A Theft Among Thieves

All motives of the being that is us are essentially selfish in origin and nature. Even when we venture to sacrifice our very life for others, we are doing so because it pleases a certain part of our ego to be just that—sacrificial. We gain a pleasure from such sacrifices. To harm ourselves can be to pleasure ourselves. The other is always and at all times just another means to our own selfish ends. You wish to deny this? You deny it for your pleasure. You wish to accept this? Then there are no ultimate differences between such men.

We are inherently emotional beings conducting ourselves, at times, in the illusion of an emotionless language. We say: “This is truth!” Well, it may be, but is it not truth as truth without an inherent expression from ourselves? We only happen to find truth by something like a coincidence, and how could we ever know we found it? Do we know the Good?

All truths are just ourselves in expression. You wish to deny truth? That is your truth—your self-expression! We suffer pain and misery, and truth is our medicine, even its very denial. We are pharmacological autophilosphical bipeds. What is philosophy?—the study of the self. A love of wisdom? A love of the one’s own wisdom!

Perhaps philosophers are the sickest of all. Naturally then they are those most in need of that medicine of truth, or untruth. To deny truth is itself to make out a sort of statement, another perspective. ‘To kill God you must kill grammar.’ To kill grammar we must remain without speaking. ‘Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.’ Then let us yell into our speechlessness! Let us scream to heal! Shriek to the heavens and into the canals of Asclepius’ ears, shattering his vibrato and bone!

All aims aim towards pleasure. Even the illusion of our self-inflicted displeasure is for the sake of pleasure of which our lesser acting agent does not yet realize. We are trapped always by our pleasure, unable to ever act against it. What affords and costs us this ultimate pleasure is then a matter of judgment. Who is good? He who judges well. Who is a good judge? He who knows his pleasure. Who knows his pleasure? He who knows himself.

Man is doomed in a sense to himself, but truly he is put through a hell to know others. How can we know ourselves if we do not know of others and their perspectives of our selves? Can a man know himself as well as he could if he knew another?

Our pleasures, ultimate or otherwise, do not seem to always coincide with the pleasures of these others. And yet, we must come to know them if we wish to become good judges, if we wish to achieve our pleasures well. ‘Man is a political animal.’ Then let us build zoos!

Does truth exist beyond us, outside of us? Perhaps. But we are always by our condition interpreting it according to our pain and pursuits for pleasure. I state, ‘2+2=4’; ‘Juneau is the capital of Alaska’; ‘All bachelors are not married’; ‘Socrates is a mortal’; ‘The sun is the center of the solar system’; ‘God exists’—these are expressions commonly accepted by many, and perhaps they would have more coherence to a truth outside of us? Or perhaps not. If we choose to put faith in our collective senses, or if we choose to doubt them, to see them as ‘shadows cast upon a wall,’ these are yet further—self-expressions!

What we choose to place our faith in and what we choose to doubt is an expression not of reason and logic, though they might often be grammatically proposed as such, but are expressions of our discontentment with ourselves and of our struggle with others. Such is life.

Can one escape faith? Can one be that mystical—‘secular thinker’? What are we secular from, faith or God? There is only one secular thinker I know of, and he exists only in the mind of one of the most religious—Socrates. But he is an archetype. Like Gautama. Like Yeshua. Impressions lay upon impressions. Is this a faith for me? Most likely. When I die and see these men myself, may I be led to yet another faith!

Do we question everything, as if there is some state of non-questioning to compare it to, then? Even where such men might exist, do they not just put their faith—their core of pain and pleasure—in doubt, in neutrality? There is the Science of Description, and the Science of Truth, and both measure between what men have for two or so centuries called Science, but was before it, as it more properly might be called, natural philosophy. Or what the Greeks called physis. What scientist might we become? That which attains us most pleasure and what minimizes pain.

Does our God come before ethics or afterwards, or is he—Ethics? Always have I been delighted to hear of those who say afterwards, for perhaps they more than others understand what I mean here? They think: I do not know entirely what is right or wrong, but everyone should be loving and we should maximize happiness for all; My God is one who obeys such things herself!

We of the sciences might observe collectively that the optical nerve has a blind spot, like fingerprints, unique to the individual in what it blinds us from. What is the limit of our visual nexus to this plain? What joy it might be to know that our friend has a limit that is not our own? Let us use him to extend beyond our own selves and to observe more of this world, for that world, more revealed, reveals more of oneself!

The Legend of Asclepius, the Greek God of Healing

Now, gather around, for I am ought to tell to you the story of how Asclepius the God of Healing came to be.

