The interesting thing about the scenario, for the purposes of this
column, is the very human way in which Morpheus chooses to separate
himself from that which defines him, in this case by concentrating his
powers in tools. Following this analogy back to its roots, you get
humanity, and that which defines each individual: beliefs.
Neil Gaiman, the praises of whom I have sung in one or two of these columns, messed up as far as the Nobel Prize for Literature is concerned. His magnum opus, the Sandman series, was written for the ‘comic’ medium, better known to more enlightened people as ‘graphic novels’. Nobody gives major literary awards to graphic novels.
On the other hand, it was a smart move. If following the style of most Nobel prize winners, a long metaphysical novel about the life and death of the King of Dreams would have made dense, impenetrable reading. On the other hand, the graphic novels were, and still are, read by millions.
The vignette that I best remember is Morpheus, the Sandman, having concentrated his power in a set of tools, has to contest with some minor demon in Hell for possession of his helmet. It leads to a brief but very interesting discussion on how hope gives shape despair and suffering, and begins a chain of brilliantly imagined events which I won’t describe here.
The interesting thing about the scenario, for the purposes of this column, is the very human way in which Morpheus chooses to separate himself from that which defines him, in this case by concentrating his powers in tools. Following this analogy back to its roots, you get humanity, and that which defines each individual: beliefs.
Humans, insecure creatures that we are, are about as comfortable with beliefs as a long-legged young man sharing the back seat of a Mini with a couple of overweight, lavender-scented spinsters. When confronted with a belief of our own, we generally just don’t know where to fit in or if we will be poking an elbow, or knee, into some sensitive bit, so earning our spinsters’ disapproval.
So with some contortion and uncomfortable squirming in the back seat of this metaphorical Mini, we try to make room and find a way to belong. Leaving the metaphor idling at some metaphorical red traffic light, we try to define our beliefs with symbols, and try to match those symbols to others, in the vain expectation of acceptance and the warm glow of the approval of our peers.
As kids, we express our rebellion and quest for freedom with clothes and music. As we enter middle life, we sublimate our aspirations with cars and addresses in whatever neighbourhood we believe is ‘right’. In old age we treasure our nostalgia. As political animals, we speak the language of flags, banners, slogans and hand gestures. My sudden decision not to venture into religion at this point is probably a smart move of some sort.
In the face of the range of choices, we cease to define the symbols and, in the absence of confidence in our own judgement, allow the symbols to define us. What we willingly sacrifice is personal insight. We also sacrifice the relative objectivity of ‘knowing what is right in our hearts’.
Symbols have their uses. They are handy guides for sociopaths who, although devoid of conscience and guilt, have worked out that adopting the symbols and associated behaviour patterns will keep them out of jail. They are also very useful as a reference for the rest of humanity in moments when self-confidence is lacking.
But the symbols assume a life of their own that excludes other beliefs. Jeans are a symbol of a relaxed attitude. Can someone be perceived to be relaxed wearing the symbols of formality, a jacket and a tie? After years of wearing jeans as an advertising creative, I personally find a jacket and tie quite relaxing and a welcome change from the hectic routine of being ‘creative’ and exciting.
If we place all our faith in symbols, how much faith can we have in ourselves? By measuring ourselves against the standards we don’t allow our own reasoning, emotional or otherwise, to come into play.
With objects, slogans, dogma, flags and banners we diminish our own humanity and avoid the responsibility that is inherent in thought and humanity. We average ourselves out, but the result is inevitably substandard.
There is something to be said for going against the flow.
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