Understanding
Maximus Fartimus and his World:
Jan 22, 2006
It is exactly the kind of
thing where you have a nagging sense that something is remiss, that you are
forgetting something of great significance, but can’t quite remember what it
is. At first, this nagging causes you to look around all about your house,
looking for something you have forgotten, afraid to leave without it, lest a
terrible misfortune shall befall you. One by one, you go through all the
elements of necessity: Your keys are in your pocket, as is your wallet.
Everything in your house is just as neat and orderly as it should be. Your
secret address book is hidden from any possible discovery by your wife, and you
are quite certain that no one knows where the skeletons are buried in the back
yard.
Yet still, something is
bothering you, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it is. Perhaps to understand the dilemma, it were
better to look at a more extreme case than the kind of everyday and common
version mentioned above, in order that we might get some insight into the
phenomena. Let us take what we could all
fairly (although somewhat sloppily) refer to as the ARCHETYPAL case of the above typical example:
I mean, of course, the case
of MAXIMUS FARTIMUS.
Now, in many ways, the man
is something of an anomaly. For example, many are those who wonder at how he
came into possession of such a grandiose and important-sounding name, when, for
the looks of him, he doesn’t seem to be worth a hill of beans. For, he is not a
very handsome man, nor very likable one by any stretch of the imagination,
having a nasty snarl which flashes onto his face whenever he speaks. Nor, is he
a very intelligent man, seeming, if anything, somewhat below the average.
Creations and inventions has he none. None has ever heard him give a great
speech or do anything else of a praiseworthy character. He certainly has NEVER
fought in any war or otherwise served the nation. But, there is ONE thing he
does have, in all fairness, far and away above virtually anyone else in public
life—except his wife, of course. He has this to a spectacular excess which can
only be admired as the best of its kind.
For, what Maximus Fartimus
excels in, of course, is VICE.
Now, it had been clear to
all keen observers that something—some un-namable quality—had been nagging on
old Fartimus’ heart for some time. It
had manifest in numerous ways, including in a deterioration of his health,
and deepening (if that were possible)
of his snarling scowl. But whatever
could have been distressing him so?
Here he had seemed at the height of his power and fame, on the verge, in his
mind, of carrying out a final masterpiece of his specialty, VICE. Would it not
have been right for him to be supremely happy at this time and at peace with
the world? Why, then, the nagging
terror wracking old Farti’s heart?
There were value in gaining
some understanding into how a beast thinks. It has not so much a conscious
understanding of its fears, as a kind of vague sense that something is amiss,
something is somehow DIFFERENT about the familiar and usual surroundings. But
this sense keeps growing and growing taking over the sub-conscious and
threatening to explode just at the right moment. Yet, the beast doesn’t even consciously know this himself!
It is as if the following
unconscious dialogue were going on in old Farti’s tortured head: “Ah! Don’t utter THAT name in my presence. Don’t
let THAT name appear on the airwaves and on the television sets across the
nation. Don’t let THAT name appear in written documents appearing on the
streets. Will I become just one more passing wind?”
Admittedly, lessons can be
drawn from this for the far less extreme cases, where GOOD people shrink in
fear from doing what they must. Wise men of the ages have known for a long
time, and after centuries of deliberations, that there come those times in the
affairs of men when it become no longer possible to avoid flushing the toilet
of such ills.