Our endless, pointless, futile, and ultimately destructive quest to define ourselves

Yes, that's a long title. But it's something we find ourselves coming back to lately, this relentless human urge to define oneself. Why? Why the need to believe that we are anything more than this conglomeration of atoms stuck together at this particular moment?

We were having a conversation with our wife the other day that turned to an old acquaintance - in fact, a mutual acquaintance who first introduced us. Thus, without this individual's involvement, we would both be leading separate, and perhaps dramatically different, lives. We have been pondering this, as it gets to the root of this whole chimera of identity with which we are all so obsessed.

There is a branch of physics that holds there are a virtually infinite number of universes (the multiverse), with a new one created each time anything could go one of two ways. Thus, the universe in which we find ourselves, rather than representing "reality," might simply be one among a countless number of other realities. Whether or not this is true (and even among those who believe this, there is resignation it could never be proved), it introduces an interesting way of looking at things. In short, perhaps we are free to choose which of these universes we inhabit merely by adjusting our future choices.

On the other hand, perhaps the whole concept of being free to choose is itself an illusion. We came across a fascinating piece the other day by John Derbyshire, in which he recounted a conference on consciousness:

"The disciplines most prominently on display at Tucson were neuroscience and philosophy. These two fields had collided quite sensationally in 1985, when Benjamin Libet published his discovery that the subjective experience of willing an act is preceded by the brain activities required to initiate the act. The measured gap between unconscious initiation and conscious decision-making was less than a second in Libet's experiments, but later researchers have since pushed it back to seven seconds.

Seven seconds! Your brain starts up the neural processes necessary for you to push a button. Seven seconds later you experience the wish to push that button. You then push the button. Where is free will? Where Schopenhauer left it, perhaps. Loosely translated: "We can do what we want, but we can't want what we want."

Well. This is truly bizarre stuff. If this is to be believed, then our "desire" to write this post occurred after some sort of neural event in our brain that created the desire.

Interestingly, while these views seem like polar opposites at first glance, they in fact lead one to the same conclusion with regard to identity--namely, that it is an illusion. In the first case, the concept that there are a countless number of "ourselves" coexisting in parallel universes is a pretty clear refutation that there is any reality to what we consider the self, while the second suggests that even our arguments against the self are mere physical manifestations of underlying neural processes - in other words, we don't actually "decide" to do things, but instead react to firings in our brain. (To clarify, we're not sure what to think about the first, and think the second seems pretty logical. But we don't spend much time dwelling on it...)

So where does this leave us? Living in the moment, laughing at our human foibles, and trying to be compassionate to others. Was all that decided by some chemical event in our brain seven seconds ago? Maybe so. But at least we didn't try to unravel the even more bizarre mystery of non-locality...

You'll Get Nothing And Like It...

It is the great myth of humanity that one can be both pleasure seeking and content. Notice that this is different than saying pleasure will not lead to contentment; this is also true, but we are making a stronger statement. We are saying the act of seeking pleasure is inconsistent with living a content life; not only does pleasure not bring contentment, but the two are, in fact, mutually exclusive.

We admit, it took us some time to appreciate the distinction here. And don't misunderstand us--we still "enjoy" things like good food and wine. But (and this is the critical distinction) we don't expect anything from them.

Let us explain.

One of the most common objections we hear to the absurd is from people who simply refuse to believe their family does not matter. While they have sympathy for the concept in general, the concept that their wife and kids are no more important than dust mites is simply a leap too far. So let's unpack this a bit.

First, it is of course true (as we have argued many times) that the reason we believe family is important is purely biological--as gene replication machines, our primary "objective," as it were, is to protect and promote our own genetic code. It really is that simple. (As an aside, we have an absurd friend who has a great line about why his kids "matter"--"They're just so cute!")

However, we are concerned with something else here--the issue of dependence and its corrosive effect on contentedness. Consider the following situation--you have a fight with your spouse that is not quickly resolved. This results in a terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach that you simply cannot shake. Now we ask...how should one best handle this situation?

Well, let's break it into its components. Why, you must ask, does it bother you that your spouse is upset. One popular answer is that you care about her, and do not want her to be unhappy. Hmm...This sounds awfully good; who can argue with such a selfless, egalitarian concern?

Horseshit! Not only is such a position untenable, but it is doubly corrosive for attempting to fob off our own unhappiness (or non-contentedness, if you will) on another. What does it mean that you "care" for your wife? That you want her to be happy? All right...why? Because her being happy makes you happy.

Think on that for a minute...

All right, here's the nub of the issue. When we rely on external things--be they people, events, or objects--for our happiness, we abandon any pretext of living a content life. This is no less true with family than with anything else--the self-proscribed "family man" may be looked on more favorably by society than a rock collector, but both rely on external forces to complete their quixotic quest for internal peace.

The difference with family is it is easier to hide our true motivations. We want our children to be happy, we tell ourselves (and others) for their own good. No! We want them to be happy because it makes us feel good. If not, then why do we care more for their happiness than another child down the street? What about starving children in Uganda? Our "concern" for our family is nothing more than a socially-acceptable trick that allows us to mask pure biological self-interest (gene replication) with compassion and selflessness.

Consider again the words of Epictetus:

"As on a voyage when the vessel has reached a port, if you go out to get water, it is an amusement by the way to pick up a shell-fish or some bulb, but your thoughts ought to be directed to the ship, and you ought to be constantly watching if the captain should call, and then you must throw away all those things, that you may not be bound and pitched into the ship like sheep: so in life also, if there be given to you instead of a little bulb and a shell a wife and child, there will be nothing to prevent you from taking them. But if the captain should call, run to the ship, and leave all those things without regard to them. But if you are old, do not even go far from the ship, lest when you are called you make default. Seek not that the things which happen should happen as you wish; but wish the things which happen to be as they are, and you will have a tranquil flow of life."

Expect nothing. It's the only way to get what you want.

Throw your stuff away!

It’s amazing how a simple task can suddenly illicit absurd thoughts.

We were cleaning out our home office the other day. We go through probably 50-60 books a year – both for work and pleasure – that span all kinds of topics and disciplines. And so if we don’t go through our bookshelves every once in awhile, we’d be buried by them.

So, as we usually do, we went through them and pulled out books we thought we’d never look at again, or that weren’t all that good to begin with, etc., etc… We put them in a box, which we then donate to the library or sell at the local used book shop. We usually have no problem filling a box with thirty or so books.

We always have a good feeling after we do this. Usually, we also clean out our files, too – we are old school and still maintain actual newspaper clippings and the like – filling up a wastebasket with paper. We feel somehow rejuvenated and clean, like stepping out of a shower. It feels good to get rid of stuff.

And then we had the sudden urge to throw all of our books out… Really, we wondered, what does it matter that we keep any of this stuff?

It doesn’t matter – and it shouldn’t matter, to the absurd man.

