More on the application of one's energies

If one devotes his life to a cause, must he choose between: a) living body and soul in a way that allows him to move toward his goal with every action he undertakes (if this is even possible), or b) divide his energies and live his life with an awareness of his tendency to repeatedly distract himself from his goal, and thus live with the guilt that he inflicts upon himself as a result of the faltering nature of his attention and work-ethic, or c) recognizing that even those actions that are seemingly ineffective - with regard to the attainment of his goal - may actually cause him to work more effectively when he is working directly toward his goal, because such "distractions" improve his mind, by supplying it with a diversity of stimulus on which to fixate, and refresh his attention-span by way of providing his mind with breaks that may keep the information and thoughts required in the process of working towards his specific end from becoming dull and from being abandoned altogether.

If the latter is the case (that is, if distraction is actually beneficial), then should distraction be sought out in extremes, or in ways that are purely mental, or in small quantities? Would huge distractions lead to huge amounts of mental rejuvenation, or must a balance be sought? Should distraction only be sought in the mind, and should every kinetic or tactual activity pertain only to the desired end? Or do activities and undertakings that extend beyond the mind, and subsequently to the body and one's actions, provide the mind with more inadvertent inspiration than thoughts alone? Can any of this be known, or must it be guessed at? And is trial-and-error even an option here, or will it create a pattern that may or may not allow for the greatest amount of productivity and may or may not be able to be altered or broken? As with most things, it seems that balance is probably best, although I must admit that I constantly wonder whether I should eliminate friendships that do not directly inspire me or aid in my work, even if the notion of doing so seems brutal and unkind.

Furthermore, if one's goals may (potentially) do any good for large numbers of people, or have any kind of positive effect on the world that might be more beneficial than friendship itself in some way, then doesn't one owe it to the world to pursue these goals instead of fleeting friendships, just because of the chance that they may be able to, in achieving or pursuing their goals, maximize their potential for positive influence on the world? Is the risk worth it? What if one fails in one's goals and also isolates his or her self? Then he or she has had no influence on others in a positive way at all.

Perhaps some people don't have much of a choice, and can only be pleasant company beyond a certain casual degree if they are simultaneously pursuing larger goals with potentially larger influence on mankind, because their disposition is such that they are unhappy or grumpy when not pursuing such things.

On an (almost) unrelated note, does prejudice stifle or feed the human will to produce or create? In a Darwinian sense, it seems that those who are persecuted are likely to want to reproduce in abundance (sometimes regardless of whether they can realistically support their children). Does the same happen with regard to ideas or creative/mental/philosophical endeavors, or does biology overshadow such "luxuries" as art and thought? Also, if injustice does encourage mental and creative progress, which in turn encourages cultural and political progress, then perhaps it is a positive thing in some way. I'm not saying that huge injustices or prejudices should be condoned or even tolerated, but this is still interesting to consider.

On the pursuit of knowledge, possible worlds, and ideal worlds

Might the attainment of knowledge be potentially precluded by the search itself? It seems possible to me that knowledge - true knowledge - can only be arrived at by way of accident (although accident of the kind that has probability on its side and will most likely occur, unless it is actively sought out). It seems likely, too, that this knowledge, which is stumbled upon by the non-seeker, can only be stumbled upon as such if information uncovered by those who do seek is made available to them. Then another question surfaces: Must this knowledge be presented in a disguised form? I ask this because it is a known fact that the degree to which human pride keeps the common individual from being receptive to knowledge attained from others is quite extensive.

If this is the case, then a) knowledge, as an end-product, must be comprised of parts, and that b) these parts must be supplied by those who actively seek knowledge (perhaps aware of the futility of this search) and presented perhaps in a disguised form, and that these parts must be stumbled upon by someone who is inactive in the search for knowledge and subsequently, only by accident, and only by those who do not seek it out, can knowledge be obtained.

Another question that might be raised as an aside: If the seeker does not seek knowledge, per se, but rather scattered information, can he come to attain knowledge? My answer would be no, for if the seeker takes the time to think, "Why, I will not attain knowledge by looking for it, so I will look for it in pieces," then he is still consciously searching for knowledge and only succeeds in redirecting this process and, in doing so, masking his ultimate end. The seeker cannot work backwards: If he has begun his searching with a desire for knowledge, then he has already affirmed the fact that every action taken thereafter, however disguised, is in some way an effort meant to actualize this goal. These pieces, from which the mentally lazy may accidentally benefit, can only be produced as excrement forged in the process of seeking knowledge: Not knowledge as may be found in small pieces, but the grandiose, ever-discussed Knowledge, with a capital K.

