Body position: not unlike the Pietà with the role of Mary being served by the wheeled office chair; feet propped on the corner of the desk, at the level of my head; torso slightly twisted to view computer; hand pawlike upon the mouse. A bodily position which is not to change as I proceed through a series of wikipedia pages: from Rembrandt’s Slaughtered Ox, to Francis Bacon’s Figure with Meat, to Velasquez and Las Meninas, to the Order of Santiago, to James son of Zebedee (in Spain); and ending at the Historia Compostelana.
I had never heard of the last item. I had had no idea that there were legends of St. James having been in Spain. Velasquez had received the Order of Santiago late in his life. Not even the king could grant this order, I read, but a special commission was required to investigate the purity of the bloodline of the nominee. St. James was “the moor killer”, which was barbaric, that a holy figure could be thought of this way, but I could see the attraction in being immersed in some of these myths: the decapitated form of St. James in a pilotless ship sailing across the Mediterranean to Spain. Rather than me, here, this, this desk, distant hum of a refrigerator and whir of the computer fan. Not sailing or lying headless in a boat. I suddenly remembered I had aggressively to search out life, as I read in Tolstoy the other day — life was God. I remembered the Slaughtered Ox, which is a striking painting. (As I edit this post months after first having written it, I find myself in the exact “Pietà position” described in its opening… And I find myself still in this position and still editing months after having finished the preceding sentence.)
Idea occurs to me that all the world was created that I might focus on a simple thing. Idea occurs to me that Life is not outside the window, not outside the door, not to be found in an “adventure”, whether real and challenging or fake and amusing, but in that moment when I clicked from the page of the Order of Santiago to the page of St. James of Zebedee then scrolled down to the part about Spain. This was somewhere in the past, if not in memory. Somewhere in these moments in which so much passes without me noticing it, there was life.
Velasquez, it occurred to me, was one of those great painters I simply never thought about: how much greatness there had been which one never thought of or knew about in the first place, so of what use was greatness? (Then I clicked on the Order of Santiago.)
(Tolstoy had asked that also. Even if he were as great an artist as Shakespeare, what then? What would that matter?) For Tolstoy Life was God, while for Aristotle logos was I guess God; but if logos was the same as reason (which is certainly disputable) Tolstoy did not think it was God; for reason, according to My Confession, if I’d read it properly, belonged to the upper classes and only persuaded one of the evil of living, and of god’s non-existence. Be like the simple people who never doubted such things, thought Tolstoy (though he was skeptical of the forms of the church, which these simple people embraced. Was the word “god” itself such a form, an icon? Was that why one ought not pronounce the name of the supreme being?). The existence of God was as evident and obvious as the appearance of life….
Using Perseus, I’d looked up ἀγεννής earlier, which means low-born, low-minded, sordid: Aristotle didn’t think much of the lower orders and slaves, certainly didn’t suppose they had the answers to life. (After I had looked up ἀγεννής I had looked up the English word illiberal, which is another translation of the word ἀγεννής and indeed the one given in the translation I was reading.) Idea again occurred to me that all the world was created that I (by which I meant all persons) might focus on a simple thing –could be a word, could be a stone– then I clicked on the link to Historia Compostelana and somewhere also along the line (I recall now it was from the James page) I had clicked on a link to an apocryphal text that was supposedly written by James, at which point it occurred to me that I had been interested for a while now in how you got the word Iago from the word James, but instead of finding that out I landed on the wikipedia page for Shakespeare’s character Iago, and read about the source text Shakespeare used for Othello, and thought about how many great authors and film makers had not started from scratch but used as there template someone else’s narrative. There Will Be Blood: “Oil!” The Shining: “The Shining”. Othello: “Un Capitano Moro” in which, according to the wikipedia article, the Iago character is not given a name. (A picture of Edwin Booth as Iago, from 1870, is featured in the top right corner of this article.) (I did not find out how you got Iago from James.)
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Las Meninas ; Order of Santiago ; James, son of Zebedee in Spain ; Historia Compostelana
Bill Callahan