We didn’t do it, but we were tempted. There are practical reasons to keep them, we told ourselves (perhaps in lame justification). We make our living here and ours is a working library for the most part, though there are books here whose mere spines gazing back at us, inspire.

But we thought to ourselves if we lost it all, we could and would get on just fine. And so it brings us to an important absurd point – to shun attachments, and not just material things either. It could be ideas or a sense of personal meaning.

“Our attachments are our diseases,” Henry Miller said. And he was right. It is these things that need care and feeding. They require our attention. We wrap our sense of self and surrender our equanimity when we invest in things, physical or otherwise.

This is quite a challenge for most people.

Thoreau warned long ago when he wrote it would be better if men never inherited houses and barns and land. For these things become chains. It is hard to live merrily and without care when you have these things that demand time and money and management.

Or as Tim Krieder humorously puts it, many of us fall victim to “the usual tragedies: careers, marriage, mortgages, children.” Not that the absurd man can’t do or have any of things… it’s just his mental attitude toward them is different. There is a sense of detachment.

We like what Picasso once said, “I want to live like a poor man with lots of money.” This is to say, he wanted to be relatively care-free with his money and he didn’t want to fall for the trap of having lots of things make demands on him that he would otherwise not entertain.

Tom Hodgkinson, the editor of Idler, writes approvingly of this idea: “This unmaterialistic attitude can be achieved on any income. What we need is not to care. How I love people who don’t care, those free souls, the bright of eye...”

And, we add, those absurd men…

But...but...last time I did not receive a piece of cake...

We have not posted in a while, partly because we felt the debate regarding the existence (or lack thereof) of personal meaning had grown a bit stale. Indeed, one of the interesting parts about this blog has been that, while there are seemingly endless topics that relate to the absurd, in many ways the stories are all the same. However, one interesting divide we think worth exploring is the issue of what is "real" versus the best way to live a contented life.

Now, we have argued ad nauseum that the self is an illusion, and the only way to logically believe in such an entity is to also believe in some "other" aspect to the world beyond the physical. This, to us, is not debatable. However, it is also the case that we cannot dismiss the notion of this "other" world out of hand. In fact, given that all experience is filtered through our human senses, we cannot ever know if we are simply brains in a vat (akin to The Matrix), or if "reality" is the work of a single consciousness (ie, solipsism).

So...we are not so interested in "truth," per se. Do we believe the self to be an illusion? Yes. But we cannot (now or ever) prove this to be the case, much as we can never prove God to be non-existent. Absence of evidence, as the saying goes, is not evidence of absence.

Thus, we are left with pursuing the best way to live a contented life. And it is here that we find the recent debate over personal meaning to be most revealing. As the defenders of personal meaning argue, the absence of universal meaning is irrelevant to their conception of individual meaning, in which they find joy and significance in their own lives. Family, comfort, good food and wine...these are some examples of things one can find personally meaningful, even if one accepts the futility of existence.

Well, as Lee Corso might say, "Not so fast, my friend!" We recently read David Foster Wallace's famed "cruise ship essay," and for those who have not read it we cannot recommend it highly enough. The nub of the piece is that the cruise ship industry is selling something tremendously alluring but ultimately undeliverable--the promise to satisfy all our desires. As he puts it:

"For this-the promise to sate the part of me that always and only WANTS-is the central fantasy the [cruise ship] brochure is selling. The thing to notice is that the real fantasy here isn't that this promise will be kept but that such a promise is keepable at all. This is a big one, this lie. (It might well be The Big One, come to think of it.) And of course I want to believe it; I want to believe that maybe this ultimate fantasy vacation will be enough pampering, that this time the luxury and pleasure will be so completely and faultlessly administered that my infantile part will be sated at last. But the infantile part of me is, by its very nature and essence, insatiable. In fact, its whole raison consists of its insatiability. In response to any environment of extraordinary gratification
and pampering, the insatiable-infant part of me will simply adjust its desires upward until it once again levels out at its homeostasis of terrible dissatisfaction."

This--the insatiability of human appetites--is the problem with personal meaning. Personal meaning, by definition, is wanting certain things over others; preferring certain states of affairs; imposing some arbitrary notion of meaning based purely on our animal instincts and prior experiences. It is the root of human unhappiness, and the source of all conflict. To want is to be unhappy; to desire is to try to control things one cannot control; to impose a hierarchical structure on things and experiences is to set oneself on a never-ending treadmill that leads only to despair.

Let us also say, to head off one obvious objection, that we of course feel such things. However, we recognize such feelings for what we believe them to be (manifestations of our physical nature), rather than seeking to imbue them with meaning. We get frustrated, angry, hungry, aroused...but we don't dwell on it. Instead, we move from moment to moment, free of the self-imposed yoke of worry and regret.

None of this is new, of course, and we close with a quote from Epictetus' 2000-year-old Enchiridion, which we also highly recommend:

"Of things some are in our power and others are not. In our power are opinion, desire (movement towards a thing), aversion (turning from a thing); and in a word, whatever are our own acts. Not in our power are the body, property, reputation, offices (magisterial power); and in a word, whatever are not our own acts. And the things in our power are by nature free, not subject to restraint or hindrance. But the things not in our power are weak, slavish, subject to restraint, in the power of others.

Remember then that if you think the things which are by nature slavish to be free, and the things which are in the power of others to be your own, you will be hindered, you will lament, you will be disturbed, you will blame both gods and men. But if you think that only which is your own to be your own, and if you think that what is another's, as it really is, belongs to another, no man will ever compel you, no man will hinder you, you will never blame any man, you will accuse no man, you will do nothing involuntarily, no man will harm you, you will have no enemy, for you will not suffer any harm.

If then you desire (aim at) such great things, remember that you must not (attempt to) lay hold of them with small effort. You must also leave alone some things entirely, and postpone others for the present. But if you wish for these things also (great things), and power (office), and wealth, perhaps you will not gain even these very things (power and wealth) because you aim also at these former things (great things)... But certainly, you will fail in those things through which alone happiness and freedom are secured.

Straightaway then practice saying to every harsh appearance: You are an appearance, and in no manner what you appear to be. Then examine it by the rules which you possess, and by this first and chiefly, whether it relates to the things which are in our power or to things which are not in our power: and if it relates to any thing which is not in our power, be ready to say that it does not concern you"

Death - again...

“No man can be ignorant that he must die, nor be sure that he may not this very day.”

- Cicero: De senectute, c. 78 B.C.

“We pass away out of the world as grasshoppers.”

- II Esdras IV, 24, c. 100

Well, our grandfather died after a four-month long bout with cancer. The experience and conversations we’ve had around this event inspire many absurd thoughts.

For instance, death, we know, is a natural thing. It is a door that we all must walk through. We expect it. We write about it here often. Awareness of the inevitable end is a core part of the absurd. And yet, it is not something one can experience nor is it something we see much of.