The Conception of Asclepius

One night while Apollo was secretly observing the training of his priestesses at the Oracle at Delphi, disguised as a snake, he spotted a mortal woman whom he found most beautiful. Apollo continued to eye this beautiful woman, learning that she was particularly gifted in the interpretation of dreams. This woman’s name was Coronis.

Now while most priestesses-in-training at Delphi were selected from a very select stock by Apollo’s priests, Coronis had been found mysteriously one day roaming in the nearby woods as a young orphan, and was taken in by the priests. Recall, my listeners, that Apollo’s priests were trained in divination of the priestesses’ utterances during their fissure-trance at the Oracle. These priests learned how to divine from Apollo, who learned how to divine from Pan himself. Apollo learned much more from Pan about divining than he did tell to his priests, wary that if he were to tell them how to divine, say, the meaning of clouds in the sky or the meaning of playing cards, that they would go mad with depression, as men had been in the Days of Old before the ability to tell the future was taken from them by Prometheus and replaced with blind hope.

So it was so that Apollo’s priests knew only the divination of fissure-mutterings and nothing else. However, upon discovering Coronis’ ability to divine dreams, the priests became excited and wanted to learn how to do this also. Worried, Apollo took the form of a giant serpent and carried Coronis away from the priests and his Oracle at Delphi, into the waters of the sea as a dolphin, in which Apollo carried Coronis on his back as he glided to an isle far away. There he placed her and provided for her a home and garden to take care of herself.

Coronis eventually bared Apollo a babe in her self, however, the rumors of a dream diviner had spread beyond Delphi, and the Goddess Rumor had whispered in the ears of those most interested in dream diving the location of Coronis, and so a group of curious but evil men went to find and capture her. Capture her they did, and they forced her to teach them her art. Coronis told them that she did not understand how she could do it, only that it came to her naturally, and so they decided that if they could not divine dreams, then no mortal could, and decided to burn her at the stake.

Hearing her cries, Apollo came down from Olympus to discover that she was with child. Apollo swiftly cut open her stomach and reached out and took his child, leaving Coronis to burn. This is why Apollo decided to name the babe Asclepius, which means, “to cut open.”

The Education of Asclepius

Now Apollo could not take care of this child, for he was quite a busy God, what with his Oracle and all. Instead of finding a caretaker for his child, Apollo left his son on top of a mountain, for he did not want Asclepius to grow weak and complacent. If the child would be able to fend himself off from wolves and the like, then he was surely worth being the son of Apollo, who as we all know thought rather highly of himself among the Gods, and expected his son to reflect such qualities he found in himself.

What follows next precisely I do not know, though some say a wild satyr of Dionysius found him and raised him, others some sort of nanny-goat, and yet others that the child like Hermes before him grew rather prodigiously, and by evening was already building his first shelter. What seems to be more certain is that Asclepius took quite an interest in plants, herbs, and snakes. He would spend most of his day studying herbs and picking their leaves and berries. He would craft his own mortar and pestle out of white marble from the nearby mountains, and he would go out and find wounded mortals left over from the battle and experiment his concoctions on them in the disguise of a snake. He would dip his snake tongue in his remedies and then go into the field of battle and lick the near-dead soldier’s eyes and wounds, often curing them back to enough health to return to their camps.

Eventually Asclepius was discovered by Cheiron the Centaur, teacher and trainer of great heroes, who lived in a cave on Mount Pelion, most famous of all for rearing the great Achilles as a boy. Asclepius went to live with Cheiron and train under him at his home in the mountains with Cheiron’s wife, which was much like a small boarding school of today, except carved into rock and supported with wood. Cheiron would let his heroes in training ride on his back as he rode out into the woods to teach them hunting. He would show them how to properly enjoy wine without getting too drunk, and also the art of romancing. You must keep in mind that, like Cheiron, the students did not wear clothing, and were often lusty with each other growing up.

Now most of the Greek Gods loved war, conflict, and schadenfreude. Asclepius, however, did not like these things at all, and was mostly interested in healing and making people feel better. Having met his first intelligent comrade, Asclepius became fascinated by the idea that Cheiron had a different personality than his own. As Asclepius met from time to time with Cheiron’s other occasional students, he became more and more adept at understanding how different personalities were nevertheless common in particular ways, and Asclepius often thought about why people became sad or happy, or how to go about healing people not only physically but emotionally as well.

