The Love Of Martyrdom

There is a secret masochism to everyday disappointments. Rejection feels like settling into a warm and bottomless bath. Christianity allowed ordinary men to feel as martyrs to faith; modernity allows ordinary men to feel as martyrs to the indifferent universe. Just because the ascetic renounces material pleasures - food, wine, women - doesn't mean he takes no pleasure in his own renunciation. As there is a hidden sense of pride among the meek, so there is a hidden sense of heroism among the obscure.

To be betrayed by a friend is, in a small way, to be left to die upon the cross. In the cosmic drama of the mundane, the Crucified King is the most tragic and therefore beautiful role. Jesus of Nazareth is only one archetypical example. Figures as diverse as Hamlet, Job, Oedipus and Nietzsche wore their own crown of thorns. Glory without suffering and suffering without glory are equally unpalatable to the human condition. If the suffering is comparatively minor and the glory comparatively fleeting, that can make them feel all the greater.

Suicides have given up in the face of the brutal consistency of the world. Martyrs have taken it as evidence of holiness. To be alone, to be insignificant, to be looked down upon: these are the nails that must go through the hands to touch the face of heaven. It is the sacred task of friends to betray, of women to reject, of the world to ignore. These are the laurels they crown heroes with before banishing them beyond their walls. And here, on the outskirts of Babylon, the orgasmic exultation of the martyrs will flood them all in white streams of love.