Albert Camus wrote eloquently on this point. “What is blue, and how do we think “blue”? The same difficulty occurs with death,” he writes. “I tell myself: I am going to die, but this means nothing since I cannot manage to believe it and can only experience other people’s death.”

We think Camus is on to something. We have been expecting our grandfather’s death, yet when it happened, it felt… strange.

Or our mother put it, “It’s surreal… It’s like one day he is here and then, he isn’t anymore.” The sentiment begs all sorts of absurd questions – such as who was he exactly? What was he? The self, we’ve contended often, is a powerful illusion. In death, the illusion shatters like a crystal vase dropped on a hardwood floor. There is no “self,” only a body. And soon even that will disappear.

Our grandfather in his semi-absurd ways, wanted no funeral or service. He wanted to be cremated and his ashes tossed into the ocean. No headstone. Nothing. This does not sit so well with our mother. But as she says, “He was not a religious man. He believed when you died, you were dead and that’s that. He never understood why families spend so much money and time on things like a casket and a funeral.” This sounded rational to us, we thought.

There are things he left behind, of course; evidence of a life, of choices made – a closet full of clothes, old shoes and personal knickknacks of all kinds. But these are just things. The true ephemeral nature of life is starkly clear.

As Bomstein said over wheat beers and brats at Absurd HQ the other day, people are defined by their connections to other people. Our grandfather now exists as a memory only among those who knew him. Thinking of this reminds us of our own fragile existence.

His death also brings other absurd feelings more to the surface. For example, our mother gave him a watch for his birthday. It needed adjustment. Our grandfather took it to the jeweler where our mother bought the watch. They wanted to charge him something for the service unless he had the receipt. So he goes home and asks our mother for the receipt. She sends it in the mail. In the interim, he falls ill. The watch is never adjusted.

It is but a small example of one of life’s small tasks left undone. In view of his death, the triviality of the task is absolutely clear. It really does not matter now… but did it matter even before? The absurd has us answer definitively that it never mattered.

It makes us think… Think of all the things in a life that would remain undone if you were to disappear tomorrow. The garbage would not go out. The lawn would go without mowing. And that coupon you meant to use would expire.

Death casts all such things in a ridiculous light. This is not a bad light, necessarily. This is one area where people misconstrue the absurd. We are not saying the absurd man never mows the lawn or performs the day-by-day tasks of everyman. The absurd man simply knows in his mind how meaningless it all is – not just the day-to-day tasks and concerns, but the whole enchilada of life.

This doesn’t prevent him from enjoying himself. Quite the contrary, as we’ve said many times before. The absurd man finds comfort in this knowledge that all is temporary and nothing matters. He finds it freeing. It gives his life a sense of lightness and air.

This is the power of the absurd in our view. As Camus put it: “What is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and the life he leads? And what more legitimate harmony can unite a man with life than the dual consciousness of his longing to endure and his awareness of death? At least he learns to count on nothing and to see the present as the only truth given to us…”

Reasons and Persons

"There are some people who believe that our identity must be determinate, though they do not believe that we are separately existing entities, distinct from our brains and bodies, and our experiences. This view I believe to be indefensible. What explains the alleged fact that personal identity is always determinate?...There are other people who believe that, though we are not separately existing entities, personal identity is a further fact. These people believe that personal identity does not just consist in the different kinds of physical and psychological continuity. This is another view that I believe to be indefensible. If we are not separately existing entities, in what could this further fact consist?...We cannot defensibly believe that our identity involves a further fact, unless we are to believe that we are separately existing entities, distinct from our brains and bodies." --Derek Parfit, Reasons and Persons.

We have written several times about Douglas Hofstadter's book "I Am a Strange Loop," which was arguably the book that "pulled it all together" for us. In it, Hofstadter strongly recommended Derek Parfit's book "Reasons and Persons," a near-600 word philosophical tome that has sat, largely unread, on our bedside table for the past few years. We pulled it out the other day after seeing it referenced in a comment on a fascinating NY Times piece on whether this should be the "last generation," sent to us by a reader.

Let us put this as simply as possible. Get the book. Read it.

To be honest, the book starts with a tedious technical discussion of logical ethics that can probably be skipped. (It was this section that dissuaded us from reading further on previous attempts.) But beginning with Part II, which discusses issues of time and identity (e.g., why should one care if something happens in the past or future, or to one's self or another), the work is a masterpiece. It methodically and thoroughly debunks any and all attempts to create a vision of self-hood without reliance on some otherworldly realm, and lays out some very interesting implications for how one "should" act in the face of such facts.

We will not spoil the surprise here, in large part because this is a book that must be read to be truly understood. While some of the conclusions will come as no surprise to readers of this blog, others seem highly counterintuitive at first glance - we have found ourselves re-reading passages several times in the past few days - and the depth of the arguments is something readers should experience directly.

None of us actually exist. There is no "there" there. And yet, in an incredible cosmic accident, we find ourselves possessed of the ability to comprehend and study this truly incredible world we inhabit. A reviewer once described the late David Foster Wallace as someone who had a "tendency to explore the experience of living even as he’s living it" - this, in a nutshell, is the wonder of the absurd.

Mencken on the meaning of life

H.L. Mencken is one of our heroes.

And yes, absurdists can have heroes, if only for inspiration, if only – as the great Hunter Thompson put it – to show that the “tyranny of the rat race is not yet final.” That there are those who have broken through the conforming mold of society, and all its self-importance and made up meanings, to carve out their own large life, well lived, fully aware of the absurdity of that life.

In the course of writing this blog, we’ve assembled our own wall of the absurd, filled with characters absurd or semi-absurd – Henry Miller, Ludwig Bemelmans, Jim Harrison – among others.

H.L. Mencken is one of those. Whether he’s cutting through the inanity of religion or skewering myths about politics, Mencken’s pieces are full of sharp little edges that horrify those who take themselves seriously.

We’ve been reading Mencken on Mencken, a new collection of previously uncollected autobiographical pieces written by the Sage of Baltimore. What inspires us to write today is a piece titled “The Meaning of Life,” in which he gives absurdity some play.

Reading H.L. Mencken today, one is hard-pressed not to think about how public discourse has changed over the years. Mencken’s writings in the first half of the 20th century would not find a publisher in today’s warmed-over mainstream media. Yet in his day, he was a titan, holding down a spot at the Baltimore Sun, editing mainstream magazines and writing books, most of which sold well.

Take his view on religion:

“The act of worship, as practiced by the Christians, seems to me to be debasing rather than ennobling. It involves groveling before a being, who if he really existed, deserves to be denounced rather than respected. I see little evidence in this world of the so-called goodness of God. On the contrary, it seems to me that, on the strength of his daily acts, he must be set down a most stupid, cruel and villainous fellow.”

