George Minne: Kneeling Youth with a Shell (1923)

Gallery Text
Minne was a leading figure in European turn-of-the-century symbolism, which posited explorations of interiority, spirituality, and the unconscious as antidotes to the materialism of an industrialized society. The figure of the kneeling youth was a recurrent motif in Minne’s oeuvre, and this one’s serpentine figure and downcast face evoke a state of contemplation and solitude, if not melancholy. The omission of naturalistic details, like musculature or individualized toes, abstracts the depiction of the youth’s body. This slim and angular figure exemplifies the artist’s sculptural style, which was celebrated for its synthesis of the elongated figure of the Gothic with the contemporary decorative style of Art Nouveau.

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"Living inescapably involves getting used to noticing what's missing in our lives."

Most of us seem to more or less automatically revert to magical thinking when we encounter something we perceive to be a problem. We resolve the difficulty by a priori imagining the existence of a solution, even though full solutions appear to be rare in both the literature as well as in our lived experience. We might be able to ameliorate some of the worst effects this problem produces, but full remission only rarely, if ever, gets achieved. For instance, I have heart disease. Don’t fuss, the worst it has ever gotten for me was a few high blood pressure readings. No apparent damage. So, of course, I thought I’d dodged that bullet. My doctor advises that I have not dodged anything but some of the more troubling symptoms. He pointed out that my continuing prescriptions mean that my heart disease continues, too, albeit in some form of suspension, and will continue for the balance of my life. There is no cure.

Many of the “solutions” we experience seem to be of similar character. They ameliorate some of the worst symptoms without really resolving anything. I now take six different prescriptions, two different ways, every day. I can no longer remember which pill treats what, nor can I remember their names. My routine has become pure habit. I do not have to think about it, other than to remember to head up to my medicine cabinet after breakfast and dinner, and to take the pills in the order I’ve arranged the vials on the shelves. In the morning, I take two from the first bottle, and one each from the second, third, and fifth. Evenings, I take two from the first and one each from the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. None of them are Antidotes to anything other than some symptoms. The underlying conditions are permanent but near-term treatable.

I suspect that my scrolling obsession, which I’ve identified as a problem, carries this same nature. It probably doesn’t have a cure, though it might be treatable to prevent the worst effects from running rampant. I could, of course, theoretically, simply stop scrolling. Give away my iPhone and join a monastery with a ban on electronic communication. Maybe I could find the discipline to keep myself from abusing myself with the technology. Maybe. Turning my phone’s display to greyscale resulted in an immediate halving of my scrolling time, but the habit returned the following day, with an apparent vengeance, even in greyscale. I got bored, and it took over. I remember when I stopped smoking cigarettes, I bounced off success for many months before finally landing on the other side of that habit. It was so ingrained that I felt compelled to sneak a smoke sometimes, though the satisfaction I received diminished over time. The antidote to cigarette smoking involved smoking more cigarettes so that I could experience more reasons why I didn’t really want to smoke anymore. The urge to smoke still sometimes overtakes me, nearly forty years later. I can say that I’m in remission but hardly cured. Not even not smoking has turned out to be an antidote to sometimes feeling the urge to smoke.

Still, I swear that it was better for me to have smoked and quit than to never have smoked at all. Had I not fallen prey to the habit, I couldn’t have possibly understood what my body was capable of becoming addicted to, or, indeed, gained an appreciation of what it means to be addicted. Addiction feels like a betrayal of self committed by self, a contradiction. It shouldn’t logically be able to happen, yet it’s common. No warning in the universe seems adequate to prevent anyone from tumbling into such a situation. Even understanding that it’s possible, and even having overcome a prior addiction, does nothing to prevent another one. It takes much time and even more good fortune before anyone stops trying to avoid their former addiction. It’s common in twelve-step programs that some people become addicted to their regimen and become every bit as obsessive in avoiding their obsession as they ever were when merely practicing it.

I realize that there are very likely no actual Antidotes to obsessive scrolling. I also realize that the technology was designed to make it extremely difficult not to engage in some level of obsessive scrolling if it’s available. I can make it less available. I can distract myself. Turn off my phone when I’m not using it. Forget it when I’m going out. Read books to transfer the focus from my left hand to my lap. Engage in anything interesting just to distract me from my default obsession. These tactics seem roughly equivalent to remembering to take my prescriptions. My doctor also suggested that I ride my exercise bike for 30 minutes each morning. I have been delinquent in that part of my regimen. The problem with countering conditions and obsessions must be that the countering almost always requires some form of discipline, and I know myself to be incredibly lazy. I just don’t feel like complying all the time.

The Antidote lies in acknowledging that there never was an antidote, and never could be. Living necessarily involves learning when I’ve reached enough and when I haven’t, and adopting habits that make observing my chosen limits tolerable. There’s no adequate replacement for the satisfaction a well-earned cigarette once provided. No such experience exists in my life anymore, but I only occasionally notice its absence. I’ve mostly moved on to obsess on other things, hopefully less dangerous ones. Scrolling seems every bit as dangerous as cigarette smoking, though I doubt it will ever be linked to lung cancer. It poisons more insidiously than mere disease. Its absence leaves me feeling ill at ease, jittery, tense, clear tells that I notice something missing. Living inescapably involves getting used to noticing what’s missing in our lives.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Unscrolling, #PureSchmaltz