Metaphysical considerations

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But, all the same what are all this strenuous effort for, the pigeons’ and humans’. To leave a message? To whom? To win the eons long fight against the inorganic? Once this fight began in the primordial broth, it must go on for as long as possible. But what for? Not to produce joy, because joy is the fuel for this fight not the goal of the fight, whatever we are brought to believe.

I look at pigeons in the streets. They are very monotonous, foreseeable in their behavior, they look constantly for food, they clean their feathers, bathe in the fountains, and in some season the court mates an copulate. I wonder: what for? Are they machines? If they are machines, we also are machines, I have no doubt about it. I don’t think that we or they are machines. There was a French philosopher (LaMettrie) who wrote a book L’homme machine. I never took this machine thing seriously. But, all the same what are all this strenuous effort for, the pigeons’ and humans’. To leave a message? To whom? To win the eons long fight against the inorganic? Once this fight began in the primordial broth, it must go on for as long as possible. But what for? Not to produce joy, because joy is the fuel for this fight not the goal of the fight, whatever we are brought to believe.

Only humans have possibility to rise above pure instincts and to change world around them.

I think that we don’t rise above instincts but only that we “pervert” them through artifice.

The possibility to change the environment is also the possibility to devastate it, and it is what humans have already done.
The living world is made of equilibriums that we alter and destroy through “artificial” easy shortcuts.

We (humans) notice structures (changes in what is) but often are oblivious to processes (how things got that way). We seem to comprehend past yet remain unaware how our future is being set in motion by our present choices.

Are they machines? If they are machines, we also are machines, I have no doubt about it. ...But, all the same what are all this strenuous effort for, the pigeons’ and humans’. ...To win the eons long fight against the inorganic?

Moral of the story: don't get eaten by a bear.

But five years ago something very strange began to happen to me. At first I began having moments of bewilderment, when my life would come to a halt, as if I did not know how to live or what to do; I would lose my presence of mind and fall into a state of depression. But this passed, and I continued to live as before. Then the moments of bewilderment recurred more frequently, and they always took the same form. Whenever my life came to a halt, the questions would arise: Why? And what next?

At first I thought these were pointless and irrelevent questions. I thought that the answers to them were well known and that if I should ever want to resolve them, it would not be too hard for me; it was just that I could not be bothered with it now, but if I should take it upon myself, then I would find the answers. But the questions began to come up more and more frequently, and their demands to be answered became more and more urgent . . .

The questions seemed to be such foolish, simple, childish questions. But as soon as I laid my hands on them and tried to resolve them, I was immediately convinced, first of all, that they were not childish and foolish questions but the most vital and profound questions in life, and, secondly, that no matter how much I pondered them there was no way I could resolve them.

Before I could be occupied with my Samara estate, with the education of my son, or with the writing of books, I had to know why I was doing these things. As long as I do not know the reason why, I cannot do anything. In the middle of my concern with the household, which at the time kept me quite busy, a questions would suddenly come into my head: 'Very well, you will have 16,200 acres in the Samara province, as well as 300 horses; what then?' And I was completely taken aback and did not know what else to think. As soon as I started to think about the education of my children, I would ask myself, 'Why?' Or I would reflect on how the people might attain prosperity, and I would suddenly ask myself, 'What concern is it of mine?' Or in the middle of thinking about the fame that my works were bringing me I would say to myself, 'Very well, you will be more famous than Gogol, Pushkin, Shakespear, Moliere, more famous than all the writers in the world - so what?'

And I could find absolutely no reply.

My life came to a stop. I could breathe, eat, drink, and sleep; indeed, I could not help but breathe, eat, drink, and sleep. But there was no life in me because I had no desires whose satisfaction I would have found reasonable. If I wanted something, I knew beforehand that it did not matter whether or not I got it.

If a fairy had come and offered to fulfill my every wish, I would not have known what to wish for. If in moments of intoxication I should have not desires but the habits of old desires, in moments of sobriety I knew that it was all a desulsion, that I really desired nothing. I did not even want to discover truth anymore because I had guessed what it was. The truth was that life is meaningless . . .

The only thing that amazed me was how I had failed to realize this in the very beginning. All this had been common knowledge for so long. If not today, then tomorrow sickness and death will come (indeed, they were already approaching) to everyone, to me, and nothing will remain except the stench and the worms. My deeds, whatever they may be, will be forgotten sooner or later, and I myself will be no more. Why, then, do anything? How can anyone fail to see this and live? That's what is amazing! It is possible to live only as long as life intoxicates us; once we are sober we cannot help seeing that it is all a delusion, a stupid delusion! Nor is there anything funny or witty about it; it is only cruel and stupid.

Death, freedom, and isolation must be grappled with directly. Yet when it comes to meaninglessness, the effective therapist must help patients to look away from the question: to embrace the solution of engagement rather than to plunge in and through the problem of meaninglessness. The question of meaning in life is, as the Buddha taught, not edifying. One must immerse oneself in the river of life and let the question drift away.

Imagine a happy group of morons who are engaged in work. They are carrying bricks in an open field. As soon as they have stacked all the bricks at one end of the field, they proceed to transport them to the opposite end.

This continues without stop, and every day of every year they are busy doing the same thing. One day, one of the morons stops long enough to ask himself what he is doing. He wonders what purpose there is in carrying the bricks. And from that instant on he is not quite as content with his occupation as he had been before.

I am the moron who wonders why he is carrying the bricks.

Found these quotes in my journal, dated 10/26/03.