One of the most enduring myths of the ancient Greco-Roman world is that of Narcissus, the gorgeous and elegant Thespian so beautiful, but yet so self-absorbed, he becomes infatuated with his own reflection. The myth is a famous one and serves as an obvious, ageless warning against being overly self-gratifying, and thus Narcissus’ pathology has been immortalized in the term narcissism. What I want to quickly analyze in this article is how the mythological wisdom to be found in the story of Narcissus, particularly that of Echo and Narcissus as related by Ovid, isn’t merely a cautionary tale against vanity but an intriguing exploration of the realities of ontology, identity, ethics, and the (in)famous Other. In the framework of communal ontology, I want to see how this ancient tale can ring just as true and powerful as it did for the ancients (especially using some interpretatio Christiana) as for us.
As relayed by Ovid, the life of Narcissus began with gratification. When Narcissus’ mother, Liriope, comes to the seer Tiresias to inquire about her son’s future said son is described as being “unequalled for his beauty” and thus already subject to laudation “who [was] then fifteen.”1 Tiresias’ prophecy, like many ancient Greek prophecies and oracles, was double-edged, saying that, “If he but fail to recognize himself, a long life he may have, beneath the sun” (3.353-54). Personally, I’d rather this be worded “If he but fail to recognize only himself,” the rationale for which will become clearer as we move along. Despite receiving such a cryptic oracle Liriope raises the beautiful boy over the next several years of his life, leading into adolescence, throughout which the boy’s appearance moves and fancies many of those who come to know him: “And many a youth, and many a damsel sought to gain his love” (3.360-61). Narcissus with his beauty had much to offer to others (or for others to desire in him), and many came to him wanting to partake in his riches (of body and person), but to the disappointment of all Narcissus “such his mood and spirit and his pride, none gained his favour” (3.362-63). His mood and spirit were prideful, and this led him to spurn relations with others in favor of his continued solitude, remember this.
After setting all of this up for us, the origins of Narcissus,2 we are introduced to another character, the nymph Echo, “a noisy” one “who never held her tongue when others spoke, who never spoke till others had begun” who espied Narcissus while he was at work in the woods (3.364-68). Echo’s character is interesting, although I’ve found her profiling by others (particularly those psychoanalytic in nature) as contrived, for one describes her as being predisposed to interrupting others and another as being a chatterbox. In reality, all Ovid says about her is that she was a skilled speaker who was able to tie up the goddess Juno in knots with her elaborate rants and tales, distracting Juno from the adulterous schemes of Jupiter (Juno and Jupiter are Hera and Zeus).3 What is important, and actually said, about Echo is her curse: for trying to deceive Juno she is made to only be able to “babble and repeat the words, once spoken, over and over” (3.369-73). In other words, she can only echo what others say (particularly the final few words they say). Echo can only speak, can only identify herself, through others.
In any case, upon noticing Narcissus from after Echo, like many other maidens, become infatuated. It is possible, seeing that this is a myth,4 this infatuation is with a far greater fervor than the others who’ve crossed Narcissus’ path thus far in his life, perhaps a complete infatuation, indicated by the unparalleled intensity with which Echo throws herself at Narcissus, as “the more she followed him the hotter did she burn, as when the flame flares upward from the sulphur on the torch” (3.391-93). The myth climaxes as Echo and Narcissus finally cross paths, Narcissus realizing someone is following him and Echo trying her best to use Narcissus’ words to communicate with him, and the two errors in the characters of these persons come to fruition: Echo throws herself fully at Narcissus, and Narcissus withdraws himself fully from Echo.
In the climax of this myth we see an explosion of insights. Consider, first, Echo, the lesser-known protagonist of this tale. She can only find her expression through Narcissus, but the twist is that Narcissus doesn’t want her, thus she can’t express herself. She is lost entirely in Narcissus, and since Narcissus completely disregards Echo the personhood of the nymph is negated. In the words of psychiatrist Neel Burton,
Poor Echo had no self and no being outside of Narcissus, and after being rejected by him ‘slowly withered away until there was nothing left of her but her voice’. Even her voice, the only thing that remained of her, was his rather than her own.
