Good evening, denizens of the asylum. As darkness enwraps the world in sacred night, and the lonesome howls of some dog entreats the changing sky in heartbroken ballad, a bitter chill spreads over the lands, a frost gathering about the grassy lawn. So the turning globe brings to us another Friday night, and it becomes time once again for By an Idiot. I am your idiot, Mr. Clown.
It is attributed to an emperor the sentiment that he cared not if people hated him but only that they should fear him, and some other bloke of the ancient times wrote that it would be better to be feared than loved. Altogether, it seems the positions are inculcated well into the two camps, love and fear, and it is but for the modern to choose his side of the issue. I think a better option may be found.
These are powerful motivators, and the actions they drive men to cannot be labeled trifling. Consider our Frazzled Lady, that grey haired spaz who silently roams the halls of this sanitarium with bulging, bugged out eyes. What a specimen of fear, you think, but be assured it is as much, or more so, love which drove her through our gates.
It started as love. She loved her family, her home. She cherished her children, her son especially, and in the end that love drove her to consume the child rather than be separated from him. A point seems to go to the category of fear here, for that son would have much preferred his mother fear him than love him.
But could I not tally for you points to either column, and manufacture addition to whichever side I wished? Our asylum is plentiful with the counter-narratives of victims who would have rather been loved than feared, but just as many are as the story above. It is no help to consider these tales, except to show that lacking either quality can be quite hazardous.
I submit to you, my faithful audience, instead of one virtue being above another we’d best, we’d rather, have both, and the presence of one cannot substitute for the lack of the other. It is a non-sequitur to ask which is better, for both are necessary.
But to go one step beyond this, I’d suggest to you that in the end there can be no difference between the two, and that lacking one you automatically lack the other. Love, the truest of loves, is fear, and the deepest of fears turns around into love. They are but sides of a coin; they cannot be separated.
With our Frazzled Lady, could I not have retold the story? Could it not be said that she feared her son, feared that he would leave with her husband, and so put to rest that dread with a light snack, thereby securing his own will into hers. Now they were as one, which is the ultimate goal of love.
I’ll leave this broadcast off with a quote, I can’t do it verbatim, which was said by a loving uncle to his fearing nephew:
“Rest assured, my love for you and your love for me are as like as two peas. I have always desired you, as you (pitiful fool) desired me. The difference is that I am the stronger. I think they will give you to me now; or a bit of you. Love you? Why yes. As dainty a morsel as ever I grew fat on.”
This has been your ever loving, Mr. Clown.