“My friends, what is happiness?” – thus I asked this diverse little crowd, and each man poured his own heart in words:
Happiness is getting what you want when you want it.
Happiness is getting away from yourself – transcending yourself.
Happiness is being yourself, continually striving for and sustaining yourself.
Happiness is nothing more than pleasure – the negation of pain.
Happiness is being with that particular person who you can grow old with – love, really, erotic love.
Happiness – no, it’s more along the agapas the Greeks understood: universal love for men.
Happiness – no, no, it’s nothing more than doing God’s will.
Happiness is the feeling of power, of overcoming, of movement towards perfection. And God does not exist.
I felt myself involuntarily walk up that spectrum of tenseness, each gradation according to each infinitely different answer, from the fat man with generalizations, from the skinny man with particularizations, some with pride dancing in their eyes, others with a eyes whose darkness was a razor to my own, for I had dared to ask that question that no man who has fallen from the clouds of euphoria would dare ask: what is happiness? Apparently there was no answer, and we all didn’t have it. So it went. But as that settling malaise wrapped its wretched wings around this congregation of philosophers – common men with uncommon curiosities – like a constellation around me, I felt my mind quicken under the whiplash of intuition: someone was missing. No – yes – yes, there surely was a shadow sitting where a man once dwelt, and so –- I looked around to find him: nothing. I stood up, resigned my seat, and decided to take a brief walk outside, to catch the fresh air. The coolness of the air greeted me, the sun burned my eyes, and –-
There he was: slightly slouched against a lawn chair, middle-aged with shy streaks of gray appearing here and there in faint places on his head, on the border of the concrete of my back porch which edged the fresh grass now kissed by the dying wind. The look on his face –- serene; the distance of his eyes –- infinite. He was evidently looking at everything, therefore nothing at all, possessed by some strange absorption, as if Aphrodite had danced calmly before his eyes. I wasted no time:
“My dear friend,” my voice clearly a sin against the sanctity of the moment, “what is happiness?”
Silence, and then: “Happiness?” He turned my way to admit my existence, with a warm look in his eyes.
“Yes, happiness,” I paused, in slight confusion at the perplexity that subtly revealed itself in his brow, “there are a million different men in there who have a million different answers, and if life isn’t a road whose end is happiness, I see no reason to live.”
“Happiness,” he spoke again, a half-sigh, half-reproach, not quite in response, but as if speaking parallel with my own voice, then he quickened up; his eyes finally drifted away from his previous target; he focused on my face, and –- the oddness! -– smiled, and so childishly! “Happiness,” for the third time, still with the exact same lethargic emphasis, as if it was merely a grain of sand among hundreds that he was letting fall through his fingers, “that, my friend, is a word that means nothing at all.”
An incomparably angelic look poured from the unity of his features as he again looked out, again lost focus, again swam in his own thoughts, as they swam with the immaculate wonder that nature had brought before us; and I – I rubbed my eyes, like a man in the dark spontaneously flashed with light, ruffled my hair, felt that preternatural stranglehold whose hands I knew not bid me adieu, and left him alone, with a devilish thought to start the house on fire and save the poor men inside from a life of revolting futility.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Existential Thoughtlessness
Good clothes; good car; good friends; regardless, smile; regardless, tradition; regardless, resentment; regardless, away from solitude; essentially it is this: look outward! Your salvation lies without! You are truly thus a human being; you are truly thus unhappy. You are a slave to others; you have no conception of yourself outside of the eyes of others. Your eyes are not even your own. You are all each other's puppets, and there are no puppeteers. Our age is a massive starvation of souls: we need introversion! We have no understanding of ourselves, and such is impossible so long as we are looking out for the approvement of others.
We are all each other's puppets, and there are no puppeteers -- yes! And how simply one can observe this. The girl who laughs a certain way, or who talks with a certain accent, the man who walks with a certain pomp, seeming to imply that he is indestructible to outward pressure -- when in fact it might be the complete opposite, and he may fear everyone and everything; and why? Because those he does it for may easily unveil what hides beneath his false, projected self -- nothing at all. We are all each other's puppets -- that is, we all control the actions and opinions of others; and there are no puppeteers -- for there is no one who consciously controls anything. A reaction that precipitates another reaction, this reaction causing another, and so on ad infinitum -- such is our state today. But not all are victims; those who aren't are out. Blessed are those who are out!
