To Every Answer a Question, To Every Solution a Problem

In almost all cases, it is a joy beyond words to discover the inner workings of a system which to those who've not examined it carefully seems an absolute mystery.

Why is it so pleasurable to do this, though? Do we not feel a sense of deflation when, at the end of a journey of discovery, we accept that it has come to an end, the adventure over? It seems when we look back on such periods, we remember most fondly the anticipation of eventual arrival and the prolonged sense of wonder felt in contemplating the possibilities.

In the case of, say, the physicist, she knows that new discoveries lead to new questions, and it's the existence of those questions, problems to be solved, journeys to be undertaken, that give her joy. It is the promise of more to come that swells her heart.

The promise of more to come.

Who or what will give you such a promise? Is it a real promise or a false one?

There are words in books to give you hope by promising more to come. They give you comfort, do they not? You were searching for hope and you found it. Or, was it given to you before you ever even contemplated the significance of a journey of discovery?

Why do you desire to have hope? Why do you need more? The desire to have and maintain hope makes you highly susceptible to self-deception. The constant desire for more leaves you perpetually unsatisfied.

The question exists, the one which seemingly has no objectively true answer.

What is the meaning of life?

meaning (noun): the significance of something

Look at two photos, one of death - corpses strewn across a devastated landscape, the other of life - families in a park, children playing carefree...

What is the significance of life? You know the answer, yet you'll never stop asking the question.

The Costs of Desire

"I was within a hair's breadth of the last opportunity for pronouncement, and I found with humiliation that probably I would have nothing to say. This is the reason why I affirm that Kurtz was a remarkable man. He had something to say. He said it. Since I had peeped over the edge myself, I understand better the meaning of his stare, that could not see the flame of the candle, but was wide enough to embrace the whole universe, piercing enough to penetrate all the hearts that beat in the darkness. He had summed up -- he had judged. 'The horror!'"

-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

Those with a penchant for the dramatic or those who are given to emotional railings, refer to 'evil empires' while those who are a little more collected in their expressions of thoughts talk about 'imperial ambitions.' One could say that the desires of a nation can cause more devastation than the wants of a simple human being. One might also say that the desires of simple men and women come to be the collective desire of the country they call home.

Us and them. The little people and the giants. The oppressed and the oppressors. The ninety-nine percent and the one percent...

Me.

You.

An Island Unto...

Man is condemned to be free
--Sartre

All you’ve come to know was once unknown to you, and there is so much more left to learn, yet it would be impossible to form a meaningful idea about just how much it is that you still don’t know. You are aware of the existence of knowledge that others have which you don’t. You would even admit that there must exist knowledge had by others which you have not considered. And then, of course, there are things yet undiscovered by anyone. All of the books in all of the libraries on this planet contain a mere fraction of what humans have come to know in the relatively short time we have been around, and this knowledge is seemingly infinitesimal in terms of all that we have yet to discover about ourselves, our planet and the universe.

Faced with such an abysmal lack of understanding, it might seem pointless to ask questions about the grand scheme of things, let alone one’s role in it. To refer to a scheme at all is a very human thing to do. We want things to make sense, which is evidenced by the order out of disorder we see all around us. Yet, to try and make some semblance of sense of something which you have incomplete knowledge of requires stretching the imagination. And, since what you can imagine is limited by your experience, it seems likely that you will come to quite different conclusions than others will when considering the abstract.

You are the experiencer, the perceiver. To say you are one of many experiencers is to say that you perceive the collective presence of others in the world and accept that they exist as you do. However, what you accept as truth based on your perceptions doesn’t change the fact that the only perceptions you are truly aware of are your own. Even if you believe that the world and the living beings you perceive all around you do truly exist, you must accept that you are the prime experiencer. Of this, there can be no doubt.

Knowledge is limited by experience. If you were to have been shut off from the rest of the world from birth, kept in solitary confinement without any information available to you about what there was outside your isolated existence, what would you be? What would you think about your existence? To what degree would you consider its meaning? Constrained by the limits of our own perceptive abilities, we must necessarily conclude that existential meaning is completely subjective.

You were thrown into the world, and at some point in time, you became self-aware and soon after realized you were a hostile participant in a game you hadn’t chosen to play. After a long, slow transformation, you went from wanting to change the rules of the game to suit your desires to wanting to become better at playing by the rules as they stood. Or, did you?...

A Highwayman Astray

At the divergence there had been a sign indicating the abandoned road, yet I took it. A famous passage had streamed through my mind then, Abandon hope all ye who enter here, and I had thought it a warning of sorts, but perished the thought quickly. That was some hours ago, before sunset. The nearly full moon now hangs low over the horizon illuminating the way. What way?

A breeze had picked up a short while ago and the constant rustling of leaves, both in the trees and on the ground, for it is that time of year, have a sedative effect; not even the occasional hooting of an owl seems to rouse my senses. Longing for some sign of civilization, I start imagining rounding each bend in the road and finding myself looking down on some well-lit town in a valley below. I play out scenes in my mind, stopping in at the main tavern for a pint, having lively conversations with one or more of the other patrons, and eventually falling into a comfortable bed at a boarding house. Nearly lost to that simple fiction, the rider atop a horse some distance ahead and blocking the way is seen but not registered immediately.

I take several more strides before stopping in my tracks. My breath catches in my throat and I think to quickly conceal myself using the cover of a nearby tree, but by the time my feet are willing to respond, the horse has begun to slowly bring its master down the road toward me. Feeling no hope of escape, I remain there in the middle of the road, perplexed by the highwayman’s presence.

“You’ll deliver what you have about ye, or I’ll take yer life along with it.”

The pack slung over my shoulder I lower to the ground. The contents of my pockets I place atop it.

“That’s good.”

“If I may be so bold, I’d like to ask a question,” I say.

“Bold indeed. What is it?”

“Is there a town ahead? I’ve no provisions for spending a night in the woods.”

The rider dismounts, eyes me warily, and collects the belongings I’ve surrendered. He answers while securing them in his saddle bags. “Ye’d be better off going back. You’ll only lose more if you don’t quit this road.”

“What more do I have to lose?”

“I don’t know ye, but I’m guessin’ ye don’t really want to know the answer to that question.”

He mounts his horse again and leaves at a gallop in the direction from which I came. Suddenly I’m aware of the stillness all around me. The breeze has stopped and the trees are motionless. What few clouds there were in the sky a short while before have all disappeared.

An owl breaks the silence, and I continue my journey for what seemingly little it is worth.

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