Of course, the idea of a confessional was that sins were shameful and had be spoken of in whispers, absolved in private. Now, of course, we want everyone to know how wild, depraved, in love, in despair we are. The confessional has imploded and we all scream, not for forgiveness, but for envy, admiration, attention. I am so hip, insane, fickle, shallow, lookatme! we cry into our megaphones, tattoo on our bodies, on buildings. Re-reading Milan Kundera's Immortality:
"Individualism? What does it have to do with individualism...On the contrary, it means that the individual no longer belongs to himself but becomes the property of others. You know, I remember my childhood: in those days if you wanted to take somebody's picture you asked for permission. Even when I was a child, adults would ask me: little girl, may I take your picture? And then one day they stopped asking. The right of the camera was elevated above all other rights, and that changed everything, absolutely everything."Of course, that was written in 1990.