What is implied in the psyche of the individual who adheres to the drowning pool ideal of materialism? Look at me! It does not even have to be material one raves over, that one attempts to ravish the admiration of others over; it can be a part of your character! You act a certain way to garner the attention of others -- you are a psychological materialist, this is perhaps worse: you sell your self by making it inauthentic, placing it on a rack for the sake of others. Still it lies: look at me! We must ask why. All desire for attention implies a discontentment with what attention one already has; all desire implies discontentment. The person who wants attention wants to be seen; and being seen is the essence of love. You want to be loved, thus you are not loved sufficiently, you do not love sufficiently. The two cannot be dichotomized. You are by all appearances happy, by all social conventional perceptions you have what is needed, by all political and psychological standards you are sufficient -- but you still want more. Thus you are not complete. You cannot lie to yourself, no matter how dazzlingly the outside world lies for you, with shining eyes. The spirit of ostentation needs to be cut off and uprooted; one needs to resign oneself, to God if at all possible, and learn that the monomanic desire for satiation only catalyzes the disease each and every moment the process continues. You are attaching yourself to the world around you; thus you cannot know God, cannot know beauty, cannot know love. All things that would be good for you in themselves become distorted through this gnawing concern for what others think -- down to the very music you listen to. You cannot appreciate it; you can only appreciate the ghost of social opinion. Thus you are not far from insanity, you who fosters illusion.
You have money; this transforms into possessions you flutter before the world -- look at me!
You have intelligence; this transforms into pedantry, didactic behavior -- look at me!
You have wit, humor; you are the warm center that the world crowds around -- look at me!
You are attractive -- nothing even needs be said.
And the tragi-comedy perpetuates itself for the simple reason that most everyone is involved with it, which isn't to say that few people know what everyone else is doing. They do, and this mutual knowledge between decadents is what causes personal wars when the smell of authenticity rears its head to the equally inauthentic individual in the foreground, waiting with impatience and resentment for his turn at attention as another steals his thunder. But the truly feared are those who know, to the quick, what is going on, and still themselves refuse to join themselves in the same bonfire of depravity that everyone else is involved in. These are the knights of power, who stand above the opinions of others, and see the universe without obstruction. This, and this alone, is the single greatest advantage that religion has brought into the world: a purity of vision, a detachment from the world, thus an ability to enjoy it, and love those within it. And how sad that religion is exploited for social relations, that one might be noticed by others! Religion is used as a way to keep oneself in the warm waters of orthodoxy, that one may not be considered heretical by those whose attention one seeks to gain. And again, again, again, whoever does this, engages in this hypocritcal act, doesn't believe in anything. All is for show, nothing is held from true conviction, and thus the holy has become fragmented from impurity.
Do not look out, but look within. See the task you are called to do, and do it, and the result of single-heartedly willing this one thing, constantly changing in accordance to your situation in life, will bring you authentic happiness. The world is so busy, so incessantly busy, with tasks involved in it, absorbing what little stimulation it offers, that it is clear that what they are doing doesn't make them deeply, truly happy -- because, almost certainly, it isn't who they are; they are swallowing the faulty advice of those who presume to know them better than they know themselves. People, as Kierkegaard once said, seek pleasure so hard that they often run right by it; so it is here. Nobody knows what happiness is; yet everyone thinks he has it before his nose.
We are all each other's puppets, and there are no puppeteers -- yes! And how simply one can observe this. The girl who laughs a certain way, or who talks with a certain accent, the man who walks with a certain pomp, seeming to imply that he is indestructible to outward pressure -- when in fact it might be the complete opposite, and he may fear everyone and everything; and why? Because those he does it for may easily unveil what hides beneath his false, projected self -- nothing at all. We are all each other's puppets -- that is, we all control the actions and opinions of others; and there are no puppeteers -- for there is no one who consciously controls anything. A reaction that precipitates another reaction, this reaction causing another, and so on ad infinitum -- such is our state today. But not all are victims; those who aren't are out. Blessed are those who are out!
