AngelineIsTyping
Newbie
- MBTI
- INFJ
- Enneagram
- Type 4
Most of us have read the ancient fable of the emperor wearing no clothes and would probably scorn at the peasants for failing to admit the truth—yet in the context of real life, truth often escapes us. We are deluded by the intricate designs of reality, falling for superficiality as it’s the “easy way out” and we are afraid of burning in the ugly truth.
Today I’m not here to discuss the philosophical implications of the emperor with no clothes. I’m here to question: What if it’s the other way round? What if the “truth” is that, instead of the emperor being naked, he is actually invisible behind the layers of elaborate clothing?
In a book I once read on wise philosophers of their time, the author described a haunting dream Tolstoy once had. Snow-covered grounds, icy winds and footsteps trampling—only to realize, in dawning horror, that the boots are empty, treading the snow on its own without supporting a body’s weight. Such is a picturesque reference of the “clothes with no emperor”, illustrating the truths gone unseen. Imagine a plastic crown on your head without diamonds, its body not even made of metal, as light as a feather, as unreal as a dream. The emperor was never real—he was only an echo of power and sovereignty—and the clothes themselves represent the emperor, for the idea of authority replaces the need of a body. The “hollow authority” embodies the trappings of wisdom with no sovereign mind behind them, like a cover with no book wrapped within, or an empty book with no words inside it.
Tolstoy’s philosophy and his advocating for “positive changes” in the social hierarchy system proves my point. He inspires and empowers young minds to weaponize their strength, yet he makes no effort to contribute to the revolutions, instead living as a landlord in a mansion full of servants and indulging in aristocratic comfort. His words are empty shells that contain no content—no real-life references—and he makes no effort to inhabit his ideals. He romanticizes the idea of “the working people” but despises those who are closest to him, perpetually tuned to faraway cities and people while neglecting the truth staring him in the face.
Indeed, his wisdom is beautiful—but only on the surface. Have you ever looked up at the star-spangled sky and marveled at how pretty it was? Look again. It’s swallowing us whole. The stars aren’t shining—they’re burning like cracked porcelains spilling silver blood. Perfection is only an illusion—scratch its surface and it bleeds. Or rather, in Tolstoy’s case, the nothingness seeps out, revealing the ugliness of truth.
Overall, Tolstoy is a remarkable thinker of his era, yet the beauty and intricacy of his philosophies pale in comparison to the life struggles he’s faced in his quest for truth—and his ultimate failure. However, his futile attempts highlight humankind’s pathway to truth, serving as a testament to the hardships that must be conquered before the truth can be brought to light. The Emperor’s Clothes isn’t just a metaphor—it’s a dichotomy between truth and illusion. Indeed, the jewels are pretty and the golden fabric is smooth, but what good is it if the emperor doesn’t exist? And how, in the context of real life, do we unveil its mask and dive into the oceans of “the ghost inside the machine”—the emperor’s mind and existence?
Today I’m not here to discuss the philosophical implications of the emperor with no clothes. I’m here to question: What if it’s the other way round? What if the “truth” is that, instead of the emperor being naked, he is actually invisible behind the layers of elaborate clothing?
In a book I once read on wise philosophers of their time, the author described a haunting dream Tolstoy once had. Snow-covered grounds, icy winds and footsteps trampling—only to realize, in dawning horror, that the boots are empty, treading the snow on its own without supporting a body’s weight. Such is a picturesque reference of the “clothes with no emperor”, illustrating the truths gone unseen. Imagine a plastic crown on your head without diamonds, its body not even made of metal, as light as a feather, as unreal as a dream. The emperor was never real—he was only an echo of power and sovereignty—and the clothes themselves represent the emperor, for the idea of authority replaces the need of a body. The “hollow authority” embodies the trappings of wisdom with no sovereign mind behind them, like a cover with no book wrapped within, or an empty book with no words inside it.
Tolstoy’s philosophy and his advocating for “positive changes” in the social hierarchy system proves my point. He inspires and empowers young minds to weaponize their strength, yet he makes no effort to contribute to the revolutions, instead living as a landlord in a mansion full of servants and indulging in aristocratic comfort. His words are empty shells that contain no content—no real-life references—and he makes no effort to inhabit his ideals. He romanticizes the idea of “the working people” but despises those who are closest to him, perpetually tuned to faraway cities and people while neglecting the truth staring him in the face.
Indeed, his wisdom is beautiful—but only on the surface. Have you ever looked up at the star-spangled sky and marveled at how pretty it was? Look again. It’s swallowing us whole. The stars aren’t shining—they’re burning like cracked porcelains spilling silver blood. Perfection is only an illusion—scratch its surface and it bleeds. Or rather, in Tolstoy’s case, the nothingness seeps out, revealing the ugliness of truth.
Overall, Tolstoy is a remarkable thinker of his era, yet the beauty and intricacy of his philosophies pale in comparison to the life struggles he’s faced in his quest for truth—and his ultimate failure. However, his futile attempts highlight humankind’s pathway to truth, serving as a testament to the hardships that must be conquered before the truth can be brought to light. The Emperor’s Clothes isn’t just a metaphor—it’s a dichotomy between truth and illusion. Indeed, the jewels are pretty and the golden fabric is smooth, but what good is it if the emperor doesn’t exist? And how, in the context of real life, do we unveil its mask and dive into the oceans of “the ghost inside the machine”—the emperor’s mind and existence?