Imagine seeing that in today’s Washington Post or New York Times!

On why Mencken does what he does – which is mostly write – he says, “I go on working for the same reason that a hen goes on laying eggs… Life demands to be lived.” A simple absurd view unspoiled by a belief that the work is important or meaningful, which is how a writer today likely answers that question. There must be a moral cause, an urge to make the world a better place.

Mencken would have none of that. In reading about his views on life, you’ll find no sentimentality or wishfulness about wanting or having an eternal soul, nor will you find a craving for meaning of any kind.

“I do not believe in immortality,” he writes, “and have no desire for it. The belief in it issues from the puerile egos of inferior men. In its Christian form, it is little more than a device for getting revenge upon those who are having a better time on this earth.”

And then he concludes his rumination on the meaning of life with a perfect absurd statement, truly wise in many respects.

“What the meaning of life may be, I don’t know: I incline to suspect that it has none. All I know about it is that, to me at least, it is very amusing while it lasts. Even its troubles, indeed, can be amusing… When I die I shall be content to vanish into nothingness. No show, however good, could conceivably be good forever.”

Good old Mencken, absurd man!

The Trouble With "Personal Meaning"

"It’s the Kantian sublime, what you’re experiencing. There’s your life, and then you get a glimpse of the vastness of the unknown all around that little itty-bitty island of the known.”--from the short story "The Entire Northern Side Was Covered with Fire," by Rivka Galchen.

"I want to do what I want to do!"--George Bailey, It's a Wonderful Life.

Almost from the moment we started this blog (or so it seems), we have been engaged in a debate about whether one can legitimately draw a distinction between universal meaning (i.e., that there is something beyond the physical, and thus some underlying purpose to human life), and so-called "personal meaning," essentially something that has value only to the individual in question. Those who espouse personal meaning generally claim they simultaneously reject universal meaning, at least so far as one can do so--such a point is, of course, unprovable either way.

As one recent commenter put it: "In the example of the father gathering up his little girl in his arms, the minute mechanical description is the circumstance, the sublime feeling is the significance that transcends the simple act...So when I say meaning I am implying a significance that goes beyond sectioning off a certain class of human (gene-replicating) desire, which would simply be the circumstance."

There are several issues here worth exploring. First, as we have discussed before, the concept of personal meaning is reliant on a non-physical "self," and thus cannot be so easily separated from universal meaning. What is the entity that experiences this meaning? Does it exist independent of its physical processes? If so, then we are talking about something non-physical; if not, then such "meaning" is analogous to (and no more significant than) the shifting of sand on a beach.

Second, we are continually mystified by people who claim the above statement is incompatible with living a content and compassionate life. In fact, we would argue just the opposite--it is belief in the self, in the concept that "I" have independent thoughts, needs, and desires, that leads to all strife and conflict. This may seem counterintuitive at first; indeed, one of the most common objections we get to such a position is: "Well, then, what's to stop you from becoming a mass murderer?" In short, if nothing matters, then surely it is irrelevant whether one hurts others?

But this is to miss the deeper point of irrelevance. In short, the idea that causing harm is somehow justified by the lack of meaning is ridiculous--what is the entity that "enjoys" subjecting others to pain? The fact that one's actions are meaningless is not enough--one must consider why one would prefer to act in such a manner, and the only legitimate answer is belief in a self. Succinctly put: show us a man who accepts the self is an illusion, and we'll show you a man who is truly content.

Finally, as we have noted before, we are not so much seeking "truth" as a lifestyle best suited to what we believe is an utterly pointless existence. And it is here that we find the concept of personal meaning most misleading. Simply put, personal meaning seems a way to have one's cake and also eat it--one can reject the concept of transcendent meaning, while at the same time assigning a sort of "temporary significance" to one's own desires.

Unfortunately, as with most things that sound "too good to be true," this (admittedly seductive) idea contains the seeds of its own demise. For how does one define this personal meaning? As noted, calling it significant only to "me" is a circular argument, as it requires existence of a non-physical self, which forces one to reconsider the universal meaning one has already rejected. It is not, in other words, a consistent belief system, but rather an "out" for those who accept the absurd theoretically, but nevertheless shrink from its true implications.

And yet...it is those very implications that hold the key to the content life! It is only when one embraces the meaningless and arbitrary nature of existence that one is free to live truly free from worry and regret, no longer seeking ephemeral pleasures and suffering inevitable disappointments, but rather living moment to moment, knowing one's actions are no more significant than leaving falling from trees, or dinosaur droppings, or even the bits of matter that scientists tell us come into being every so often in empty space, only to vanish the very next instant...

Deathbed Scenes

We’ve been traveling widely again and will spare you the itinerary, save that we are now on an island that rims the Caribbean Sea. We’ve come to say our goodbyes to our grandfather, who is on his deathbed.

Thoughts, thoughts… absurd thoughts, perch on our shoulders. It is hard to organize how we feel.

Seeing him thus brings home the absurd in a tangible way. We think about all the moments in a life, the things one might change, the worries one might shed, if – if – one truly believed the deathbed scene was a fate unavoidable.

As much as it seems obvious, and as much as people would admit that they will die someday, their actions betray them. If you truly and deeply knew it would end, would you worry as you do? Would you behave as you do today?

It’s easy to think back on a life for moments you thought were greatly important, only to realize how trivial they were years later. A pitch swung on and missed that ended a game seemed a big deal at the time and is now hardly remembered. A pot roast burned. A train missed. A favorite shirt ruined. A watch lost. Upsetting at the time, but clearly trivial now…

It’s harder to think back on a life and realize that all moments were equally unimportant. This is the absurd view – and it does not come naturally.

We use this line of thinking often however, questioning ourselves in the present as if we were thinking back on this moment in the future. If we are upset that the floor is so dirty or the kitchen a mess, we think of the deathbed scene. We doubt we will say then, “Gee, we wish we had washed the floor and cleaned the kitchen on that Sunday afternoon back in oh-ten.”

In fact, we doubt we will remember much of what’s passed. Disappointments, anger, envy – all seem to dissolve in time, like an antacid pill in water. Knowing this is helpful in maintain one’s sense of equanimity in the present.

We find it helpful when we are irritated – or annoyed or worried or whatever – to stop and ask ourselves why, and to really try to pinpoint exactly what burr is under our saddle. Is it something specific hanging over our heads that we must do? Is it something else?

Whatever it is, we identify it. Or if there is more than one item, then we list them in our heads. And with each one we trivialize it – no matter how important it might seem! We tell ourselves it isn’t important and it doesn’t matter. We recall the deathbed scene.

Then, we feel better almost immediately. It works for us. Try it and see. It may work for you, too. It helps us see the world in a more absurd light – and restores that sense of equanimity.

To paraphrase some old Scotch proverb – better to enjoy our living moments, for we are a long time dead!

