Earnestness is almost invariably associated with belief, and
I can’t find anything to believe in. In fact, I think I’d go further and say
that I no longer believe in belief. It strikes me as a redundant notion,
pandering as it usually does to some unnecessary psychological need. I have
opinions, I theorise, and I give credence to the possibility – or even the
likelihood – that certain things are. But that isn’t the same thing as belief.
You either know something or you don’t, and I don’t claim to know very much
these days.
I’ve spent quite some time over the past week or so
constructing rationales for two propositions. (My dear friend Ms Wong likes propositions.)
1. That all material existence is a constant flow of
non-being and therefore illusory.
2. That the only thing which truly exists is consciousness,
and that the ultimate purpose of consciousness is to experience the abstract.
I don’t believe in either of them, but I give them both a
substantial amount of credence. They make sense to me, but I can’t know that
they’re right. If you know something, you don’t need to believe in it. If you
don’t know something, why feel the need to believe?
All of which has an interesting side effect: I don’t even
believe in myself.
And so it is that I see people with closed eyes and vacuous
smiles turning their heads to the heavens, convinced that they’ve found the
truth and belief has set them free. It must be nice, but I don’t envy them and
I can’t join them.
No comments:
Post a Comment