The Long Defeat (or, The Meaning of Life: Forever Hidden)
This is something I really dread to write of...but here goes.
What's the freakin' point?
If, as it states in Ecclesiastes, that "all is vanity and striving after wind," then why do anything? If, as Tolkien's Galadriel said, "we have fought the long defeat," then why keep fighting? If love, passion, and beauty all fade; if songs, plays, and poems all loose their appeal; if the routine of life becomes an endless weariness; if the vigour of youth is replaced by the infimity of antiquity; if joy turns to suffering; if brotherhood inevitably gives way to war; if our memories dissappear into the gray mists of time; if all that lives must surely die; then why?
Why do we exist? Why do we go on? Why do we love? Why do we still have hope?
Could I possibly ask a series of questions more impossible to answer? Maybe.
Why do we exist? I've heard lots of explanations and theories. From the theory that suggests we are a big cosmic mistake, or the result of a series of highly unlikely coincidences; to the theory that we are God's children put here by Him. I like the second one better. I don't feel as lonely that way.
Why do we go on (in the face of all that negative crap I listed above)? This one's a little more difficult for me, because going on is, objectively speaking, hopeless. We are, without a shadow of a doubt, worm fodder. Daisy food. Coal in highly immature state of development. To be honest, I think we go on for no better reason than: it's habit (or, if you like, the survival instinct). We live through all the crap to get to the end because we have nothing better to do, or we haven't yet realized how hopeless this life truly is (Galadriel's curse of immortality: knowing that all your years of effort will STILL end in defeat).
Why do we love? This one's fairly easy. Because we can. It makes us feel good. It procreates the species. But what about other, more sublime forms of love? Platonic love, brotherly love, neighborly love? These are a little more difficult. Resultants mostly, I believe, of someone having too much time on their hands and coming up with a philosophy that says this kind of behavior is something we should strive for. Not that I disagree with those views, au contriare, but in the most objective sense, I still must consider the simpler or more cynical view more likely.
Why do we still have hope? We are either stupid or deluded. Or maybe...just maybe...there is something worth living for. Unfortunately for me, I have not, in all my travels, internal or exernal, found it.
Guess I'll just have to keep looking.
Namárië!
What's the freakin' point?
If, as it states in Ecclesiastes, that "all is vanity and striving after wind," then why do anything? If, as Tolkien's Galadriel said, "we have fought the long defeat," then why keep fighting? If love, passion, and beauty all fade; if songs, plays, and poems all loose their appeal; if the routine of life becomes an endless weariness; if the vigour of youth is replaced by the infimity of antiquity; if joy turns to suffering; if brotherhood inevitably gives way to war; if our memories dissappear into the gray mists of time; if all that lives must surely die; then why?
Why do we exist? Why do we go on? Why do we love? Why do we still have hope?
Could I possibly ask a series of questions more impossible to answer? Maybe.
Why do we exist? I've heard lots of explanations and theories. From the theory that suggests we are a big cosmic mistake, or the result of a series of highly unlikely coincidences; to the theory that we are God's children put here by Him. I like the second one better. I don't feel as lonely that way.
Why do we go on (in the face of all that negative crap I listed above)? This one's a little more difficult for me, because going on is, objectively speaking, hopeless. We are, without a shadow of a doubt, worm fodder. Daisy food. Coal in highly immature state of development. To be honest, I think we go on for no better reason than: it's habit (or, if you like, the survival instinct). We live through all the crap to get to the end because we have nothing better to do, or we haven't yet realized how hopeless this life truly is (Galadriel's curse of immortality: knowing that all your years of effort will STILL end in defeat).
Why do we love? This one's fairly easy. Because we can. It makes us feel good. It procreates the species. But what about other, more sublime forms of love? Platonic love, brotherly love, neighborly love? These are a little more difficult. Resultants mostly, I believe, of someone having too much time on their hands and coming up with a philosophy that says this kind of behavior is something we should strive for. Not that I disagree with those views, au contriare, but in the most objective sense, I still must consider the simpler or more cynical view more likely.
Why do we still have hope? We are either stupid or deluded. Or maybe...just maybe...there is something worth living for. Unfortunately for me, I have not, in all my travels, internal or exernal, found it.
Guess I'll just have to keep looking.
Namárië!
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