Each philosophy is an attempt to end philosophy. Each philosopher seeks to become the last philosopher. Yet for all its trials and tribulations; philosophy lives on. Inherent is that horrible paradox; that as little as philosophy can prove Truth, can it disprove it. It cannot find Truth, yet cannot deny that there is a Truth without falling into contradictions.
Once that first man, asked that first fateful question to Thought, to reason, and expected an answer in return; man has been doomed to continue asking. After 2500 years of asking ourselves; demanding of ourselves to answer questions about things we have no experience of, some have started questioning the wisdom of this path. Existentialism, in the footsteps of Nietzsche and Kierkegaard, tells us to stop philosophising, face reality, take responsibility and live. But invariably it becomes another philosophy; and he who purports to take its message seriously must then asses all its alternatives; must in fact himself become a philosopher. He who wishes to disprove philosophy must join in the search for Truth.
Is then the philosopher merely a coward artist? Who refusing to face his own creations constantly seeks to ground them in truths beyond himself? He is a great mind in a world were Though serves no higher purpose. What can he do then; but give it purpose, extol the greatness of Thought and join in its oh so futile quest for answers? And unlike his relative, the man of faith; who admits his ignorance and prays to a higher power, he is after all, well respected. An authority almost. Devoting his life to the cause of Truth! How grand and noble! No dogmas lurk here! Except of course Truth; that frightful phantasm. Like God, Truth has a beginning; but it has not end. Once they are born they refuse to die. Ever will they haunt mankind with their inexplicable delirium; holding out the hope of something more.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
The Intimate Stranger
He is man of today. Not tomorrow or yesterday. He is a nomad. At home everywhere and nowhere. He never stays long in one place. At the same time he always seeks the real and authentic, and so he has to stay long enough to think that he has experienced the truth of his temporary residence, has gotten a feel of the place. Always an intimate stranger; he wishes to absorb himself in his surrounding; to let it touch and move him and at the same time he remains outside of it, always reflecting on it, never getting too attached, never getting too real, always knowing that his escape is just round the corner.
He goes to a place not to have his beliefs reinforced but to have them crushed. To have them crushed and replaced and to come out a new man. Him aim is not self-realisation but self-destruction and rebirth. He believes himself fundamentally without a permanent self to realise. He can only break down its ephemeral shell to have it rebuilt again. Everything about him is built on shaky foundations. Everything is built with the expectation of its imminent destruction.
He fears to dream, to work towards future goals, because he fears to be trapped by them. To him the future is the past’s enslavement of the present. The future exists to him not as potentiality but as a illusion. He knows it is not he who will live it. The future belongs to someone else. Nor is his past his own. Each rebirth removes from him from his past.
And yet his escape from the future and the past makes him a victim of the present. As the present invariably bring moments of unhappiness, boredom, despair he finds he can neither project towards a brighter future, nor can he draw strength from a past he no longer connects with. The present proves a trap and instead he is compelled to treat his own life from a distance; a distance not in the past nor future, but merely an abstraction. He is obliged to draw on the abstract nature of thought to create a gap between himself and his present moment. He thus remains always at a distance from himself.
In the end he watches himself as if with a passionate disinterest. As if reading a book he finds captivating yet at the same time fearing becoming too engaged in the story he disengages himself. So he fears becoming enslaved by his own life. Fears to care too much to regret its inevitable end.
He goes to a place not to have his beliefs reinforced but to have them crushed. To have them crushed and replaced and to come out a new man. Him aim is not self-realisation but self-destruction and rebirth. He believes himself fundamentally without a permanent self to realise. He can only break down its ephemeral shell to have it rebuilt again. Everything about him is built on shaky foundations. Everything is built with the expectation of its imminent destruction.
He fears to dream, to work towards future goals, because he fears to be trapped by them. To him the future is the past’s enslavement of the present. The future exists to him not as potentiality but as a illusion. He knows it is not he who will live it. The future belongs to someone else. Nor is his past his own. Each rebirth removes from him from his past.
And yet his escape from the future and the past makes him a victim of the present. As the present invariably bring moments of unhappiness, boredom, despair he finds he can neither project towards a brighter future, nor can he draw strength from a past he no longer connects with. The present proves a trap and instead he is compelled to treat his own life from a distance; a distance not in the past nor future, but merely an abstraction. He is obliged to draw on the abstract nature of thought to create a gap between himself and his present moment. He thus remains always at a distance from himself.
In the end he watches himself as if with a passionate disinterest. As if reading a book he finds captivating yet at the same time fearing becoming too engaged in the story he disengages himself. So he fears becoming enslaved by his own life. Fears to care too much to regret its inevitable end.
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