I’ve become comfortable in not knowing, rather than confident in there being nothing to know. Chogyam Trungpa’s philosophy on the lie of fulfillment, “Anything that appears in your life, you regard as something to consume. If you see a beautiful autumn leaf falling, you regard it as your prey,” as well as Schopenhauer’s nausea of a meaningless world and anguish of having freedom in it, both resonated with me. I know I’m going to keep working hard throughout my life, writing, reflecting, pushing, knowing no level of accomplishment or money will feel like we’re told it will. I’d like to live my life in the way of many of these texts, like stoicism’s content embrace of things you cannot control, and necessary action to reduce suffering of what you can control. I’d like to be constantly walking out of caves without the pretension of it.
Marx stated that, “Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.” The context offered that religion eases the proletariat’s pain. It allows them to be content with the social order of the world because they know the powerful sinners (who control religion) will suffer in the afterlife, making their power and material wealth pointless. Sarte managed to reconcile the inability for rational meaning with Marxist and anarchist thought for the organization of society. Power seems almost childish. How do I simultaneously analyze power and wealth as meaningless to satisfaction, and strive for an anarchist revolution hoping to improve people’s satisfaction through power over their own lives? Maybe menial jobs exhaust without offering even the slightest feeling that you’re moving towards a(n illusionary) goal in the way expressive work can. The boredom and frustration that these philosophers describe is better than the alternative down Maslow’s hierarchy.