The Human Face by Max Picard

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The Human Face by Max Picard

Post by tbieter » Mon Dec 04, 2017 1:50 pm

This morning I began reading The Human Face by Max Picard (1930). Here are the beginning paragraphs for you to contemplate:

He who looks upon a human face is moved to the very core of his being; his emotions, his understanding, his will are affected, and even the very depths of him, where his emotions, intelligence and will coexist in that dark formlessness which we call presentiment or foreboding, he feels the face which he looks upon. His whole being is ploughed up.

Man’s face is the image of God. And the image of God is like a call to the spectator: the whole being of the spectator is called together and held together. It is as if the image of God were being shown that man is still the whole creature that he was when God placed him upon the earth.

And perhaps comment upon.

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Re: The Human Face by Max Picard

Post by EchoesOfTheHorizon » Thu Dec 07, 2017 10:57 am

I don't think Narcissist was thinking this deep when he peered into the water.

My face never gives off emotion, save anger (unfortunate since I'm a stoic).... I make a exceptionally intimidating angry face, which coincidently also is my thinking face. The blank face often comes off to people as sheepish or fearful.

It has gotten to the point that when I go to a restaurant, such as a place called Mario's (a Dean Martin themed Italian restaurant, he was from here) I gotta take the most isolated booth and keep my back to the crowd so the don't see me while I read. I gotta go out to read a book, can't do it for some bizarre reason at home, but don't like people's reaction to my face. When I'm out just walking, or hiking, I become self conscious at times, especially around younger women, I can look fearsome or sad, even if I'm thinking about something funny, and so hide my face, go out of my way to the far side of the sidewalk or trail. I've have seen enough look at me oddly, so just rather not deal with it. I just keep my head down, looking a few feet while I walk, till I get out of town. Then once in the countryside, heading from West Virginia, I brighten up, especially on the rare occasion I'm in a spot I've never been before, and get excited by finding out what it behind the next hill, and the one after that, where this creek or stream goes to. Then I enter into a strange town exhausted, and sweaty, self conscious to a degree. Go and sit down in a corner of a McDonalds or something, drink a few cups.

My face doesn't ever reveal much other than I don't much like it. It is a burden. I'm a INTJ, we don't much use our faces. I've grown a bread to cover up some vitiligo spots on my necks. I wear $340 ballistic Oakley glasses from my beard to my eyebrows, and a hat over that. I don't want to deal with my face. It isn't unattractive, many complimented it when it wasn't covered up, but I just can't maintain it for the world, it doesn't reflect me. You can't see what is going on through it. Nobody ever gets it right unless they see my eyes, and I don't care to look people in the eyes, I'm borderline autistic, and just don't like doing it.... nothing to do with self esteem like some people guess. I just... hate it. If I'm looking you in the eye it is because I'm studying you. A glance or two is usually all I need. Faces tell a lot about a personality type, the generic features of a thought process underlining a personality. I know not if you are a good or bad person, but can grasp general generic outlines of what to expect. The disappointment will unfold generically, as will the excitement. Most, I'm unimpressed. Mostly unimpressed these days, very few dynamic people around. So I don't bother, preferring random surprise.

One of the most depressing things I face is knowing I won't ever meet someone I'm deeply impressed with like I could when I was young. Seen too much of life to have heroes anymore. Everything has a complicated but less than stellar past to it. Seeing the mundane creep into everything, the sense of wonder escaping, endless faces and customs merging into the mundane. I'm loosing faith in mankind, but am still lured by the silent joy of the endless horizon, of surprise, of the unknown. A face is for society, but I'd sacrifice mine to learn a greater truth, to set sail for a new land, to discover the greater mysteries of life. I worry about what will someday happen when even this spark of life eventually fades, as all things inevitably do. I'll be the most alone at that point, more alone facing death than most ever can imagine. I'll rot where I'll drop, and nobody will find my bones, in some rarely thought of forest or poorly explored mountain range.

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