The seeker, then, is able to continue this process of seeking only by telling himself one of two things (and if he does not, he will have a hard time justifying to himself the seemingly-pointless way in which he passes his time, and will, in finding that he cannot shut off his mind and halt its progress - however slow or misdirected this progress may be - wish himself peace in the form of mental quietude, or death, but will likely choose neither): a) that he will defy the odds presented by case-studies of brooders from the past, and be the first to come to some kind of end-point in this quest for knowledge, not through managing to stop his thoughts, but rather through the process of cognising itself, or b) that it is noble and altruistic to seek out knowledge and produce information that may subsequently be useful to those who do not yearn for the attainment of what it may give them (that is, some kind of epiphany), and that it is either his contribution to society and culture, or his obligation, or his destiny. It is almost impossible for a thinker in the truest sense (that is, the thinker who makes not only habit but also past-time or career out of such mental searching) to be ambivalent regarding the fate of his world, for it is only natural for one who spends so much time thinking about the intricacies of his surroundings to become inextricably attached, emotionally and mentally, to said surroundings. Furthermore, the thinker, through the process of considering all possible worlds, cannot help but imagine the best-possible-world of all of these, and he will make it his task to figure out how to make this world exist. Furthermore, he will be unable to imagine that this best-possible-world might only benefit himself (i.e., a tropical paradise in which food is plentiful and work is unnecessary, but only for him) because his thought-processes will inform him that the potential for the absence of guilt is, in itself, enough reason for him to wish such a paradise on all of his peers and cohorts, inferior or superior (or obliterating such concepts altogether) and thus he will idealize a world that is best for all, even if such a world might be possible only in lowering its perfection for him as an individual (for it seems there must be some limits on happiness for one if happiness must be had for all, just due to personal differences that exist between people and the need for compromise that such differences presents).

The philosopher may be further pained in realizing that the best possible world is not one that provides maximum happiness to everybody, and that the concept of love alone (and the subjectivity of its nature) is enough to keep the highest degrees of happiness from ever coming to exist, and furthermore he may be pained in coming to realize that the only recipe for an ideal worlds seem to be either: a) A world in which everyone has an equal level of happiness and responsibility, in which this level of happiness is as high as it can possibly be without infringing upon the happiness levels of others, or b) a world in which everyone reaches their peaks of happiness at different times, in perfect increments, so that the same number of individuals are happy all the time, and happy to the highest degree, and then later becoming less joyous so as to allow others to be their happiest for some time, in a cyclical manner. It is human nature to need some kind of occasional dominance or superiority to be happy, especially if they see others with power or superiority. Since we are already aware of such a concept as superiority, we as individuals will crave it, and we will not be content never experiencing it, and thus the second possibility for an ideal world (that supplies maximum happiness to individuals in various increments) most likely and realistic and applicable.

If we could all wake up in our respective time-zones one day and have no concept of inferiority or superiority, then we would never crave to experience the latter, but since the presence of human memory keeps this from being possible, we are left with no possible utopia except one that allows for rotating shifts of inferiority/superiority or dominance/submission, or we must create a world in which people truly feel that their lives are more meaningful if they are the underdog in either of these realms.

If I were to not write these things (or take part in some equivalent: a discussion, or a stint of painting, or the writing of a song, or the writing of something else), then I would, to some degree, hate myself and hate everything around me. The constant processing of things is all that allows me to be slightly at peace with things, not because things are necessarily worthy of dislike, but because they are constantly crying out for analysis and interpretation and transformation. It is the responsibility of every individual to do his part in reflecting back the world to itself, for his own sake and for the sake of all things.

giant machine and persecuted conscience

My own realizations shock me sometimes. The topic that my thoughts always come back to is the topic of solitude, not in a general sense but with respect to its importance as a catalyst for creative endeavors. I know that there exists some kind of a balance between interaction with others and solitude, and I know that both are equally essential in their own right for the creative individual, but something about the former leaves me nauseous at times, and longing for time alone, and this longing for time alone is a thinly-veiled longing for creative output and intellectual input. Interactions with others leave me hungry for something, and this something makes itself known in a fierce way that keeps me up at night stressing over nothing in particular, but everything at once.

