The Ship of Theseus
Ask yourself: what books or movies do you know when thinking about identity theft? And then ask yourself: what does stealing one`s identity really mean? And maybe you can also ask: how does it happen?
When reading The Talented Mr. Ripley, by Patricia Highsmith, my mind immediately went to a philosophical notion called “ship of Theseus”. A ship leaves the port of Athens bound for Crete. Along the way, however, piece by piece, parts of it are replaced. By the time it returns, every component of the ship has been changed. The question is this: is it still the same ship or not?
Similarly, Tom Ripley slips into the identity of Richard Greenleaf, changing “piece by piece”: from wearing his watch and rings, his shoes, to imitating his clothing style, to trying on his facial expressions in different emotional contexts. They are of the same height, with only a three-kilogram difference, and slightly different hair shades. In the end, do we have just one Greenleaf Jr. or two?
Imagine setting aside the original pieces of Theseus’ ship so we can build another one. Once we replace every part, we end up with two ships. In the same way, the sea swallows one Richard Greenleaf, while Tom Ripley creates a new one: the Richard he performs after killing the original.
Esse quam videri malim?!
The book also contains another paradox, in my opinion: that of the actor. Tom Ripley feels most himself when he is not being himself. Once he takes on Richard’s identity, he becomes bolder, more confident, freer. In fact, the narrator tells us that he possesses two freedoms: his own combined with Richard’s. But what I think it actually happens, is that Tom, by becoming somebody else, tries to be himself but fails.
Nietzsche and the Idea of Selfhood
Nietzsche’s Pindaric injunction — “become what you are” — sounds at first like the moral of a Bildungsroman: a call to self-discovery, to unfolding one’s inner potential. Yet, as Nietzsche himself complicates it, becoming what you are is not a linear process of self-realization but a creative transformation of what is given, the chaotic interplay of inheritance, instincts, and chance, into a coherent necessity. It is not about finding a preexisting essence, but about forging one.
Tom Ripley, by contrast, enacts the paradox in reverse. In The Talented Mr. Ripley, he feels most himself when he is wearing the mask of Dickie, that is: when he inhabits another man’s identity. As he slips into Richard Greenleaf’s life, he discovers, as already mentioned, a strange freedom: “two liberties” . But this freedom is deceptive. Ripley’s metamorphosis does not lead to unity, as Nietzsche’s ideal would demand, but to fragmentation. By becoming another, he attempts to escape the void at his own center: to become himself through imitation, yet the result is only an infinite delay of selfhood.
If Nietzsche’s task was to transform fate into creation, Ripley’s tragedy is that he transforms imitation into existence. Each new identity, whether Greenleaf’s or the later ones he assumes throughout Highsmith’s volumes, promises a new beginning, but only deepens the absence of an authentic self. In this sense, Ripley becomes a dark parody of Nietzsche’s imperative: he becomes what he is not, and thus never truly becomes.
Masculinity and the Notion of Double
Film scholar David Greven, in his 2009 article “Contemporary Hollywood Masculinity and the Double-Protagonist Film,” describes a fascinating trend in modern Hollywood: movies built around two male leads locked in psychological and moral competition.
These aren’t “buddy movies.” They’re duels of masculinity. Each man mirrors, rivals, and ultimately defines the other. The genre, which Greven calls the “Bush to Bush” era (from the first to the second George Bush presidencies), reflects an American masculinity that’s deeply divided: what he calls “manhood whose center cannot hold.”
In these stories, one man typically embodies the narcissistic mode (confident, magnetic, dominant), while the other represents the masochistic mode (self-effacing, watchful, and emotionally dependent on the first). The dynamic becomes a kind of eroticized power struggle, with one man desiring or resisting the other’s charisma.
Interestingly, Greven argues that in many of these films, the masochist wins, not necessarily by triumphing in the story, but by becoming the emotional or moral center. This inversion challenges the classic Hollywood ideal of the isolated, heroic man.
In short, the double-protagonist film turns male identity into a mirror maze: two men circling each other, both seeking definition, both threatening to dissolve into the reflection of the other.
If you haven’t read Patricia Highsmith`s book, I recommend you do, even though it’s only one of a series of Tom Ripley’s adventures. I also recommend the 1999 film, and on Netflix there’s an eight-episode black-and-white miniseries from 2024.
Enjoy your read!
