Capitalism, Communism, economy, essay, Existentialism, Philosophy, Politics

Cyclops

Kulturgeschichte / Industrie / H¸ttenwerke / Walzwerke

Imagine if you will a foolish paradigm; a notion you may soon enough choose to forget. But imagine just the same. See the world as it is; riven, tempestuous, “everywhere man in chains”. There are mechanisms in the world, institutions and cabals. Not in a sense that an idiot would have you understand; no Bilderberg or Soros boardrooms or Masons. No something much more banal then all that. Governments and representative bodies, capitals and palaces and parliaments and cathedrals. All beautiful outward expressions of civil vitality and republican freedom. But of course the republic is shadow box, playing off the dreams and yearnings of catered nationalist sentiment. No real passion, no real potency, no real ambition. Just threadbare panache disguised as a national dialogue.

The world as it is, as it truly is, the people as they are, do not crave influence or ambition without limit. We do not look into the eyes of a golden god and hope for a lifetime gifted with the Midas touch.

We look deeply, longingly into the eye of a Cyclops. It is the eye that looks back whenever a man contemplates his life and work. Adolph von Menzel painted a masterwork called Steel Rolling Mill, but it is often called the Cyclops for the glowing furnace that stands gaping and glaring at the center of the composition. All working human beings know something of this eye, this point of contemplation and desperation. It is a life that stares back, a lifetime of work or worry or stress or fear condensed and floating like a collapsing star in the midst of an existence of existence, of the reality of pain and work and love and pleasure. The working human being is always watched by the Cyclops, by this beast of spiritual burden bourn by everyone not born sucking on silverware. No one but a true human being, a true member of the proletariat, can contend with this boogey of subtle, satisfying angst. No millionaire or potentate can understand the withering gaze of expectation, want, shame and lust that every human being who wants for anything must contend with at every moment from birth until death. Only the poor know this Cyclops. The rich can only comprehend a blind fate.

The perversion of government, the true friend of this Cyclops, this beast, makes us reluctant anarchists; not wanting misrule or the collapse of the social contract, but a mode of ruling ourselves without any sort of system built upon the inherent mistrust of the people, the proletariat. The problem with the current manifestation of the left wing is that it expects revolutionary results from a system inherently antithetical to the notion. We celebrate a democracy that never existed, a promise that was never fulfilled and we espouse in the name of institutions, values we never really practiced. There can be no democracy in a republican system, in a capitalist system, indeed in a system that does not recognize the inherent drive for comfort, happiness, love and improvement that define the human animal. There is no innate drive to wealth and there is no natural craving for the exploitation of others. This is taught, inculcated and is indeed mimicked without thought by generations who saw nothing but a celebration of greed and largesse in their societies and culture. There is no natural monopolist or millionaire. Humans want a more rich reward and have a simpler creed: respect, mutual and unforced, and love unyielding and understanding.

Why not try things anew? Why not risk death or pain in the pursuit of peace and happiness? You do already now, and within the current system any such satisfaction will be perpetually deferred. If you are being pushed over the edge why not then just jump? Perhaps you will land on your feet. Perhaps you can live to see the day when the working part of humanity looks back into the eye of the Cyclops and force him to blink. It was a foolish paradigm, I know that now, and you should not feel guilty for forgetting about it all.

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