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Popular game streamer and commentator Asmongold released a “confessions” style video this week explaining why he is a weird person. It’s candid and quite raw, spilling out a pretty scathing analysis of self.
I found the account interesting, despite aesthetic and narrative complaints. The repetitiveness, confusing timeline, incomplete story, lost plots, etc. are likely due to some nervousness over the subject matter, so it ends up adding to the rawness of it.
I would think that everyone would find something to relate to about Asmongold’s story. I didn’t relate to many of the specifics, aside from an extreme preference for being alone and liking myself more the older I get. I sure as hell can’t imagine not brushing my teeth. I’ve only had one cavity in my life and there’s no explanation for it. But while the specifics didn’t overlap much, this thing he did, this analysis of self and coming to an understanding and a peace about being different from other people is something I relate to on a very deep level.
The ability to analyze the self is probably the most important trait that men of consequence have in common. That would be true of both good and evil men. Dostoyevsky engaged in a drastic process of self-torture, breaking himself down. If you watch videos of Jeffrey Dahmer, he has a dispassionate ability to analyze his own behavior and the motivations behind it. Dahmer is much less critical than Dostoyevsky, if he is critical at all, but both men are able to view themselves from the outside, as they really are.
Everyone should do this, this self-analysis and criticism. But they won’t.
Most people act based on motives that they have no comprehension of. When they ask their brains why they are doing whatever it is they are doing, the brain offers some kind of post hoc justification for whatever actions the person has taken. These justifications usually do not make any sense.
In the simplest case, you can watch a man being run around in circles by a woman, and ask him what the fuck he is doing, and if he is willing to give any explanation at all, it will make no sense. This is because the behavior doesn’t have a logical root cause. It’s the result of an instinct to reproduce. If the man dealing with the woman’s shit was able to take a step back and view his own behavior in its true context as a botched biological mechanism, he would likely cease being involved in these kinds of situations with women.
The first commandment of philosophy (“love of knowledge”) is to “know thyself.” For better or worse, it’s a tiny fraction of people who have the ability to self-reflect in any meaningful way. Even many intelligent people who I agree with politically lack this ability, so it’s not simply a function of being smart and right-minded. What that means is that it’s possible to reach an accurate understanding of the world without understanding yourself; the world is a lot less complicated than the self.
The issue seems to be that the delusions men embrace are a protection mechanism and most people can’t deal with looking at themselves as they really are. In the case of Dostoyevsky, he is masochistic. Dahmer, lacking any intrinsic understanding of right and wrong, is able to dispassionately look at himself in the same way he can dispassionately look at a friend’s skull drying out in the oven. If you lack all sense of guilt, there’s no barriers. I wouldn’t want to compare Asmongold to a serial killer, but this seems to be the situation with him.
The psychological mechanisms that protect a man from seeing the absurdity of his own actions are designed to suppress the guilt and self-loathing that would come with looking at them for what they are. The conscious mind might be thought of as a shield for the soul. Besides, crippling self-loathing serves no purpose, and most men can easily get through life acting only on instinct. Such men likely have a much higher likelihood to successfully reproduce. Schopenhauer, possibly the greatest philosopher, was an even more aggressive self-torturer than Dostoyevsky, and was an incel.
Considering these things this morning, I feel as though I should write a “confessions.” Alas, I’ve run this through my head many times before and always come to the conclusion that such a work, as I envision it, could only be published decades after my death.