We usually take relation with others as an exclusively and invariably good thing, and it’s certainly how my own views can be seen, but this is actually wrong. Echo loses herself in Narcissus, rather than gaining herself, both due to the pathological nature of her infatuation and of Narcissus’ vanity. Echo, much like her false love, has formed the mythical basis for the lesser-known codependency “echoism,” which Darlene Lancer describes as follows:
Whereas Narcissus is overly self-absorbed, Echo is overly other-absorbed. Like Echo, partners of narcissists idealize them. They like and admire their bold, take-charge attitude. They, in contrast to narcissists, don’t advocate on their own behalf and feel needless or guilty asserting their needs and wants.
Theologically, the errors in the abnormal dynamics of such relations should be apparent. Does laying down our lives for our friends mean that we are to lose ourselves in our friends? Certainly not, especially since such an injunction is more encratic in nature than ontological, a commentary on what our moral obligations should lead us to do (sacrifice ourselves for the Other) rather than what we are (abolishing the ego to be subsumed into the Other). More so, Trinitarian ontology manifestly abrogates such a view, for the Persons of the Trinity do not “lose” Themselves in each other, for then they’d cease being each distinct Person, but rather they find Themselves in each other. The Son finds Himself in the Father by His filial relation, constantly emptying Himself into His Father; vice versa, the Father finds Himself in the Son by His paternal relation, constantly emptying Himself into His Son (the eternal generation). The very names of the divine Persons demonstrates this, as well, for “Father” necessitates “Son” (Who else is the Father the father of?) and “Son” necessitates “Father” (Who else is the Son the son of?). As I discuss elsewhere,
The Trinity has three principles, Father, Son, and Spirit, and they each correspond to a certain fact, but these facts are inherently coherent (or relational) the Son is grounded as the One Who relates to the Father as His Son and the Spirit as the Son (relationally), and the Father is grounded as the One Who relates to the Son as His Father and the Spirit as the Father. The divine Persons at once correspond to certain facts, facts which also instantaneously cohere with other facts.
This is the concept of “mutual interiority,” or “perichoresis,” the eternal relations between the three Persons that concretely identify them yet profoundly bind them to one another. As Christians, then, we understand there is no such thing as “the tyranny of the Other,” for the Other is best seen as a source of life for the I rather than a hindrance. There is, rather, a tyranny of the Self, the isolated Monad, the ontological black hole.
Echo, then, in divesting herself of personhood and merely seeking to be a puppet of Narcissus, a vessel of his self-gratification, is not an I, a true Subject, but a tributary of the ego of her Object, Narcissus. This is not other-relation, but, as Lancer puts it, other-absorption. Echo doesn’t want to be Echo, lover of Narcissus (a relation), but Narcissus, who gets gratified by Echo (an absorption). Relation finds self-meaning, while absorption loses self-meaning.
Concerning Narcissus, in contrast, we don’t find someone being lost in another but being lost in oneself. As he shouts at Echo upon receiving her fanatical embrace, “Take off your hands, you shall not fold your arms around me. Better death than such a one should ever caress me!” (3.416-18). Narcissus spurns any and all other-relation, in favor of death (hence, never), thus, Narcissus is the archetype of pure self-relation, “the ontological black hole.” Because there can only be ourselves, the sacred One, we turn away others and/or trample them. Psychologically, this is quite appropriate of narcissists, for, per Burton,
Paradoxically, by being too wrapped up in ourselves, we actually restrict our range of perception and action and, ultimately, our potential as human beings. And so, in some sense, we kill our self, like so many ambitious or self-centered people. Treating other people badly, as Narcissus did, is a sure sign of still being trapped in our self.
