Riddles of the Sphinx

Last sunday I watched an excellent movie, Mystery Men, with my family. Mystery Men is about a group of superheros who simply do not measure up to the public's view of what a superhero should be. Instead of a lot of action and special effects we are shown characters who are simply trying to relate to themselves and each other.

The film was refreshing for several reasons, particularly because of Mr. Furious' (Ben Stiller) relationship with a waitress (Claire Forlani) - which had some solid things to say about what it means to love. The writing is absurd (bizarre at times) but often hilarious. In my opinion the acting is also superb.

My favorite part of the movie is the character of "The Sphinx". When one of the mystery men ask what his superpower is, he is told, 'He's very mysterious ... and he can break guns in half with his mind ... I think ...".

The focus of the story really is on a few people with good intentions who have become outsiders. And the Sphinx is the most outlying character of them all.

It turns out the Sphinx really has the power to break guns in half with his mind, but this is not his true ability. His real super power is that he can break (in a sense) the minds of his oponents in half.

Ordinarily super heros tend to focus on their abilties, but the Sphinx overlooks the art for the beholder of the art. In doing so he turns logic upside down in a way which is somehow more true than the other world. Here is a small list of his aphorisms during the movie:

You are not ready to face so great an enemy. Not until you have vanquished the enemy within yourselves.

The wise man knows that he is weakest when he thinks himself strong.

He who questions training only trains himself at asking questions.

When you doubt your powers, you give power to your doubts.

Patience, my son. To summon your power for the conflict
to come, you must first have power over that which conflicts you.

A perspective like this (and not the batmobile or a beatiful super villainess) is what contours the greatness of the best super hero mythologies such as Batman.

In stories like these we are taken away to an exciting adventuresome place and then placed back into our own lives without us becoming aware of it.

The obstacles I face at my job (for example) often appear impossible to deal with. I look at them and say, "I'll never be able to conquer this!" But the victorious worker is the one who looks inside at his choices and sees that if he can only obtain that single power of self-control he will prevail.

And I find the true hero (as the characters found in Mystery Men) is not the one with the greatest appearance but the one who has learned to confront his doubts, his indulgences, his every inclination to do what the circumstances tell him to do, and is not carried away by them.

The Nightingale Song

"The spirit of the ring obeys the one who has the ring whether he is Aladdin or a Noureddin, and he who has the wealth has it regardless of how he got it. It is different in the world of the spirit."
Johannes de Silento

Of all the characters in film perhaps the hardest to understand is that noble, young woman Cinderella. The more I study her - how she hoped against hope while enduring the malice of her step-family - the more amazed I am. The film is very difficult for me to watch.

Walt Disney was surely a student of the Copenhagen school ... studying the works of Anderson and Kierkegaard. He certainly had an eye for subtlety and the many ways the spirit expresses itself.

Perhaps the highest point of the animation is the Nightingale song. We are taken to the music room to hear the singing of the step-sisters. They are poor singers, yes, even to a comic extreme. However Disney is trying to show us something deeper and more profound, and it is here one finds his mastery of story-telling.

"Sing sweet Nightingale ... Ah ah ah ah Aaaah!"

The half-smile ... the affectation of the flute player ... the closed eyes ... the smugness ... these girls are singing for an audience. They are singing not because they find their song meaningful. They are trying to find meaning in the eyes of others. The mother emphasizes practice to make them sound better to others as the real problem gets worse.

Trouble is brewing. The flutist catches her finger on a note. She pulls hard on her hand - sending the flute into her sister's face. The conflict escalates: the flute is stolen and becomes a weapon. Whatever control these girls have over their music, they have little control over themselves. Only the external intervention of the mother can bring the argument to rest while the girls remain ... restless.

The scene changes to the downstairs entry where Cinderella is scrubbing the floors. She is singing Sweet Nightingale - the same song her sisters were singing. And yet the song is completely different.

Oh sing sweet nightingale ...
Sing sweet nightingale.
Sing sweet nightingale ... to me !

The bubbles begin to lift and fall with the melody. We see reflections of the young girl floating around her. Reflections of a woman alone, abused by her family. Just as in every reflection, Cinderella gains the chance of seeing herself. And the woman she sees reflected in the music and the work upon herself is ... glad and at peace.

Beautiful.

As in the music room above, trouble is not far away. Lucifer the cat has spread dirt around the tile floor. Cinderella is angry and chases the cat away. But she is not defeated precisely because she does not despair.

In both scenes we find work, trouble, and the nightingale song. And could anything be more different!

Pulp Devotion

To what extent can back-and-forth discussion (i.e. the dialectic) help a person to discover their devotion?

In the film Pulp Fiction, two gangsters have a human corpse in their trunk. They go to their friend Jimmie's house to clean things up, and he happens to be home. The problem presents itself that the wife may return home from a long shift at the hospital and become displeased to find a dead body in the garage. Jimmie is disturbed by this prospect.

At this point Jules, one of the gangsters, decides to approach the situation dialectically with Jimmie ... as awkward as it might be. He starts by talking about the coffee. It's really great. Like gourmet great.

Jimmie sees that this dialectic manuever is merely a distraction:

I buy the gourmet expensive stuff 'cause when I drink it, I wanna taste it. But what's on my mind at this moment isn't the coffee in my kitchen, it's the dead black dude in my garage.

So here we are left with a question: is Jimmy in a state of inconsolable rage (inconsolable to the point that no dialectic can rescue him) or is it that the dialectic itself has become a distraction to the Good? Is there anything that could come up in the conversation that could reconcile the heart through the discourse interpreted by the brain? Jimmie does not leave us speculating on this question:

"There's nothin'you can say that's gonna make me forget I love my wife."

But Jimmy! How did you arrive at the conclusion that you love your wife? Can't we say something that will conflict with the reasons you have for loving your wife? Isn't your logic subject to external analysis?

No. Jimmy loves by the means of love. That is to say, the presupposition and conclusion are united in the paradox of faith. No external proof (in the form of good tasting coffee for example) presents itself to esteem the love he has for his wife. He will not have any such proof. In the silence of the world's justifications, Jimmy is left with his own voice ... and it's saying, "I love my wife!".

This conclusion is not a conclusion at all, but a resolution ... a resolution that longs to express itself the more Jimmy looks upon his own decisiveness in the moment by means of the absurd. Nothing implies imposes or implants this decisiveness upon Jimmy. He implies imposes and implants this decisiveness upon the world ... and it is precisely in this decisiveness that the proof lies.

And this is the only avenue to finding one's devotion.