Tantalus, nee Hope
It has been a while...does anyone still check the site? This has already appeared on my blog, but it occurred to me to post here on the odd chance that it will rescucitate the site.
They [the damned] ferry over this Lethean sound
Both to and fro...
And...struggle...to reach
The tempting stream, with one small drop to lose
In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe....
But Fate withstands...and of itself the water flies
All taste of living wight, as once it fled
The lip of Tantalus.
--Milton, Paradise Lost
Few myths speak of the grotesque and ineluctable disease of hope as eloquently as the story of Tantalus. Witness: For offending the gods, a man is condemned to a pool of Hell where he sees fruit he cannot eat and water he cannot drink. Nor is this any commonplace withholding of satisfaction: Tantalus is free to move towards the food and drink that recede from him. And so, for eternity, Tantalus inclines against hunger that will know no relief.
Here's the rub: For eternity?? Don't you think at some point he'd stop, at some point Tantalus would feel resignation, or despair, whichever you choose to call it, and cease the attempt? But no -- we are told this continues ad infinitum. It is one thing if he is chained there forever, but to strain against those chains the whole time? This is not a story about the implacable wrath of the gods. This is a story of the implacable, irrational hope of the human race.
Hope is as crippling and devastating as anything else with which we could have been cursed. Think about it: As a species, we are unable to accept when a cause is lost. The sun may cease to rise, but as long as it does rise it will never cease to rise in the east. Human beings will not cease to pass out of this existence, into what oblivion or what horrors we do not know. The water will never stop receding; nor will the fruit allow itself to be touched, but Tantalus will never stop reaching for them. We are condemned by denial to believe the love, the money, the happiness just out of reach may soon be within our grasp. We are unable to realize that the anguish of existence is total and final. And when those around us do realize it, we inflict our hopes on them, to what use or end I fail to understand. Perhaps the sole purpose of this journey is to realize the anguish of living, and pass thence from one form of anguish into another.
We like to assume that the Hope in Pandora's little box of blights was placed there as the antidote. But why should we not conclude that Hope was as deadly and destructive as the other horrors she released? And unlike the ills that fly about inflicting themselves on us, hope is the one horror that is always with us. The curse is forever safely in the box on the mantel. It is omnipresent, ineluctable. In death we may escape from famine, wickedness and grief. But not even in the afterlife do we escape from hope.
They [the damned] ferry over this Lethean sound
Both to and fro...
And...struggle...to reach
The tempting stream, with one small drop to lose
In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe....
But Fate withstands...and of itself the water flies
All taste of living wight, as once it fled
The lip of Tantalus.
--Milton, Paradise Lost
Few myths speak of the grotesque and ineluctable disease of hope as eloquently as the story of Tantalus. Witness: For offending the gods, a man is condemned to a pool of Hell where he sees fruit he cannot eat and water he cannot drink. Nor is this any commonplace withholding of satisfaction: Tantalus is free to move towards the food and drink that recede from him. And so, for eternity, Tantalus inclines against hunger that will know no relief.
Here's the rub: For eternity?? Don't you think at some point he'd stop, at some point Tantalus would feel resignation, or despair, whichever you choose to call it, and cease the attempt? But no -- we are told this continues ad infinitum. It is one thing if he is chained there forever, but to strain against those chains the whole time? This is not a story about the implacable wrath of the gods. This is a story of the implacable, irrational hope of the human race.
Hope is as crippling and devastating as anything else with which we could have been cursed. Think about it: As a species, we are unable to accept when a cause is lost. The sun may cease to rise, but as long as it does rise it will never cease to rise in the east. Human beings will not cease to pass out of this existence, into what oblivion or what horrors we do not know. The water will never stop receding; nor will the fruit allow itself to be touched, but Tantalus will never stop reaching for them. We are condemned by denial to believe the love, the money, the happiness just out of reach may soon be within our grasp. We are unable to realize that the anguish of existence is total and final. And when those around us do realize it, we inflict our hopes on them, to what use or end I fail to understand. Perhaps the sole purpose of this journey is to realize the anguish of living, and pass thence from one form of anguish into another.
We like to assume that the Hope in Pandora's little box of blights was placed there as the antidote. But why should we not conclude that Hope was as deadly and destructive as the other horrors she released? And unlike the ills that fly about inflicting themselves on us, hope is the one horror that is always with us. The curse is forever safely in the box on the mantel. It is omnipresent, ineluctable. In death we may escape from famine, wickedness and grief. But not even in the afterlife do we escape from hope.
posted by Erosopher at 2:49 PM
1 comments