This is an excellent way of putting it, being trapped in ourselves. We are the ouroboros, the entity closed off from all others by vice of being trapped on the closed circuit of its self-consumption. Isn’t it remarkable how this perfectly describes what happens to Narcissus? After spurning Echo, condemning himself to self-relation, he falls before an image of himself in the reflection of still water, and is trapped by his self-infatuation, unable to take his eyes away from the beauty he sees before him. This is why earlier I said the prophecy of Tiresias should read, through a Christian reinterpretation, “If he but fail to recognize only himself,” as knowing who we are is fine, but if we are in self-relation, only knowing ourselves, that is detrimental. Thus, this leads Narcissus to grow in despair and terror, for he cannot feel the beauty, he cannot attain it, and he wastes away into nothing; Narcissus’ self-relation becomes his self-negation.5
The beauty of Narcissus is also a lesson, for beauty is a wondrous thing (remember that I once wrote a long essay on that) yet it is constantly counterfeited, mistaken, or corrupted. I have no doubt Narcissus was beautiful, but Narcissus was also profoundly hideous,6 for his beauty he buried in his self-relation, and thus ultimately his aforedescribed self-negation, destroying it for all others. Beauty must be partaken of, like how we are called to partake in the beauty of God (the Crucifixion of Christ; Rom. 6; Col. 2:20; 3:3; 2 Tim. 2:11; Gal. 2:20), yet Narcissus tarnishes this and destroys this. The good ending of Echo and Narcissus? They become one flesh united by holy matrimony.7 Narcissus would’ve found himself able to experience the beauty he was infatuated with if he opened himself to the passions of Echo, who didn’t only bear a beauty in and of herself (she was a nymph) for her heart was swelled with the name “Narcissus” (thus, reconsider what I said earlier about the Trinitarian relations); the erotic bond empties the beauty of the I into the Thou and the Thou into the I in a participatory experience.8 The bad, true ending of the myth thus explains the loss of beauty and even the specter of singledom in modern society, for beauty is spurned in favor of what is gratifying (or gets us to gratification quickest; cf. brutalism vs. egoism) or “empowering” (scare quotes for true power is only found in the Other).
The narrative, then, is not merely a cautionary tale against vanity but a profound exploration of the consequences of distorted relationships. Narcissus, portraying the archetype of pure self-relation, rejects the Other completely, ultimately falling victim to his own self-negation. Echo, on the other hand, loses herself entirely in Narcissus, exemplifying the dangers of being overly other-absorbed. We see in this harmony with the Christian understanding of the Trinitarian ontology, with the divine Persons finding themselves in each other, rather than losing (through absorption or isolation). Here we see the wisdom of the ancients still shining brightly for us, even if we must baptize some of their thinking, challenging us to navigate the delicate balance between the realities of the Self and the Other. Perhaps, as we stand at the reflective pool of our own existence, we can learn to embrace the beauty that emerges not in isolation but in the harmonious interplay between the I and the Thou. The myth suggests that true beauty is meant to be shared and partaken in, echoing the call essential to Christianity to partake in the beauty of God through self-emptying love.
Ovid, Metamorphoses, tr. Arthur Golding, ed. Brookes More, 3.350. Another translation, that of the 1727 verse translation by Samuel Garth and a company of other poets, adds (or alternatively translates, I can’t tell which) a line that reads “[Cephisus] on the Nereid got a lovely Boy, / Whom the soft Maids ev’n then beheld with Joy” (Ovid, Metamorphoses, ed. Samuel Garth, trs. Samuel Garth et al., 82). So, we see that Narcissus was from birth having the joys of his ego titillated.
Articles (most psychoanalytic in nature) that proved helpful, whether by providing a broader literary analysis or in particular with concern to the main ideas in this article, include Darlene Lancer, “Narcissus and Echo: The Heartbreak of Relationships with Narcissists”; Hope Gillette, “Narcissus and Echo: The Myth and Tragedy of Relationships with Narcissists”; Thomas Maples, “Narcissus and the Absent Father: Towards an Ecological Understanding of Narcissism and Ego Development”; Sam Vankin, “The Narcissist as Eternal Child”; Neel Burton, “Who Was Narcissus?”
Granted, Ovid’s version of the myth isn’t the only one, so perhaps these details appear in those, but all the articles I read on Echo and Narcissus, especially the two I got these examples from, reference Ovid’s version as their source.
Which often deal with extremities, black-and-whites, and archetypes, rather than the usual nuances and technicalities of the real-world, in order to get the themes of the etiologies and protologies they document across more clearly.
Self-negation as the false telos of pride, of self-relation, of the ouroboros, is a key idea in the works of my primary interlocutor on this subject, Trey Lunot. Below are some relevant articles and videos of his:
Compare this dichotomy with the Cross.
For the rest of humanity, in a non-romantic setting, the loving ending would be in friendship (philiac) or adoption by God (agapeic).
Euphemisms, people, euphemisms.