two kinds of art, especially two kinds ofmusic. He returned to Dionysus. Rather than expatiating on this, I wish to focus on the present. The fact that we, largely in a passive manner, are participating in a fall of the gods is
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