FALLING FOR NARCISSUS

Some of you may know the ancient Greek fable about Narcissus and Echo.  There are several versions of the tale, but the one I’m most familiar with has Echo being taken in by others’ gossip only to lose her own voice beyond its ability to repeat what it has heard.  

A problem arises when Echo falls in love with Narcissus.   He rejects her and she can only repeat his rejection to herself, thus dooming her to a life of self-loathing.    But why did he reject her?   Because upon getting himself a drink from the clear pond of water, he saw his own reflection and fell in love with himself.   After this, it became obvious to him no one else could love him as much as he loved himself; nor could he love another as much, thus dooming him to a life of self-loving.  Never again was Echo open to receive love for herself.   Never again was Narcissus open to give love for another.  

Both Echo and Narcissus loved the same man: Narcissus.    In such a competition, Narcissus lost by declaring himself to be the winner.   No longer able to love others, he could only use them as if they were material objects.    

This cautionary tale that has circulated in one form or another since roughly 5 AD was first attributed to Ovid in ancient Greece where it was published in Book 3 of his Metamorphoses.   It teaches several lessons that scholars have drawn from over the centuries.   Be careful who or what we fall in love with, yes.   Also, be careful how we respond to what we hear, and also what we see.   How we hear others and how we see ourselves matters greatly over the course of our lifetimes.

It may be a stretch, but in my own imagination I see this classic fable playing out on the global stage as my own nation (USA) goes about its international relations.  Other nations have admired us in ways not so different from Echo’s admiration of Narcissus, or so I would contend.   Other people in other countries have loved us from both afar and up close.    They have often echoed the very praises we have spoken about ourselves, and which others have also spoken about us.   We have in turn heard and echoed these same flowery words spoken about us.   Surrounded by waters in all four directions, we have imagined our own reflection as great.   Make that greatest.  We’ve gazed at our own image and even named it American exceptionalism.   So much so that, in falling in love with ourselves, we have scorned the very ones who loved us most.   And in our scorn, we have used other nations as if they were material objects; perhaps even 51st States.   It’s as if we have looked into the waters and seen not the reflection of our neighbors but only of ourselves, a kind of Gulf of America that only Narcissus would see.  

Woe unto any nation that loves itself only, for it will then be loved by only itself.  

That the tale of Narcissus would end in tragedy should be no surprise to any of us.  Unable to cast his gaze elsewhere after seeing his own reflection, he wastes away from hunger and, yes, even thirst.   The very object of his own intent escapes him when he cannot bear to disturb his own reflection enough to touch the very water he came to drink from.     

A cautionary tale?  Yes.  But.

But it can have a happy ending. My favorite among several told goes like this: when Echo hears that her once beloved is now deceased, she goes to the water herself only to find there is no body.  Narcissus himself has vanished into the story books.  And in his place is a simple row of Springtime flowers, the ones we call Narcissus, or Daffodils, near the water’s edge and bending not to the sun but to the water itself in search of their own reflection. 

I’d like to think there will be a Springtime for my own nation.   I’d like to think that we would learn the cause of our own demise as a democracy and a free people, having died of hunger and thirst while consuming our own greatness.  That we would come to our senses, break our narcissistic gaze before it’s too late, return to Echo and do what love always does: give its own power over to the empowerment of the other.   Helping that other lover to find her own voice and become the very best version of herself.  No longer just an Echo.

I see in the Springtime Daffodils of our own back yard a reminder that even tragedy can end in new life.    New hope.   New love.  And a powerful lesson learned.