Lucid Dreaming

Sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laugh, sing for the tear
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away
Dream On...Dream On...Dream On
Dream until the dream comes true

--Dream On, Aerosmith

Have you ever had a lucid dream? We had one once, a long time ago, and the memory lingers. Not the memory of what transpired--like all dreams, this one has dissolved in the fog of the past--but the memory of the intense feelings it evoked. Namely, we woke feeling invigorated, with a burning passion to do that again!

Lucid dreams, of course, are dreams in which you realize you are dreaming, and are thus able to control your actions and (more importantly) everything about your environment. Want to fly? No problem. Sex with Megan Fox? Done. In short, a lucid dream is essentially a movie in which you not only star, write, and direct, but are not subject to the rules of the physical world. In many ways it is akin to the "training module" in The Matrix (or, to be honest, the Matrix itself, at least for those able to recognize it...)

Try as we might (which essentially consisted of reading a few articles about lucid dreaming and experimenting with a couple of methods, such as "watching" ourself fall asleep), we were unable to replicate the experience. However, it occurred to us recently that the only difference between lucid dreaming and what we think of as "reality" is the aforementioned control over our environment (well, that and physical laws). In other words, what is to stop us from treating life as a lucid dream?

We have been experimenting with this for a few weeks and it has been an interesting experience. The concept is similar to the notion of playing a role, but with a key difference--when you treat life as a lucid dream it has the liberating effect of eliminating the illusion that others "exist."

Let us explain. In the cult classic "The Family Man" (all right, perhaps a classic only to us...), there is a scene where Nicolas Cage, freshly installed in his new "role," is asked by his 5-year-old daughter if he is really her father. No, he explains, he works on Wall Street ("with the big buildings"), and this is only a "glimpse" of an alternate life. "Well," the little girl asks, seemingly on the verge of tears, "where's my real dad?" This brings Cage up short--good question! This little girl in an alternate universe wants to know where her daddy is...and he has no idea!

But consider why this is unsettling to Cage. He is assuming the little girl exists in some sense, and that the absence of her"real" father is upsetting her. This, then, makes Cage feel bad, as he is the proximate cause of her distress.

Alternatively, think how the scene might play were Cage having a lucid dream. (First, he wouldn't be changing a diaper...) In a lucid dream there is no point in caring what others think, since they do not exist anyway, but are mere creations of our own mind. We know neither they or we are "real," and thus do not spend time worrying about what they might be thinking. We live purely in the moment, thinking neither of consequences nor past grievances.

(To head off an obvious rejoinder here, let us address the issue that such a viewpoint encourages one to cause harm to others, since it doesn't "matter." While this seems to logically follow, in fact it does not--one who renounces the self has no more desire for violence against others than to put out his own eye. In fact, it is the pernicious notion of the self that instigates and perpetuates such acts; one who has no self sees his physical incarnation as akin to sand on the beach. If there is no self then one is part of everything, and even the concept of violence ceases to make sense. Think about it...)

This brings us to the concept of playing a role, which, valuable as it is, has a flaw we only recently recognized. Put simply, while an actor in a play knows his actions do not "matter," and the people he interacts with are also playing roles, underlying this is the latent belief that he (and others) have some sort of "true nature." The "real" Nicolas Cage, for example, is apparently a chateau-loving fool on the verge of bankruptcy. But why do we differentiate this from other roles he has played? What if The Family Man were a long-running soap opera? For that matter, what about soap operas themselves? Imagine an actor that played a role on a soap opera from the age of 3 through death--who is the "real" person? What about The Truman Show?

Our point, of course, is to expose the fraud of the self for what it is--a diabolical illusion to which we are genetically in thrall, and our obsession with which has led directly and inexorably to the conflict, strife, and extraordinary unhappiness that define the human race.

Camus in China

We’ve had a long absence from the blog. Well, we’ve been traveling in China for work and frankly barely had time to do much of anything. We zipped hither and yon from morning to night, crashing at the hotel in the wee hours of the morn only to arise hours later with a serious baijou-induced hangover and begin again.

(Those Chinese don’t do business without some serious baijou drinking – sort of like the Russians and their vodka. The stuff is worse than drinking tequila straight…)

We did think about the absurd quite a bit. It was hard not to. China is a strange and wonderful place with all kinds of experiences you’ll not likely find at home. It’s like a shot of… well, something… and we had a half of mind to just wander off in the hinterlands and never return.

Except that we don’t speak Mandarin… And that we were stopped by police officers more than once wondering what we were doing – we were in places where they don’t see foreigners much – which means we probably wouldn’t get far before we’d be spending the night in some Chinese jail.

Not that it would matter or that any of this matters, which is the point of this meaningless blog…

Always when we travel our mind sometimes wanders on the various ways in which we might die and never see our front door again. Most people find that depressing, we suppose, but we are fairly comfortable with the idea that one day we’ll die. It’s a matter of how.

Besides, as a passenger on China’s back roads, we saw lots of ways we could die and narrowly avoided a few, we think. We thought for sure that truck was going hit us and how we avoided it we can only chalk up to the improbable skills of our shurfu. (We think that means driver, but we’re not sure and too lazy to look it up.)

We sometimes take notes when we travel, carrying a little black notepad with us to jot down absurd thoughts and other ideas as they occur. We jotted down an interesting conversation we had with a fellow who makes chewing gum and buttons – don’t ask us how the two are related. He was fairly introspective about life in chaotic China… and somewhat absurd.

We met him at a local restaurant in a little town (by China’s standards), the kind of place where you pick what you want for dinner out of water tanks (for the fish and eels and whatever else). Then you sit down, smoke cigarettes, drink horrible alcohol and wait for them to bring your food, which come surprisingly fast. We’ve never had such fresh seafood…

Anyway, our man begins, after lighting what must be his 40th cigarette…

“It seems to me that life is a matter of routine… No matter where you are, you get settled into a routine. You do the same @#$# over and over again and you don’t think about it. I’ve always hated that.

“I left my village at an early age in search of adventure. I started my own business. But even still, I get stuck in the same routines… The same @#$#@$ every day… and I realize that you can’t escape it.

“Maybe somewhere someone has figured out a way to keep from falling into routines and falling into prisons of fixed ideas… I don’t know. Sometimes I think happiness is simply a matter of accepting whatever comes your way and not giving a @$#@ about it one way or the other.”

Well, we heard this little monologue and thought it a good time to offer up the absurd. He seemed mostly there. So we began to tell him our story, about how we stumbled around wondering what life was all about, and how we came to find absurdity in bits and pieces and how Camus put all those pieces together for us…

Since life has no meaning or purpose, we went on, we are really free – it’s as if life is a game that you can’t win or lose, that you only endure and accept… Then we stopped. Our host had a quizzical look on his face. Perhaps we had given him too much at once and his head was going to explode or, more likely, perhaps we rambled nonsensically.