Now Cheiron was a very firm believer in tradition when it came to education, and so he taught Asclepius, as he did all of his students, gymnastics and warfare in addition to music and the arts and healing, even though Asclepius did not want to learn the former things. Cheiron had very strict, numbered rules that he expected all of his students to follow, and was oft to repeat them and drill them into the heads of his students. Despite how much this sometimes annoyed them, all of Cheiron’s students, Asclepius included, grew to love him and his wife very much. Do you know Cheiron’s number one rule? It was to obey Zeus above all Gods, and next to obey the father above all men, except when Zeus’ demands contradicted the father’s.

Cheiron, a great healer himself, taught Asclepius much about herbs and plants, and how to take care of people when they were sick. Cheiron also taught Asclepius how to sing little tunes to make people recover from ailments that originated in the soul but not the body, and how to uplift spirits in times of self-doubt. Indeed, Asclepius was often left to attend to the wounds and sorrows of Cheiron’s other students when they had been hurt in gymnastic training or were down on their luck. Asclepius gradually became more proficient at healing, until Cheiron felt that Asclepius was a better healer than himself. Upon this discovery, Cheiron came to Asclepius to tell him that his training was complete, and gave him a mortar and pestle crafted from the solidified ambrosia of the Gods of Olympus and dyed in their drink of immortality.

The Apotheosis of Asclepius and How He Attained his Rod of Caduceus

So, armed with his mastery of the healing arts, Asclepius went out to venture into the world, and became widely known throughout the land, pleasing his father Apollo and impressing even the Gods with his amazing abilities to heal seemingly any wound, physical or psychical. Now, all the great Gods and half-Gods eventually rise to Olympus, however, Asclepius’ is somewhat more tragic and incomplete than others, even though he technically achieved this.

One day Asclepius observed the death of a snake, and he noticed how another snake placed an herb he had never seen before in the dead snake’s mouth, and it was revived. Curious, Asclepius studied this herb and searched for it, until he found it outside an entrance to Hades. After trying the herb on a dead man, Asclepius found no results. Clever like his father, Asclepius fastened a branch from a tree near the same cave entrance he found the herb, and then took the snake he had seen giving the dead snake the herb and tied it around his new staff, petrifying it. He then concocted a concentrated oil out of the life-giving herb and rubbed it on his staff.

Trying again on a dead man, Asclepius found success, and this magical rod of life giving properties is now known as Asclepius’ Staff of Caduceus, upon which you see stamped on hospitals the world around (funny story, most American hospitals have the Rod of Hermes instead, which has two snakes, not one like Asclepius’ Caduceus. Hermes is the God of trickery and deceit, and now American hospitals and their healthcare do just that because someone not well-studied in their mythology mixed the two up in an earnest attempt to give praise to our good Asclepius, but now gives praise to Hermes instead!).

Now, as you might expect, Asclepius began to use this very powerful staff to bring the dead men back to life. Of course Hades began to notice that there was a shortage of souls in his kingdom, and he promptly went to Olympus to complain to Zeus. Together they decided that it must’ve been due to Asclepius’ wicked staff, and so Zeus struck Asclepius with a lightning bolt, killing him on spot, for he did not obey the laws of life and death set even before Zeus long ago by Khaos, father of all Gods.

Angered that Zeus did not give Asclepius a fair warning, Apollo went out to avenge his son’s death by killing the Cyclopes who made Zeus’ bolts. Apollo then went to Zeus, cleverly persuading him that only Asclepius knew how to resurrect the dead in full form, and that Zeus would never find another craftsman as great as the one whom he had just killed. Convinced, Zeus revived Asclepius, but because Asclepius was the only one who can revive the mortal or immortal back to their original state, Asclepius was rendered into the night sky as a celestial constellation in the form of his Caduceus, from where he could still watch over his worshippers and bring back to life those he deemed worthy, including Zeus’ Cyclopes, but only because Apollo asked him to.

 What Became of Asclepius’ Followers, the Psyche-Analysts, and Asclepeions

Asclepius’ followers came from many tribes, including the Corybantics, who were worshippers of Corybantes and known experts in healing the psychically ill, as well as worshippers of Psyche, the Greek Goddess of the soul. These followers built temples to Asclepius, known as asclepeions, which healed the sick and trained future healers and followers of Asclepius. These worshippers came to be known as psyche-analysts, for they were known to unravel the soul in order to put it back together better than before.

These asclepeions became destinations for the sick and the haunted all over ancient Greece. The sick would lie on the warm side of the temple on a portico, or a porch, and would be attended to by the priests and priestesses of Asclepius in the daytime. At night, while they were sleeping, the blessed snake of Asclepius, who dwelled in tunnels beneath the porticos, would come out and lick the eyes of the wounded and whisper into their ears songs of soothing harmonies, just as Asclepius had done in his younger years.

