You wrote, “it was Jacques Lacan who settled the theoretical ground of the Freudian vision by clarifying the ultimate identity between Love and the death drive. They are two sides of the same metaphysical coin as the singular force embodying a mortal sense of transcendence.”
The above lines remind me of Oscar Wilde’s love for Alfred Douglas. The kind of love that in Victorian England was not just forbidden but carried grotesque punishment and incalculable injustice – death by any other name.
In a court room trial, where the once revered literary genius said not a word in his defense, chiefly because he was not permitted to speak. Yes, he did say, this: “And I? May I say nothing, my lord? ” With these words, Oscar Wilde’s courtroom trials came to a close.”
“This blind indestructible insistence of the libido is what Freud called ‘death drive,’ and one should bear in mind that ‘death drive’ is, paradoxically, the Freudian name for its very opposite, for the way immortality appears within psychoanalysis.” (62) With this apt description of the passion of the infinite, we come to rest here, in the grip of our creative daimon, where a state of ceaseless productivity provides the ground for a transcendent vision.”
Indeed, driven by his relentless desire to create, Wilde’s soul was not at rest until he found his proper rest in “De Produndis”, his ode to love – his song to the very man because of whom he was sentenced to two years in prison with hard labor for the crime of “gross indecency” with other men.
Inside the prison walls, his writings, took a different turn, from pleasing the English upper classes, he began writing for prison reforms, judicial reforms, and displayed his imaginative and verbal brilliance in the “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”. He now wrote for eternity.