”This Camus,” he said, taking another drag from his cigarette and then putting it at his temple in deep thought, “is he Chinese? I think I know this man…”

Terry Francona - Absurd Man?!?

"He's day-to-day. Just like the rest of us."--Terry Francona, Boston Red Sox Manager, on injured catcher Victor Martinez.

The absurd in a single cartoon

Trapped in the "I"

We came across an interesting piece in the Washington Post the other day, in which the author (Kathleen Parker) described the efforts of NPR religion reporter Barbara Hagerty to find "proof of God." According to Parker:

"In her book, "Fingerprints of God," Hagerty tries to answer a question that has plagued her for years: Is there more than this? She couldn't accept mainstream science's answer that we are 'a collection of molecules with no greater purpose than to eke out a few decades.' Instead, she sought out spiritual virtuosos (people who practice prayer, religiously), as well as neurologists, geneticists, physicists and medical researchers who are using the newest tools of science to discern the circumstantial evidence of God.

Her research led to some startling conclusions that have caused no small amount of Sturm und Drang among those who believe theirs is the one true way. She found that whether one is a Sikh, a Catholic nun, a Buddhist monk or a Sufi Muslim, the brain reacts to focused prayer and meditation much in the same way. The same parts light up and the same parts go dark during deep meditation.

Apparently, we have a 'God spot' and 'God genes.' And though some are more generously endowed than others, spiritual experience is a human phenomenon, not a religious one. Different routes to the same destination.

Understandably, these are not glad tidings to some. Centuries of blood have been shed for the sake of religious certitude. But transcending the notion that only some prayers are the right ones might get us closer to the enlightenment we purportedly seek."

So far, so good. Indeed, this section could easily pass for content on this very blog, so closely does it hew to the notion that religion is simply an illusion created by humans to divert their gaze from the meaninglessness (and capriciousness) of reality.

However, the next sentence literally left us agog: "Hagerty is optimistic that science eventually will demonstrate that we are more than mere matter."

Honestly, we sat staring at the page, mouth hanging open, for more than a few seconds. Here was someone who devoted a significant portion of her life to searching for an answer to this question (including taking a leave of absence from her job to research and write a book about it!); yet, when all the evidence (not 75%, or 80%, or even 99.99%) pointed to one inescapable conclusion, she...dismissed it. Good. Freakin'. Lord.

Let's be clear. This is not some discussion of opinion, this was a woman who embarked on a planned and scientific expedition, theoretically in search of the "truth." But when all the evidence points to one (and only one) conclusion, she...decided to ignore it. As she put it: "I have concluded that science cannot prove God--but science is entirely consistent with God." Ah.

To be fair, we have not read the book (and have no plans to do so). However, it seems fairly clear that Hagerty (who was raised a Christian Scientist and now considers herself merely a Christian) was not, in fact, looking for truth, but rather to advance her own point of view. No harm there, of course, but we do find it fairly consistent with regard to people's reaction to the absurd.

The question is, why? The answer, as we see it, is that to deny the existence of God (ie, something beyond the physical) is to also deny the existence of the self. If there is no afterlife, no greater power, no "other," then the concept of the self simply fades away into ridiculousness.

This is actually a pretty simple concept to understand. In fact, we had an interesting window into it a few years back when our dog died. We "adopted" her when she was six weeks old, so she essentially lived with us for her entire life, and she was a wonderful dog--sweet and playful, if not particularly obedient...So where, we wondered, did this personality go when she died?

See, this is the thing. The illusion of the self is so powerful, so all-encompassing, so vital to people's ability to function, that most people simply cannot conceive of life without it. Thus, we invent ever more elaborate schemes to justify our belief in something for which there exists not one shred of empirical evidence. This, of course, is what religion has always been about--believing something for no good reason (i.e., "having faith") to make ourselves feel better.

This is why Hagerty's "project," to be frank, bothers us (yes, smart-ass, we realize we don't exist either...) - she was basically attempting to put a scientific sheen on religion, and when that failed (when she could not, in other words, come up with a single thing to which she could point and say "See!"), she simply redefined the terms of the game. Oldest trick in the book, actually (God works in mysterious ways...), but others should not fall for this transparent (and, ultimately, kind of sad) sleight of hand.

Lawnmower Man

It was a blustery Saturday morning when we heard the whir of our neighbor’s lawnmower. It served as our own reminder that it was time for us to bring out that cherry red 5.5 HP machine and walk it all over our little green patch of earth.

It would seem a Sisyphean task. Mow. It grows back. Repeat endlessly until we are dead or can no longer push a mower.

It was Simon de Beauvoir who once wrote, “Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean become soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day.” Mowing the lawn seems to fit…

And yet…

We have learned to enjoy this chore. Not because we think it important to keep our grass looking respectable. And not because we want to stay in the good graces of our neighbors.

Instead, we have found some joy and enlightenment in the simple act of mowing the lawn. It is like that old Chinese saying, "Before enlightenment chop wood carry water, after enlightenment, chop wood carry water."

In even mundane tasks there are things to enjoy. In mowing the lawn, there is the simple pleasure of being outside, of walking. There is the time you have to think. There is the vibration of the mower in your hands. The pretty rows you make as you cross the lawn. The smell of fresh-cut grass.

Part of living in the moment means appreciation of every moment, even when you are doing something as mundane as a chore. We were thinking of this as we mowed over the weekend. And it occurred to us we have read something along these lines before.

It was D.H. Lawrence, we recall, who once laid out the pleasures of washing dishes. We looked it up. Here is what he wrote:

“The actual doing of things is in itself a joy. If I wash the dishes, I learn the quick, light touch of china and earthenware, the feel of it, the weight and roll and poise of it, the peculiar hotness, the quickness or slowness of its surface. I am at the middle of an infinite complexity of motions and adjustments and quick, apprehensive contacts. Nimble faculties hover and play along my nerves, the primal consciousness is alert in me…”

He was quick not to make too much of washing the dishes, not to become too self-conscious or imbue the act with a purpose beyond the obvious. As he adds later, “If I wash the dishes, I wash them to get them clean. Nothing else.”

We think it is interesting, too, how language corrupts thought. We think of mowing the lawn or washing the dishes as work. But why should we? If life is absurd, as we think it is – and there is no meaning or point to our existence – then we come to realize that the difference between work and play is in our heads.

Simply put, our point here is to say that we have found it freeing when we dim all things to their proper place of insignificance. We have found many of life’s burdens lift when we aim to appreciate every moment. We don’t say it is easy, but we say there is wisdom in the thought.

So, contra Beauvoir’s sentiment on Sisyphus, we are with Camus. It was the genius of Camus who turned Beauvoir’s common sentiment around. (And which serves as the inspiration behind this blog.) To Camus, recognizing the absurdity of life was its own joy. Of Sisyphus, Camus wrote:

“Sisyphus…concludes all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

Let's celebrate!