What is implied in the psyche of the individual who adheres to the drowning pool ideal of materialism? Look at me! It does not even have to be material one raves over, that one attempts to ravish the admiration of others over; it can be a part of your character! You act a certain way to garner the attention of others -- you are a psychological materialist, this is perhaps worse: you sell your self by making it inauthentic, placing it on a rack for the sake of others. Still it lies: look at me! We must ask why. All desire for attention implies a discontentment with what attention one already has; all desire implies discontentment. The person who wants attention wants to be seen; and being seen is the essence of love. You want to be loved, thus you are not loved sufficiently, you do not love sufficiently. The two cannot be dichotomized. You are by all appearances happy, by all social conventional perceptions you have what is needed, by all political and psychological standards you are sufficient -- but you still want more. Thus you are not complete. You cannot lie to yourself, no matter how dazzlingly the outside world lies for you, with shining eyes. The spirit of ostentation needs to be cut off and uprooted; one needs to resign oneself, to God if at all possible, and learn that the monomanic desire for satiation only catalyzes the disease each and every moment the process continues. You are attaching yourself to the world around you; thus you cannot know God, cannot know beauty, cannot know love. All things that would be good for you in themselves become distorted through this gnawing concern for what others think -- down to the very music you listen to. You cannot appreciate it; you can only appreciate the ghost of social opinion. Thus you are not far from insanity, you who fosters illusion.
You have money; this transforms into possessions you flutter before the world -- look at me!
You have intelligence; this transforms into pedantry, didactic behavior -- look at me!
You have wit, humor; you are the warm center that the world crowds around -- look at me!
You are attractive -- nothing even needs be said.
And the tragi-comedy perpetuates itself for the simple reason that most everyone is involved with it, which isn't to say that few people know what everyone else is doing. They do, and this mutual knowledge between decadents is what causes personal wars when the smell of authenticity rears its head to the equally inauthentic individual in the foreground, waiting with impatience and resentment for his turn at attention as another steals his thunder. But the truly feared are those who know, to the quick, what is going on, and still themselves refuse to join themselves in the same bonfire of depravity that everyone else is involved in. These are the knights of power, who stand above the opinions of others, and see the universe without obstruction. This, and this alone, is the single greatest advantage that religion has brought into the world: a purity of vision, a detachment from the world, thus an ability to enjoy it, and love those within it. And how sad that religion is exploited for social relations, that one might be noticed by others! Religion is used as a way to keep oneself in the warm waters of orthodoxy, that one may not be considered heretical by those whose attention one seeks to gain. And again, again, again, whoever does this, engages in this hypocritcal act, doesn't believe in anything. All is for show, nothing is held from true conviction, and thus the holy has become fragmented from impurity.
Do not look out, but look within. See the task you are called to do, and do it, and the result of single-heartedly willing this one thing, constantly changing in accordance to your situation in life, will bring you authentic happiness. The world is so busy, so incessantly busy, with tasks involved in it, absorbing what little stimulation it offers, that it is clear that what they are doing doesn't make them deeply, truly happy -- because, almost certainly, it isn't who they are; they are swallowing the faulty advice of those who presume to know them better than they know themselves. People, as Kierkegaard once said, seek pleasure so hard that they often run right by it; so it is here. Nobody knows what happiness is; yet everyone thinks he has it before his nose.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Materialism
But woe to you who are rich, for you are receiving your comfort in full. -- Luke 6:24 (NASB)
With the materialist one's self is the limitation of one's possessions unperceived by the eye under the inexorable disease of corruption. With materialism what one owns is a signifier -- not for his happiness, as the promise initially held, but for his self -- his possessions signify what will soon be his self crumbling away. What is materialism? Dependence on facticity. The solidity of the conclusion speaks: the other is needed, and only the other can save -- an eternal "you" over the temporal "it". For the nasty trick of materialism is the eternalization process inherent to consciousness: what exists objectively is embalmed by the mind through idealization, and it cannot be otherwise -- this is simply how the mind works. The necessary dichotomy of temporality and eternity is where the sting lies: the mind works through idealization, eternity; the objectivity that the mind feeds on works through becoming. Thus the infinite shocks that piledrive us when what is idealized must constantly be changed to fit the implacable demands of becoming.
