Antitheton

Antitheton (an-tith’-e-ton): A proof or composition constructed of contraries. Antitheton is closely related to and sometimes confused with the figure of speech that juxtaposes opposing terms, antithesis. However, it is more properly considered a figure of thought (=Topic of Invention: Contraries [a topic of invention in which one considers opposite or incompatible things that are of the same kind (if they are of different kinds, the topic of similarity / difference is more appropriate). Because contraries occur in pairs and exclude one another, they are useful in arguments because one can establish one’s case indirectly, proving one’s own assertion by discrediting the contrary]).

Good and bad. That’s all there is, except for time. Today you can be good. Tomorrow you can be evil. Yesterday’s character, might not be today’s. You can’t be good and bad at the same time. Most of us flip flop. Good today, bad tomorrow. Even though you might’ve been bad last week, you may remember it and relive it, as if the contents of your memory are real. They’re like a photograph—vivid, striking, representative, but not the thing itself—the image is not the thing itself, but it is what it is in its own right as an image.

I am driving myself crazy. I’m chopping myself into pieces with an either/or cleaver. There is no place to hide from decision, and decisions are either good or bad. But as I forge ahead through life, always all the time enmeshed in deciding, when decisions are made, they are immediately enmeshed in deciding or judging their worth. It goes on forever: my inability to settle on an answer. There are no stop signs in my head—I just keep going.

Forgetting is the only way to settle conscience. But inevitably, we remember and we are stricken with guilt, or some kind of benign pleasure. We get upset. We become the fool we were, no matter how many years have passed.

I stole your cat. I wanted that cat so badly that I couldn’t resist. He was furry and black with white feet. He had beautiful yellow eyes. He was perfect. Now that he’s coming down the home stretch, and you’re on your death bed, I’ll tell you the story: I waited outside your house that night. You were a creature of habit—you let the cat out every night at 8.00pm. I was there waiting with a kitty carrier. I had seen you calling him in by shaking a treat bag. So, that’s what I did, and he came running to me. I popped him into the kitty carrier and walked home. I had some new cat toys waiting for him and he settled right in. I put his food dish and water bowl in the basement. When you and I sat together on the couch and lamented his disappearance, he was down in the basement enjoying a handful of treats. Whenever you came over, I stashed him in the basement. Thank God he was a quiet cat, or my cover would’ve been blown. We’ve lived like this for a little over 14 years. I named him Phantom and never let him out of the house for fear you’d spot him.

You look quite angry. I wish you could talk, or even just open your eyes. Oh well. It was important for me to unburden myself of my guilt. I feel much better now and will probably get the good night’s sleep that’s evaded me as the years have gone by. I know you probably feel bad, but not as bad as me. I was bad, and I guess I’ll never forget it. All you had to do was cope with a short stretch of grief, not a lifetime of guilt and regret. In fact, now I’ve talked my self into feeling pretty bad again. I think, to some extent you’re to blame—your smug silence, the beeping monitor and all the tubes display you disregard for my feelings! You know, I didn’t come here to be ignored. I came here to be forgiven. But, that’s not possible, is it Mr. Mute-Lips?

How’d you like to give one of your pillows a big long goodbye kiss? Was that a “Yes?” I think it was. Here you go!

POSTSCRIPT

He smothered his “friend.” When he got home, Phantom had pooped on the wooden floor adjacent to the front door. He slipped on the poop and slammed the back of his head on the radiator by the door. He died almost instantly. He was found two days later after failing to show up for work. His eyes were scratched out. The EMTs were surprised to see a cat run out the front door when they opened it.

An aged Phantom was spotted at his first owner’s funeral. His sister picked him up and brought him home. Although he takes medicine for his joints, otherwise he’s a happy, napping cat.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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