Pleased by this marvel, Psyche went to visit Asclepius’ mother Coronus in Hades to learn from her the art of dream divination, where in death she was now able to rationalize the art and therefore teach it, and then took the form of a wise pilgrim and taught this to her analysts. When travelers that came to the porticos of asclepeions had dreams in their sleep, as they often would, upon awakening they would be taken to a reclined Greek stone bench situated in the most holy of places in Asclepius’ temples, where they would tell their dreams to Asclepius’ psyche-analysts, who would then give instructions to the theraputae (that is, the apprentices of Asclepius) on what methods of action to take to remedy their patient’s ailments based on their dreams. When these patients were healed, they would create art in the image of what part of them had been healed and offer it to Asclepius’ altar, or even find it in the wild, in case for something like a toothache.

These asclepeions became famous beyond Greece. When the Christians came and usurped the Greek culture and Gods with their God, the church found these asclepeions and their philosophies quite useful, and so the tradition was started where after a monastery or church had healed you, you were to craft a model or sculpture of what part of your body was healed and offer that to that church or monastery’s patron saint.

And that, my listeners, is the story of Asclepius and his ascension into the heavens. So next time you feel troubled or in pain, make a little prayer to Asclepius, and when you wake up be sure to recall your dreams, for they are Asclepius’ instructions on how to remedy yourself. You will know he visited you because his snakes will leave their dried dream saliva in the corners of your eyes. And if you are healed successfully, be sure to thank him by creating a piece of art to symbolize the healing act.

Plato, Aristocracy, and the Just City

1405107744137What Plato says about eros, its withholding, and how its withholding leads to inspiration seems to me to be a virile truth. The creative nature between any two comrades, it may be said, is inherently tied to the mostly unconscious sexual tension that lies between them. The more that this sexual tension is suppressed and sublimated through the friendship’s energy and direction—its expending in the most powerful and fulfilling of ways—the greater each friend has to benefit from that relationship and what creative energy they gain from it in their pursuits.

The extrovert is simply he who expends energy in introverted isolation in order to create, while the introvert is he who expends energy in extroverted communication in order to create. The extrovert gains energy through communication and then expends it during introverted processes in order to discover and be inspired, while the introvert is the one who discovers and becomes inspired more so in conversation with others. Friends and creative relationships are always as good as they are because they are good transferences of this suppressed tension. In cases where such tension is breached with eros, it might be that it is penetrated in such a way as to allow the daemonic miasma beneath that broken membrane to remain and fester—perhaps in certain, more Dionysian spirits this is of an even higher creative drive into truth by beauty rather than beauty by truth.

Plato was, with the help of Socrates, the true founder of psychoanalysis. What is the psychoanalytic process, really, other than a glorified and more formally arranged Socratic method? If the analysand is led on by the analyst in such a way as to discover more and more about himself, about what is not within his own conscious knowledge but that which nevertheless takes hold of him in his everyday living and cognition, then the analysand will come into more and more control of himself. He is more and more so less affected by ideology—the truths that have already been determined for him! He denies these truths set out for him in analysis, and instead is watched over by the midwife as he births his own truths, for which he shall decide to pursue overtly or discreetly in his day-to-day life.

Plato was aware of the inherency of the soul—the very incarnate being of who the individual is. The psychoanalytic process—despite Freud’s own metaphysical neophytism—is inherently a metaphysical construct of the soul, for it says that there is something to individuate upon despite the environmental education we are inevitably subjected to by the world outside the womb. What better term for Socrates to label himself than as a midwife? For the analyst is always in pursuit to show the man out of the womb, as Wittgenstein said of the fly and fly-bottle in regards to the purpose of philosophy. What else is out there beyond one’s own self, and how is this being a reflection of my own?

Is Plato a great philosopher? We know such a title to be nonsensical by most current standards—but it is worthy an investigation. Of the little I know of that world in the written philosophy, what philosopher ever says one thing another has not? Do any philosophers really disagree with one another? In being forced to divide the world of the psyches into two, I am fond of the binary with philosophical souls on one side and the non-philosophical souls on the other. Did Plato see that differently? Subtracting one from his tripartite, what is the purpose of his Republic? To serve the discovery of inherent truths, that is, to provide the education for the Philosopher Kings—the philosophical souls. All other citizen duties are to mind their own business and stay out of political judgment, to do their duty to the city in such a way as to promote the continual harmony of themselves and the city’s affairs, so as to ultimately support the souls of the philosophically natured.

