One benefit of the evolution of human beings is rationality. Which potentially gives us the ability to stand ‘apart’ from ourselves and look at our condition from a neutral perspective. Like most intelligent people I pondered on the essential existential questions such as “where do we come from” , “what is the purpose of life” during my teenage years and as with most people the phase of questioning passed and I entered a secular life like everyone else.
The ensuing ten years saw me battle personal tragedies, ill health and a rather difficult (by most accounts) transition to adulthood. I was battered sufficiently to have a deeper understanding of life , its purpose and conduct. But once again the old demons have risen.
Beyond the purely materialistic and worldly is there indeed a purpose to my life? None of money, power or prestige particularly fascinate me. And I believe I am rational enough to see that ties of love and kinship are not bounden enough to compel me to stay. The love of my parents will die with them. With the other relations I have cultivated in this existence I know my existence is not an inviolable condition to their continuance. Friends might weep for me, perhaps sorrow for years but these ties definitely will not compel them to follow me to a potential after life or void. A marriage is again contingent on my entering into a social contract the primary purpose of which seems to be continuance of the blood line, which seems to me to be an absolutely bestial proclivity.
One dream I did have was to leave behind a great work of art, which would be immortal and immortalise me as a creator. But I am sure someone among the Phoenicians too might have had such tendencies. (None of their works survive). But leave aside the Phoenicians, I have come to doubt the utility of such immortality. Within many families and clans there are similar claimants to filial immortality. But what truly is the potential of such immortality? To be honest nothing. I am reminded of the poem Ozymandias by Shelley. In the rare case I am well remembered it would merely be a servicing of my already dead ego and that of my potential descendants.
When I think of myself I have the dubious distinction of having rejected every stage of my life in the subsequent stages for some reason or the other. Most of my friends do not regard my opinions or words as consistent and dismiss my ’mutually contradictory’ opinions as an eccentricity to be ignored. But when I evaluate myself I feel this inconsistency has less to do with moral or intellectual confusion and more to do with my looking at every new phase in the hope of finding something rational and consistent I could believe in. Unfortunately every time I have been disappointed with mere simulacrums. I lack the worldliness and pettiness to contend myself with a regular corporate/government job and the wife-and-kids routine. And presently have no higher purpose. The only reason perhaps I pull on is the anguished and world weary faces of my aged parents who have had more than their fair share of tragedies and suffering.
I really don’t know if there is grace in living like this. It surely is painful and the ennui and vapidity seem interminable
The ensuing ten years saw me battle personal tragedies, ill health and a rather difficult (by most accounts) transition to adulthood. I was battered sufficiently to have a deeper understanding of life , its purpose and conduct. But once again the old demons have risen.
Beyond the purely materialistic and worldly is there indeed a purpose to my life? None of money, power or prestige particularly fascinate me. And I believe I am rational enough to see that ties of love and kinship are not bounden enough to compel me to stay. The love of my parents will die with them. With the other relations I have cultivated in this existence I know my existence is not an inviolable condition to their continuance. Friends might weep for me, perhaps sorrow for years but these ties definitely will not compel them to follow me to a potential after life or void. A marriage is again contingent on my entering into a social contract the primary purpose of which seems to be continuance of the blood line, which seems to me to be an absolutely bestial proclivity.
One dream I did have was to leave behind a great work of art, which would be immortal and immortalise me as a creator. But I am sure someone among the Phoenicians too might have had such tendencies. (None of their works survive). But leave aside the Phoenicians, I have come to doubt the utility of such immortality. Within many families and clans there are similar claimants to filial immortality. But what truly is the potential of such immortality? To be honest nothing. I am reminded of the poem Ozymandias by Shelley. In the rare case I am well remembered it would merely be a servicing of my already dead ego and that of my potential descendants.
When I think of myself I have the dubious distinction of having rejected every stage of my life in the subsequent stages for some reason or the other. Most of my friends do not regard my opinions or words as consistent and dismiss my ’mutually contradictory’ opinions as an eccentricity to be ignored. But when I evaluate myself I feel this inconsistency has less to do with moral or intellectual confusion and more to do with my looking at every new phase in the hope of finding something rational and consistent I could believe in. Unfortunately every time I have been disappointed with mere simulacrums. I lack the worldliness and pettiness to contend myself with a regular corporate/government job and the wife-and-kids routine. And presently have no higher purpose. The only reason perhaps I pull on is the anguished and world weary faces of my aged parents who have had more than their fair share of tragedies and suffering.
I really don’t know if there is grace in living like this. It surely is painful and the ennui and vapidity seem interminable