“It is better to lose health like a spendthrift than to waste it like a miser. It is better to live and be done with it, than to die daily in the sickroom. By all means begin your folio; even if the doctor does not give you a year, even if he hesitates about a month, make one brave push and see what can be accomplished in a week.”
- Robert Louis Stevenson, Aes Triplex

Our grandfather is an inspiration for a life well-lived. The world’s troubles seem to slip off him as a wet eel through greasy fingers. Of all our family members, he is the one we look up to as wise on matters of life. He always seems happy. Born and raised in New York City, he now lives on a sunny island in the Caribbean Sea.

He has a favorite saying. When we go to visit him, we often find he will say “Let’s celebrate!” and use that as the pre-text for whatever fun that follows, even if only a cold mug of beer. No occasion is too small to throw a little party.

When were little, we would spend weeks down here with him and my grandmother, playing on the beach or fishing or wandering around the old city. Those are fond memories.

We learned last week that our grandfather is now terminally ill with cancer. No one knows how long he has. We wondered what this news would do to our grandfather’s care-free spirit. Alas, we’ll have to wait a bit longer.

Here is the twist: He doesn’t know he is terminally ill. His wife, my grandmother, wishes to keep that from him. The doctors there abide by her wishes. The family, so far, though divided on the idea, also abides by our grandmother’s wishes. She thinks he will be depressed if he knew the truth. Right now, he thinks he is only sick and will get better.

Our guess is he will find out soon enough by his own reasoning. He is no dummy. And the stream of people coming to visit him and say their goodbyes is going to raise questions in his mind soon enough.

We suspect he will deal with it as he has dealt with death all his life. He knows death. He knows the scythe-bearer has an appointment with all of us. It never seemed to worry him. He enjoys every moment of the present with everything he can suck out of it.

His favorite writer was Robert Louis Stevenson – an enthusiasm he passed on to us as a young lad and to which we keep to this day. We remember turning the pages of our grandfather’s old Stevenson books when we were boys. Treasure Island, the Black Arrow, Kidnapped! These have magical sounds to us even now, evoking adventures and daring.

Stevenson, was also a man who knew some things about a life well-lived. In thumbing through some essays of his recently, we caught this passage, which expresses a sentiment our grandfather seemed to share:

“A good meal and a bottle of wine is an answer to most standard works upon the question [of life and death]. When a man's heart warms to his viands, he forgets a great deal of sophistry, and soars into a rosy zone of contemplation. Death may be knocking at the door, like the Commander's statue; we have something else in hand, thank God, and let him knock... For us also the trap is laid. But we are so fond of life that we have no leisure to entertain the terror of death.”

Another favorite saying of our grandfather’s is, “Don’t worry about it!” We remember as kids, if we scraped our knee, he would say “Don’t worry about it! You have another one!” That was typical of his outlook. Whatever seemed like an ill wind carried also the sweet scents.

We’re not sure our grandfather is an absurd man. But if the absurd man is a blithe pilgrim on a road that is made by walking, then he is that. If there was a fly in the amber of his philosophy, we never saw it.

Our grandfather yielded easily to the soft influences of contentment. He was happy with what was. He accepted all differences with the easy humors of good fellowship. He never chided us for our decisions in life. He never sought to make us out to be anything. Never pushed us or criticized us. He was just there, the happy rock.

We live in the time that a match flickers, Stevenson observed. So let’s celebrate the time we have. Here’s to our grandfather: May we carry on as well as he!

Why Not Just Have Fun?

We recently had an interesting conversation with a colleague (who we would label mostly absurd), who posed the following question: "Why we don't all just have more fun? Why do we all work so hard?"

Obviously we have similar sympathies, but to us the important assumption is that somehow some other activity would be "more" fun. This is something we have discussed in the past--the concept that certain activities being preferable to others is nothing more than a human construct based entirely on genetics and prior experience. (Put simply, we like sex because the genes from ancestors who enjoyed sex are considerably more prevalent than genes from those who didn't.)

But of course, some things are more fun. Aren't they?

As we mentioned in our last post, we have been eating a vegan diet recently, not because it is healthy, but rather because it occurred to us that to do so would be an interesting way to shed part of our identity (our status as a big eater of meat). And it has been an interesting experience. In fact, we find ourselves at least as happy eating this way, and perhaps (for the moment) even more so.

Being "happy," or finding something "fun," is something of a misnomer, as it takes something subjective and tries to make it objective. It is actually quite fascinating how we all do this without realizing it. Consider the vegan example. We, and virtually all of our friends, eat meat. We think vegans are, to be honest, a bit odd. And yet, billions of people (some of whom, we must assume, fit the definition of "happy") eat this way today.

Just about everyone we know has had a similar reaction to our experiment. "Wow - I could never do that." "No meat? Why would you want to do that?" And so on. And to us, that is the appeal of the project. Not the reactions, of course, but our own similar feelings when we first considered it. We knew it was so far outside our comfort zone as to seem ridiculous to those who know us...and that's exactly the point! We assumed that "we" could not be happy eating a vegan diet, but never stopped to consider the absurdity (pun partially intended) of this position. Is there something that makes our dietary preferences "better" than people who don't eat meat? Are "we" different in some way that makes our happiness contingent on eating meat?

The more we get wrapped up in the illusion of the "I," the more we get set in whatever ways we have, the more difficult it is to believe none of it matters. How can I ever die? Look at the reputation I have! As Steve Martin once said, "I'm somebody now!"

To being this full circle...fun is a subjective term, but we have deluded ourselves into believing it is objective. We somehow think our wants and desires are objectively preferable to those of others...even when we are confronted with hard evidence that others are just as happy doing different things.

The bottom line is we agree with our colleague, but differ on implementation (as it were). We do not need things or experiences to provide us with "fun." We are content to simply be here now.

Anthony Bourdain: Absurd Man

“I think when you don’t give a sh** is when you win.”

- Anthony Bourdain, No Reservations

No Reservations is our favorite TV show. Anthony Bourdain - former chef and now author, world traveler and TV host - visits places far and wide to explore the world’s cuisines in their native settings.

The particular snippet above comes from an episode in Harbin, China, a frosty, wintry wonderland in the northern part of the country, settled around the Songhua River. Near the end of the show, Bourdain is sitting around a table with his Chinese hosts. One of them in particular is a happy go-lucky sort of guy. Throughout the show he is singing and generally making a ham of himself. He wears a cowboy hat and flight jacket with an American flag stitched on the shoulder. He loves America. He is also the proprietor of several restaurants and a successful guy by any of the usual measures.

So, Bourdain asks him what his secret is… The question is translated. The man answers in Chinese. The answer is translated back. “He has many assistants that help him manage his business.” There is an awkward pause as all realize something was lost in the translation.

