VII

A paean to misanthropy! What exactly is a "misanthrope"? For that matter, what is a "paean". I'm thinking a poem, a supportive one, although, I might be thinking a Spanish seafood dish with saffron rice. (The mussels are especially nice.) I probably mean "manifesto" anyhow.

For most of us, I suppose, misanthropy refers to the condition of an individual who hates pretty much everyone and who eventually becomes an op-ed columnist. But I disagree. The word nods at "anthropos", Greek for "man". If we look to formations like "anthropology", it's also, in its own way, "culture". To be "mis-anthropos" is not to hate mankind; it is simply not to understand it, the culture in which one lives. I don't know why this or that joke is funny, although I might wish I did since everyone else is laughing. I don't quite know how to enter into a conversation about the Yankee's chances in the post-season, although I'd like to. (I can name the starting line-up, which is a start.) I don't know quite why gossip is supposed to be entertaining, but I would play the game if I could. (I've tried to watch TMZ but really just can't.) We misanthropists don't hate other people; we mostly just don't know how to play the game, and are tired of being looked at blankly in crowded places where we cannot hide. Even when there's perfectly good reason. And there usually is.

The misanthropist is the one standing in her window, looking out to the sky, or the brick, or the sidewalk, looking for clues. He is the ruler of a kingdom to which no one bears fealty, even himself. They are the ones lurking in the dark, waiting for an invitation to bear witness to the sunshine. They are players in search of the rules. Of course, I'm talking mostly about the people in the window who are wearing clothes; although, for my part, I make no promises.