Arquivo de Notes | Page 278 of 288

Future of Humanity

I have some optimistic perspectives on the future of humanity. Here is one: I imagine a hypothesis in which, in the near future, digital advances would enable John, a cold meat storer, to buy a ticket to embark forever on an instigating virtual reality. (In order for the world to become really better with the advance, the ticket price would have to be affordable; say, costing the equivalent of three years of manual labor.) Then John would no longer be an underpaid worker, with terrible prospects, dissatisfied with life, harassed by the banks and would adopt an interesting nickname, giving up a poor life to enter in another stimulant, full of adventures and challenges, that kept glory and respect for the hardworking player. The new John, depending on his effort, could occupy a prominent position in his new reality. On the other side, here on the real world, science could invent a machine that would maintain the functioning of the brain independently of the body; this would allow John, once a participant in the new reality, to be cut from the neck down, and his vital organs could be destined for transplants. It is rather an optimistic possibility: John would be satisfied and make the happiness of some needy. In addition, his remains – at first useless – could be used in scientific research or other purposes that interested the evolution of mankind. I believe that, in this way, science and digital technology would certainly be operating for general happiness, for the well-being of society and for the progress of humanity in a socially sustainable and conscious way.

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Intelligent Attitude

Perhaps it is an intelligent attitude to inebriate the senses at every opportunity and in all the free time that arises, throwing sand into consciousness and silenting the inner voice that arises singing to the human being the macabre melody of the emptiness. Is facing it a sign of courage? It could be… But certainly denying the abyss (eternally postponing the confrontation with nothingness) allows a socially acceptable and sensible life according to the terms of modernity. The other option is, dancing to the sound of a funeral waltz, sinking into desperate and atrocious melancholy.

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Alfred de Vigny: “La solitude est sainte”

“La solitude est sainte” — said, in the nineteenth century, the French romantic poet Alfred de Vigny. Today, I find it impossible to write a phrase like this; I mean, the stones would be the inevitable reception. In our time, everything is collective: men are hand in hand circling around the beautiful world they share. And if, for a moment, someone feels an impulse to seclusion, a need for loneliness, he should not make a fuss! Otherwise, he will be crushed as an insect, censored by anyone who has the displeasure of seeing his lack of social maturity. The loner is sick, not having in himself the sense of collectivity is to be inferior. Today, only the common good matters, and only to the common good should direct the efforts a sensible, modern and conscious human. Therefore, I consider myself to be a quadruped: I judge any kind of collective intelligence impossible and I have no sense of belonging in me. The human being, for me, only develops intellectually in silence and retreat. So I cannot be read, so I cannot even find a Vigny’s book in Portuguese on Amazon. This century is too spacious to provide accommodation for solitude..

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Emil Cioran, Emeritus Master in Cynicism

I always seek inspiration in Emil Cioran, a Romanian philosopher who settled in France, broke with his own language and began writing in French as few. Some of his books, unfortunately, do not have Portuguese translation, such as the wonderful Aveux et Anathèmes and Solitude et destin — however, there are honorable initiatives in translating it, such as that of Professor José Thomaz Brum, through Editora Rocco. Fierce moralist, endowed with enviable erudition, it is common to see in Cioran a cruel sentence interspersed with some absurd, comical or risible metaphor. This, from the first reading, made me a very strong impression, at first generating a certain misunderstanding. Mockery amid moral matters? And then that I realized the obvious: it is impossible to reflect in depth not having a sense of humor. Our end is dust, our existence is a breath; stupid is take everything so seriously. And since the most serious things are in essence fleeting, everything is liable to laughter and derision. That is, true intelligence manifests itself through good humor. Cioran taught me to laugh at everything: at the others, the world, the death and myself. With him, I learned to provoke by grace, to disdain by charm, to denying only to prove to myself that I do not cling to anything. I discovered, in Cioran, that cynicism is noble as an exalted face of good humor; it is a sign of maturity, not the other way around… So sometimes I imagine myself lying in a bed in front of death. I still have one last wish. I can ask for the salvation of humanity, a dose of morphine, whatever I want. But I am going to die, that is for sure. Then I extend the view and address the figure that accompanies my torment: “Please, please… Only tell me the last joke.”

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