There are only two opinions in the world: There is the opinion of the philosopher, that wisdom is the greatest pursuit; then there is the opinion of the non-philosopher, that wisdom is not the greatest of pursuits. These are not mere isolated opinions, of course, but drastically differing natures that produce such manifestations, regardless of the education one might receive. For one to go from fool to philosopher is of course not unheard of, and may in fact be the best course of education for the philosophically natured, but such a man was by his nature a philosopher already; as to whether or not it is ever discovered within him depends on his own volition and luck.

The harmonious and ethical society for Plato is the one in which the few greatest individuals who have the nature of the philosopher are given the proper education in law-making and philosophical conduct, and in which they are supported by the city they command. In such a society it is up to the non-philosophers to serve their kings, for by their nature they do not find wisdom to be the greatest pursuit. It is not a vice to be of such a nature, it is only a vice to act in any other way than service to those who do possess the philosopher’s nature if one himself does not possess it. What is the vice of the philosopher, then? To pursue anything other than what his nature has given him. Wasted talents are a crime against nature and The One. It is near to disregarding one’s business in the Platonic hierarchy of sin, and in most cases the two vices abet one another.

Plato proposes a most ahistorical and likely radical conclusion—the kings are to be the slaves, the slaves, kings! Where in mankind’s great cultural and political history has such a state been seen? It has, for the most part, been quite the opposite, regardless of whatever subverted manifestation of tyranny it has adopted. There have been the rulers who rule over the ruled, but not the rulers ruled over by the city in itself. The ethical city must become its own consciousness—it must be recognized as such, its very own spirit! It is a living and glorious creature, an organic litmus to the quality of its own people and their fruits.

When I was younger, long before I ever encountered Plato, I imagined a society not dissimilar to his own, except in my head then I was convinced that through ethical education all could become philosophers, and therefore all their own ruler. Experience and Plato have led me to be convinced otherwise. This is however a very delicate belief within me, I do not know which aspects of it are true. I do fear that in order for everyone to be a philosopher, great costs would have to be made to the point where man has become so foreign to his own nature, like some sort of postmodern blob, that he is no longer a willful creature but a weak and disheveled mechanism of dis-originality. He would simply parrot and reinforce the culture of his time without any insight into a higher truth, for he has abandoned it in pursuit of an egalitarian society of slaves.


Is nature democratic or aristocratic? Democratic, if all return to dust and death—oblivion. Within Platonic metaphysics, we are still of differing natures. It is in fact these Heavenly natures that produce the difference of the Earthly ones. But if such things are not true, only in its end does nature reflect fairness and equality. In the life of itself, in the processing of its being, it seems rather the opposite. Competition and inherencies of natures produce differences that can only be controlled through intense limitations of individual will and potency. To go against these inherencies is intrinsically tied to the production of meritocracy over excellency. To do this with animals man must create a laboratory, to do such a thing to himself he secures a government.

Should government reflect nature or man’s idea of man? I do not know such a thing even more so than other things I do not know. Perhaps in most situations moderation between the two would be of best approach. Nature in itself is Hobbesian, dark and relentless. Man’s nature is of an animal with the addition of reason, and it is reason that leads one to the Sun, to the soul, and away from the spirit of the Earth.

The Stirnerian Socrates


Who is Diogenes—a Stirnerian Socrates?

Socrates was spooked by truth, and in its consequence by doubt. Diogenes, placed upon the pedestal in front of the Athenian court to take account for Socrates’ crimes, would have simply played the game and moved on elsewhere to continue his communal art of trolling. Socrates was a troll who himself was trolled by truth. Socrates was a man, but he was a man below truth. Diogenes was a man above all, whose pleasure happened to greatly coincide with truth, but he was not below truth. Truth for Diogenes may have been a great pleasure, perhaps the greatest pleasure, but it was not his God. Diogenes was the less spooked Socrates, and for this very few attentions were passed at him, even though he was perhaps more aggressive a troll than even our spooked Socrates.    

Riverie of Irma’s Dream


Freud Hypnotic Dream


Once, in a Freud class, I had not slept the night before and kept dozing off into strange, surreal visions. While the professor was speaking of Irma’s Injection, I had a reverie where I saw Freud walk up to me and then grimace, and then turn to a door on the left where he vanished, presumably to give Irma her injection. I also recall a fat man being on the right in another room, whom I identified as Otto van Rank.

As soon as class ended I drew this picture out, for I found it to be of analytic value.

When I showed it to my analyst, he pointed out that there seemed to be a bird on Freud’s right hand. This was rather surprising, as although there clearly was, I was not aware of it until he said so. My analyst has a pet parrot that often sits on his shoulder during our sessions.