How did we learn, through times, to ignore what is predictable without fail, i.e. our own demise? Or, aided by "blessed ignorance", have we not learnt yet that the inevitable is lurking at us? Could it be that our conscience did figure out how to live with the knowledge of our ultimate fate!? Then what is the trick that keeps us going? Is it "religion"? Is it the suppressive power of our brain? …An unarticulated hope that at the end somehow it all will turn out well?
If light and dark moments indeed have a reason other than whimsical brain chemistry, is it the subconscious awareness of death that sucks the light out of the moment? Could it be that ultimately ignoring death is what provides the fabric of happiness for us?
Taking it to the extreme, does it really matter if we feel that our life has a purpose or, that perceived purpose is a mere illusion? Could this whole life be simply a random ripple in the great nothingness that eventually will be consumed by the immense spiritual emptiness of the Universe?
These nagging questions and desperate uncertainties comprise the Mystery of life. Could it be that the jealously guarded purpose of our very existence is to find the key to this mystery? Scores of religions, philosophers and scientists have embarked on journeys to find the Rosetta Stone to life’s greatest “unknown”, its purpose; some having claimed success. But in reality life has not yielded: we are beginning to know how we got here but have not been able to scratch the surface of “WHY”?
Or is there even any mystery after all, and not just those elusive ripples in the great nothingness?
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I'll comment on this one first and let "The Window" gel in my head for a couple of days. It was very pretty, and you can certainly see the links between the two pieces.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you're enjoying the Tolstoy. He does have a strangely calming presence on the reader, doesn't he? He's so confident in his own writing and his own belief system that it seems impossible to disagree with him. (My favorite Tolstoy fact is that he rewrote the Gospels to make them more "suitable"--basically he just took out all the miracle stuff and made it a parable about a mortal man preaching kindness...but still, the gumption!)
I think Tolstoy's great insight into human life was directly connected with his understanding of literature. It's hard to tell whether he truly believed in some higher power (his definition of a higher calling seems to have more to do with peace and love on Earth than anything up in the sky), but I think he understood that people need to believe in something, some narrative that they can place over events to make sense of their lives. Tolstoy saw that the narrative we construct could be used for good, so in his spiritual writings he was prone to calling for "good works."
It's interesting how many different narratives there are. Religion was perhaps the first, but I'd say people now put their faith in science or economics or game theory or the Democratic Party. My own devotion to literature is just another way of making sense of the world (although it lets me sound smart at parties, so it's rather useful).
But you can't just abandon the search for some higher truth. That would be giving up. It's important to remember that these, and any other human explanations, are most likely fictions. They provide us with happiness and peace of mind, but they don't provide any sort of final answer.
I meant to send Timea with the "antidote" to the Tolstoy, but we forgot. Maybe I'll mail it to you. It's a novella by Chekhov called "My Life." Chekhov's an interesting person to read after Tolstoy, because Chekhov was coming of age when Tolstoy was publishing these great spiritual manifestos. For years he flirted with Tolstoy's philosophy, even going so far as to move out to the country and farm the earth, but he came to reject them as too simplistic. Favorite quote: "I think there's more love for the peasantry in railroads and electricity than there is in farming and bast shoes."
The story "My Life" is basically a fictionalized retelling of how Chekhov came to renounce Tolstoy's spirituality. Timea and I will mail it to you. I'd love to hear what you think about it.
Thanks Callan for your fascinating comment. Don't take it as patronizing but your wisdom is far ahead of your age!:) It is most evident in the passage starting with "But you can't just abandon the search..."
ReplyDeleteI finished the Confessions. Funny, that the thoughts that the first 20 some pages generated in me, and what I documented in this little piece, turned out to be so much in line with the rest of the narrative. You probably recall that the beginning of the Confessions is about rejecting his previous life but the purpose of life, religion and suicidal came later.
I will get the Chekov book; don't worry about it.