Unknown Artist: Man of Sorrows (1465/70)

ABOUT THIS ARTWORK
Images such as the Man of Sorrows were intended to shock the beholder into repentance. The pristine condition, and even survival, of this hand-colored woodcut is primarily due to its having been pasted-like many early devotional woodcuts-within a protective book cover. This unique impression was discovered amidst the rubble during the bombardment of London in 1945.

"Good riddance to another so deluded he couldn't recognize his own weaknesses when they manifested."

——

Our incumbent fancies himself a strongman on the order of a mafia don. The most curious attribute of such strength might be how it reeks of weakness. It seems primarily defensive in nature, often co-optive, as it intends to do unto others before they have the chance of doing it undo them. These amount to preemptive retributions, a speculative getting even for something that hasn't really happened yet. In this manner, the self-proclaimed strongman exists as a Weakman instead, for the surest signs of weaknesses accompany the unselfconscious use of force as if it represented power. The truly powerful have little to show off, for their strength lies mostly in reserve, unperturbed by day-to-day existence. They live in peace, with deep respect for the absolute calamity that would have occurred had a Weakman been in charge. The weak might speak of law and order, but their rhetoric, carried to action, encourages righteous lawlessness, producing deeply defensive disorder.

The Weakman sees the world as zero-sum contentions sorted into clear winners and obvious losers. The world rarely seems inclined to satisfy his innocent expectations. Consequently, the Weakman’s world looks especially contentious to him. Somebody always seems to be insulting the Weakman's intelligence. He holds the world surrounding his domain in almost complete contempt. He fosters many more enemies than friends. Virtually all of his friends pretend to agree with him and would willingly turn on him the second they see an opportunity unlikely to result in punishment. The resulting confederation never achieves stability. Within it, members must maintain constant vigilance. They force a certain distance from anyone not aligned and define their very existence by the number of presumed enemies their diligence holds at bay. They live such paranoid lives they invite the constant threat of retribution. They believe everyone's out to get them not because they're paranoid but because, eventually, everyone really is out to get them.

The Weakman makes the most astounding noises. His voice comes across as whining. He fancies himself one of the wealthiest people in the world, though he behaves as if he's suffocating. Were it not for his diligent defenses, "they" would very likely take away everything he's earned, leaving nothing. He never learned how to live, only to defend, which eventually just offends most. He's a lousy host. His toasts tend to glorify him at the expense of even his most illustrious guests. He seems to believe that everybody should count themselves as uncommonly lucky that they had the good fortune to be invited into his orbit. He tends to ignore his dinner guests in favor of some unprecedented announcement that typically has nothing to do with the occasion in question and everything to do with self-aggrandizement. Self-aggrandizement is one thing nobody ever gets because real aggrandizement can only come from someplace other than the self. Guests inevitably leave disappointed by their brush with what they believed would be greatness. Most ultimately count themselves fortunate that they survived the encounter.

His adversaries pick his pockets while he distracts himself. He rarely notices. He waffles, though, contradicting earlier insistences with reconsiderations, though he never couches these changes as evidence of weakness but of "real" strength instead. Whenever he resorts to using the term "real,” it always appears in tacit quotes and always means 'phony as a Burger King banquet'’ He stocks cases of classy Cold Duck, though he doesn't drink himself. He actively practices many vices but never learned to smoke or drink like many of his ilk might. Gangsters in the Roaring Twenties always seemed to have a fat cigar stuffed in the side of their mouths and a bottle of gin handy. They'd also carried a covey of showgirls, primarily for show. Their lives were performances intended to impart a mythical aura over what was otherwise petty larceny and simple shakedown shit, hardly romantic. Weakmen always seem to need to associate with greatness. Good enough never does for anyone teetering on ego irrelevance. Adequate has no home wherever the Weakman lives. Appreciation, too, never seems to come from the person holding the absolute center of his own attention. He claims to have earned every cent he's ever made though not even he believes that.

Stalin was one of history’s most notorious Weakmen. He felt compelled to murder millions to maintain his tenuous self-esteem. Likewise, Hitler demonstrated only monstrous weakness, for what else even distantly explains his monstrousness? Every notorious strongman in history sure seems like a Weakman inside. There have been no exceptions. It is our sincere misfortune that we have our current infestation. I suspect it might be a while before this one overruns his little ecosystem's carrying capacity. Every Weakman ultimately creates their destiny. The universe has to be this way to maintain some semblance of balance. The arrogance required to acquire so much meaningless force demands extinction. Those not privy to history’s lessons always seem most interested in dabbling in these delusional absolutes. Our universe wisely encourages them, if only to avoid sparking their signature defensive reaction. Once instilled, little prevents the Weakman from doing himself in, so he does. The instincts that drove him to what he initially presumed constituted great success reliably produce his ultimate comeuppance. Good riddance to another so deluded he couldn't recognize his own weaknesses when they manifested.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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