Let us exercise the imagination: a man, after much meditation on suicide, after careful consideration of all the torment he suffers, concludes that it is absolutely unjustifiable. He goes to a friend, with the faint hope that there is something he is not seeing, that his conclusions are based on an unknown error. The friend takes his time and begins to talk to him about the singing of the birds. Is it possible for the unfortunate man not to think it an insult? Let us now suppose a monk returning on foot from a long silent retreat. A lady comes up to him in the street and says she is afraid that it will rain and wet her clothes hanging on the clothesline. There is, again, a contrast so sharp that it seems to offer laughter as the only response. Well then: from this very banal contrast, is born a flower with black petals called misanthropy.
Tag: philosophy
Regrets and Maturity
Maturity could be defined as the attitude of one who has suffered enough regrets to lose the childish hope characteristic of the immature, were it not for the implicit notion that successive regrets eventually bear fruit in maturity. The contrast is striking: there are natures that, like wine, are refined with time; others… how badly time does them harm! As the years go by, the ridicule of falling into childishness progressively increases; and there are those who never get over it, except by falling from the highest cliffs, and with each fall, strengthening their convictions! These are sad cases, worthy of sincere compassion, above all because life is not accustomed to show compassion to those who do not assimilate its lessons.
The Common Man Places the Meaning of His Own Existence…
The common man places the meaning of his own existence mostly in relationships. Relationships are extremely fragile, and it is predictable that, for this reason, the common man falls into a very strong existential crisis. The religious man, however, the true religious man, who has nothing of common, finds something firmer to lean on. Whatever may be said, there is nothing like religion to give meaning to the human spirit, and this alone justifies the honorable role it plays in society.
The “Delirious Morbidity of a Fakir”
It is amusing to think that I was probably the first to use “delirious morbidity of a fakir”—that is what I wrote!—referring to Nagarjuna’s greatest work. Nagarjuna, a saint, always rated with superlatives and very precious adjectives. What can I do? Blame my indomitable mind? I try hard to imagine a reality far, far away, the silence of meditation for years, but still I cannot admit the contradiction of much of the argumentation in the work. I want to convince myself that I have not risen high enough, that Nagarjuna reasons from heights unreachable to my spirit. I want to think that the lapse in time, the discrepant reality, and the translation have made the work incomprehensible to me. But I remember some of the syllogisms, and… well, let the future come, and I sincerely hope to be taken by a new impression.