Bourdain tries again. “No, I mean like a mental attitude or something that he finds invaluable in life…”

Ah, now the man gives his answer. “Live like a child.” Live everyday like you are a child. Have fun. Forget your inhibitions. Live as long as possible and die a child. That’s the message, from memory, mind you – as I don’t have a transcript of the show in front of me. We thought that was a great response.

At this point, Bourdain delivers his line, which I quote up top. We thought about it for some time after the show and hence decided to write it up here. It’s a fairly absurd sentiment.

Bourdain is an absurd man of sorts. In one episode, the mechanics of a cock fight are explained to him. In this case, the people eat the loser. Bourdain comments, “It’d be much more philosophically interesting if they ate the winner.” That would be a commentary on the futility of man’s efforts, he says. We all have our appointments with the grim ferryman.

We first found Bourdain back in 2000, when he wrote a bestseller Kitchen Confidential, his sort-of-memoir on his 25 years in the restaurant business. (Well worth the read. It’s funny. It’s immensely entertaining. And you will never eat at a buffet again, nor order fish on Mondays, nor… well; read the book and you’ll see).

We recall another scene in the book, where he is going through culinary school and there this one chef that everybody is terrified of. He is “a monstrous, despotic, iron-fisted Frenchman who ruled his kitchen like President for Life, Idi Amin…” People dreaded his class as he was famous to dressing down his students with a harsh verbal tirade that brought many to tears.

Bourdain is able to stand it better than anyone simply because he doesn’t give a flip.

“I did the convict thing. The louder and more confrontational the authority figure got, the more dreamy and relaxed I became…” The old man, in the throes of his tirade, knows he’s not getting to Bourdain at all. “I think the old bastard might have even smiled a bit, halfway through. There seemed to be a twinkle of amusement in his eye as he finally dismissed me with disgust… the fast bastard didn’t scare me. And he knew it. He could have smacked me upside the head with a skillet and I would have smiled at him through broken teeth.”

It seems a good way to be. Total detachment in the face of life’s trials and barbs. Really, who gives a flip? None of it matters anyway, so it seems ridiculous to let anything get under your skin.

For instance, we were in the car with Bomstein, who was driving. Bomstein tried to get over to make a left turn. A jerky guy refused to let us in and Bomstein may or may not have – we weren’t paying very close attention – cut him off somewhat. The guy drives by us and gives us the finger.

We both laughed out loud. That, it seems, is some kind of snapshot of the absurd. First, the mere gesture itself, and the intent behind it, is inherently ridiculous. Second, reacting to it in anger is even more ridiculous. Laughter is like a great tonic of absurdity. Hard to be angry when you have this perspective.

It’s like Bourdain says, you really do win at the game of life when you stop caring so much about the outcome and just live free regardless… If fate strikes you across the face, smile back at it with a grin of broken teeth.

Shedding our identity

"You don't have to be who you think you are."--Jeff Bridges

"Our diseases are our attachments."--Henry Miller

We have always liked to eat meat. Not a little, or every once in a while, but everywhere and all the time. We used to go to all-you-can-eat buffets and fill our plate with bacon, and once went an entire week eating nothing but bacon cheeseburgers. Our local sandwich shop actually has a sandwich named after us because we are the only one who orders it, and it is the biggest and most calorie-laden thing they sell.

Thus, when we saw an interview with Whole Foods CEO John Mackey in which he explained his new diet of eating only plant-based foods (basically veganism, in which you eat no animal products, including eggs, milk, etc.), our initial reaction was revulsion, perhaps mixed with a bit of pity. After all, who would choose to live that way? Why deny yourself the pleasure of eating meat?

Hmm...

Obviously this presented us with a bit of a conundrum (yet again!). If nothing matters, then how can eating different foods...matter? Further, if John Mackey can be happy eating this way (and he claims to be), why can't we? (Not to mention the billions of people, now and in the past, who have eaten mostly plants.) The answer, obviously, is that being a "meat lover" has become part of "who" we are. It is part of our identity--something we cling to--an attachment that grounds us as an individual.

In other words, it is bullshit.

And so, we have undertaken what we have termed a "small-scale identity-shedding project." We began a couple of months ago, when we went for a week without eating meat. It seemed difficult, and we endured more than enjoyed it. Now, however, we have committed ourselves to a vegan diet for some indeterminate period.

To be clear, this is not about health, or some moral statement about eating meat, it is about truly embracing the ethos put forth in this blog--that nothing matters, and circumstances are irrelevant. Thus, we are emphatically not claiming a vegan diet is "better" than one composed entirely of meat (for example), only that we should be indifferent between the two. (And moreover, that our belief that we really like meat--that this "defines" us in some way--is exactly the sort of illusion so antithetical to true contentment.)

The line between preference and "meaning" is a thin one, and we are always at risk of slipping from one to the other. If we "care" about eating meat (and we cannot deny that we do), then it matters to us, and we are one step further away from being content.

(There is another side to this as well. Given that there seems to be a general human preference for meat--meat consumption rises along with income--we also look at this as a "Stoic-like" denial of pleasure that will cause us to appreciate eating meat all the more in the future.)

It is so, so, so hard to keep one's focus on the meaninglessness of life. We constantly need to fight against our human tendencies to label this, that, and the other thing as meaningful, and our ephemeral selves as real.

This is water. This is water. This is water.

No attachments!

There is a large annual book fair near where we live. We were wandering through this book fair the other day with our chum, Rick Bomstein. Dozens of tables were set out piled with books. A little placard posted above the table told you something of the subject matter on each table. “Mystery.” “History.” “Travel.” “Absurd.”

We are kidding about that last one…

While poking around we found Henry Miller’s Colossus of Maroussi, one of our favorite Miller books about his travels to Greece before the Second World War. It is a lyrical book, a peaceful book, a meditative book full of epiphanies. It also has its absurd moments.

Anyway, this used edition was all of a dollar. We offered this to Bomstein who put it in is his increasingly heavy bag of books.

Later, we went home and pulled out our own copy of this book, which we have read more than once, but not again in several years. We had certain passages marked as our favorites. Here is one particularly absurd passage, which we share on this bright and cool Saturday morning:

“Our diseases are our attachments, be they habits, ideologies, ideals, principles, possessions, phobias, gods, cults, religions, what you please. Good wages can be a disease just as much as bad wages. Leisure can be just as great a disease as work. Whatever we cling to, even if it be hope or faith, can be the disease which carries us off. Surrender is absolute: if you cling to even the tiniest crumb, you nourish the germ which will devour you…”

Wonderfully put… The absurd man revels in his lack of attachments. Yes, he enjoys his creature comforts, his favorite food and beer and whatever else. But he is also secure in his knowledge that he could do without just as well. He attaches no meaning and importance to any of it. He is free in the most powerful sense of that word...