Therefore, every thing must be resigned; and this is not possible in itself, lest despair results, but through the transcendence of another -- blessed are the others, for they are the life-rafts that keep us from drowning in the waters of despair. This other can be human or divine. The human is a synthesis of the temporal and eternal; therefore it takes cleverness to know how to extract eternality while leaving temporality in the ditch. The Zeitgeist these days revolves around the superficiality of appearance as criteria for acceptance (whereas in the past it was intelligence, creativity, courage, etc.); appearance implies facticity; facticity implies becoming; thus the process murders itself. Her looks -- they are here a moment and gone forever. They can be enjoyed, but only with a mind that knows the subtleties of ephemerality -- for the good looks are easily idealized, and therein lies the poison. To see the eternity in a person is to see him as a unity; it is to see beyond the particulars and the idealization they regress into to a center whose circumference is -- nowhere. This process of unification simultaneously makes transparent; one sees through the particulars that make up a person to a self that is the sole remainder of the melted remains of temporality at its feet, and it is this firm standing, this self without blemish at the end of the deal, that proves its eternity, its infinite hardness. This realization of self through unity is called love. Hatred is simply the focus on a particular -- almost always a particular as it relates to the past. To see a person you hate is a contradiction; at best one only sees the shell of oneself.
The human, then, has the danger of temporality; therefore the quintessential solution to materialism is: divinity. Eternity without the temptations of temporality. The problem is solved -- so long as you grow a will and accept your sufferings.
With the materialist one's self is the limitation of one's possessions unperceived by the eye under the inexorable disease of corruption. With materialism what one owns is a signifier -- not for his happiness, as the promise initially held, but for his self -- his possessions signify what will soon be his self crumbling away. What is materialism? Dependence on facticity. The solidity of the conclusion speaks: the other is needed, and only the other can save -- an eternal "you" over the temporal "it". For the nasty trick of materialism is the eternalization process inherent to consciousness: what exists objectively is embalmed by the mind through idealization, and it cannot be otherwise -- this is simply how the mind works. The necessary dichotomy of temporality and eternity is where the sting lies: the mind works through idealization, eternity; the objectivity that the mind feeds on works through becoming. Thus the infinite shocks that piledrive us when what is idealized must constantly be changed to fit the implacable demands of becoming.
Therefore, every thing must be resigned; and this is not possible in itself, lest despair results, but through the transcendence of another -- blessed are the others, for they are the life-rafts that keep us from drowning in the waters of despair. This other can be human or divine. The human is a synthesis of the temporal and eternal; therefore it takes cleverness to know how to extract eternality while leaving temporality in the ditch. The Zeitgeist these days revolves around the superficiality of appearance as criteria for acceptance (whereas in the past it was intelligence, creativity, courage, etc.); appearance implies facticity; facticity implies becoming; thus the process murders itself. Her looks -- they are here a moment and gone forever. They can be enjoyed, but only with a mind that knows the subtleties of ephemerality -- for the good looks are easily idealized, and therein lies the poison. To see the eternity in a person is to see him as a unity; it is to see beyond the particulars and the idealization they regress into to a center whose circumference is -- nowhere. This process of unification simultaneously makes transparent; one sees through the particulars that make up a person to a self that is the sole remainder of the melted remains of temporality at its feet, and it is this firm standing, this self without blemish at the end of the deal, that proves its eternity, its infinite hardness. This realization of self through unity is called love. Hatred is simply the focus on a particular -- almost always a particular as it relates to the past. To see a person you hate is a contradiction; at best one only sees the shell of oneself.
The human, then, has the danger of temporality; therefore the quintessential solution to materialism is: divinity. Eternity without the temptations of temporality. The problem is solved -- so long as you grow a will and accept your sufferings.
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