Surplus Power

On defense of the useless

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Historically,
as soon as Man has conquered
his most pressing needs,
he has turned his attention
to art.

This is what separates us
from lesser beasts:
a hunger to reach,
not now, but beyond—
far beyond—
what is merely useful:

To seek beauty
where none is required;
to carve meaning
where none is owed;
and to do so for no sake,
no sake other,
than for its own.

Mishima once wrote that
strong and aesthetic bodies
are akin to the language
of Classical Greek:
both virtually unnecessary
to the modern man,
both seemingly useless
beyond the surface,
both terribly difficult
by no clear necessity.

And thus both,
for those very reasons,
equally powerful.

For it was precisely the Greeks,
those who knew how to live—
with their noble simplicity
and quiet grandeur—
those who saw the brutal depth
in the surface of things,
who also understood
beyond cognition
that there was little
more profound in life
than to take care
of the superfluous.

Doing so signifies
a certain surplus—
of character,
of energy,
of will;
of an indomitable drive
to possess more
than what is strictly necessary.

Man’s architecture
lets this surplus live:
in the strength of columns,
in the curve of archways,
in the measured weight
of all proportions.

And the architecture of Man
gives it a new breath:
when he plans,
when he sculpts,
when he disciplines—
a marble made
of bone and flesh,
not merely to function,
but to impress his form,
and all it points to,
back onto Nature.

To work out,
therefore,
is to indulge in luxury—
biological luxury.

It is to show
you manipulate time better,
allocate focus better,
tolerate hardship better,
configure yourself better.

It is to show you reach,
not now, but beyond—
far beyond—
what is merely useful:
into the powerful.

And surplus power,
as Nietzsche once wrote,
is the only
proof of power.
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