Sorry for the really fucking long absence, everyone. Shit has been severely, severely fucked up for a while. It’s like a giant shit bomb went off, and every single thing in my life was covered in it. Yeah, I’ve been studying a lot, but how good is study when you’re so depressed that you can’t even see straight? much less actually read complex arguments and propositions in technically dense text? So to say the least, I have been incapacitated for some time. Yes, I have aware that Schopenhauer says, “I have never known any trouble that an hour’s reading could not assuage.” But Schopenhauer also says,
“Suffering by nature or chance never seems so painful as suffering inflicted on us by the arbitrary will of another.”
Ain’t that the god damned truth. So I’ve been thinking a lot about life lately. I mean, its essence; what it’s about. Why we’re here, or what we’re here for. I know I’ve thought a lot about this before, but until I find a decent fuckin’ answer, I’m going to keep asking the question. So far, god hasn’t piped up, so I’ll go on speculating.
What the fuck are we here for? Life is much less a thing that we enjoy and flourish in than some thing in which we battle, struggle, and fight against all the myriad forces of unhappiness that assail us. Life then, is not something to be enjoyed, but is rather something to be overcome.
How fleeting is our joy! How temporary our rest from the troubling waves that crash upon the shores of our hearts! The only safe harbor from all that assails us is some lonely, solitary place. And even there we are left with the torment of our loneliness; the questions that we ask of some shadow, to which we perpetually await the answers with sorrow and tear filled eyes.
Cries to the “benevolent” god above (or wherever the fuck he or she is supposed to be) always go unanswered. So what solace is left to us in our darkest night of the soul? AS Kierkegaard says, we can face “dread” full on, or wilt from the challenge. But I part company with my namesake; his version of facing that dread, that “sickness until death” is doubling-down on faith in god. For such a brilliant man, he was a fucking dumb ass. I say the way to fully face life, which is nothing more than the zeniths between suffering and boredom, is to acknowledge that life is fully defined by suffering.
God does not want us to be happy. Oh yes, I am certain he or she exists, but he is not benevolent. He cares not for your wishes, supplications, or goals. He is as obstinate as the small child with keys to the kingdom, and just as much knowledge on how to run things.
My advice to everyone (one supremely beautiful person in particular): steal your happiness from the jealous hands of god that deprive it from you. Morality exists, yes. Don’t superimpose your will upon another, but live your life as if you are in control of it, and as though your will is the sole plotter of its direction because, my love, it is. Live your life. Take every opportunity for happiness afforded you. Expand your intellect beyond what religion says is necessary. Question god to his face. Challenge all preconceived notions about living, and tell Immanuel Kant to go straight to hell with his bullshit “Categorical Imperative.” If truth and justice are the fundamental virtues upon which all others are based, then my theories stand as sound as the proposition that tomorrow, the sun will rise. Yes, it’s Hedonistic, but at this point, Hedonism is superior to the other options presented.
Remember kids; life while in the sorrowful abject servitude of god and his morality will deprive you of life itself. Remember Kierkegaard…
He was deeply religious, and set upon by the guilt complex of European Christianity. He fell in love with Regina Olsen. She loved him back. He didn’t feel worthy of the love, and felt that in order to prove his worthiness to god, he would give her up (dump her), and wait for god to restore her to him as an acknowledgment of his piety and morality. She pursued him for years, and he remained aloof. She finally disappeared, and returned to Copenhagen two years later, married to a man she loved less than Soren. Soren then spent the rest of his life in anguish, questioning his decision.
Don’t be like Soren Kierkegaard. Steal your happiness…. or end up like Schopenhauer.
Yours in Contemplation,