Does being a creative individual (and i mean this in a broad sense that encapsulates all mediums and art forms and that counts intellectual pursuits as creative pursuits, for the soul of the artist and the soul of the intellectual are, in my opinion, necessarily inseparable) require a degree of self-loathing in order for the creator to be productive? If I find myself in a place where I feel too much comfort, I begin to despise myself, for in this comfort I am not driven to write, and I am not driven to learn, or compete, or to make music, or to move forward in the career world with the kind of passion that I want to possess. I crave this kind of unsettledness, and I crave this sense of urgency. I crave this sense of "something is not right" and "something needs to be done". for this is the drive that causes me to create, and to write' and this is the drive that gives birth to passion in the soul. I feel more lost when I do not feel this drive, for when I feel content, I forget where I am on the path of my life, and where I am becomes more of a point surrounded by nothingness than a specific point on a line, or a ray, that links my past to my future. I cannot exist as a point, no matter how euphoric the nature of that point is. Rather, I need to exist as a ray, constantly looking toward the future and, somehow, constantly fearful of the future (although not in a way that overwhelms me and renders me stagnant). I need to exist as a ray pointing toward the future, fearful of the future in a way that makes me constantly aware of the importance of doing those things about which I am passionate. I cannot exist in a way that allows me to forget about my reasons for educating myself and writing and making music. I need to constantly, or at least sporadically, feel ill at ease and uncomfortable, for in this uncomfortableness I am reminded of the need to push on, and continuously work on things, and continuously search within my own mind for truth, and continuously create. I need to constantly or sporadically hate where I stand with regard to myself and my peers, so that I constantly feel inclined to work harder. I must keep doing this in order to feel happy, even whilst knowing that I will never reach a point at which I will feel proud of my work, or satisfied with my work; at least not for long. It is strange that the artistic and intellectual drive is such: Even while fully aware that that which is created will never be satisfactory for the individual who creates it, the individual himself cannot help but continue to try to make something that satisfies his own judgment. Logically he is aware that this is impossible, yet he fools himself into thinking that he could be wrong, and subsequently presses on again and again, always dissatisfied, and always eager to try to make something better, or to do more, or to work harder, not because he thinks he can ever be content (for he does not want to be content: as an artist, contentedness is the equivalent of death), but because he hates himself when he is not working, and because he loathes his past creations, and only in working does he feel he is moving beyond this level of productivity and quality that he so despises. In seeing end products of new projects, he does not find contentedness or peace of mind. Only in the act of working itself does he find any sort of solace or quietude of his inner-voice.

The artist and the intellectual know this, and if they are one and the same they know this all too well. This individual, an embodiment of the mind and the soul and the heart, and the desire of all three to break free from something that they know they are forever trapped inside (perhaps this thing is he body itself), is fully aware of the futility of all of his efforts, not in the minds of others but in his own mind, for he will never create something that will render him content enough to cease his efforts. He is aware of this, yet he continues, for he knows that not attempting is worse than seeing a series of failed attempts forever until his death, and he cannot bear not to attempt to defy the limitations of his own body and mind any more than he can bear not to sleep or eat. In fact, sleeping and eating sometimes come secondary to the artistic drive.

The artist/intellectual has within his soul an infinite well of creative energy, despite his body's finite supply of physical energy, and the two are constantly at odds. The individual hates these limitations. Just as art in general is perhaps an attempt to defy one's own mortality, the daily acts of creation and thought and analysis are each respective attempts at defying the body's own needs for rest and sleep and quietude. In this day and age, these acts become not only attempts to defy the body, but attempts to defy the structure of society, and the conventions of how one is supposed to live.

The artist reflects upon the large machine that is the economy, the political world, the media, the world of pop culture, and collective conscious, the world of science, and the world of religion, and the world of technology (and so on in this fashion) in such a way that is unpleasant in the eyes of that which it depicts. It shows a side of things that are perhaps otherwise hidden, and it often shows a negative side of things. This is as necessary for the advancement of the sciences and culture as institutions themselves, but despite the necessity of such a process, it is hated by those who see themselves reflected as a result of the process. The artist and the intellectual fight each day for survival, emotionally and physically, and constantly run the risk of being exterminated. The artist and the intellectual must fight many fights: the fight to stay alive and afford to eat (a fight imposed by the difficulty of finding work and simultaneously making art), the fight against the monotony of the job required in order to do so, the fight against the inner-critic and his hatred of the self, and his hatred of the self's work, and his hatred of the self's lack of productivity (often due to previously mentioned job and the need for such in order to survive), the fight against the rest of society's persecution. Much of society hates the artist and hates the intellectual, for he represents something uncomfortable (which makes sense, for his very existence is the result of discomfort and the tendency to create this discomfort for himself on purpose), and also because the artist and the intellectual expose to the rest of the world truths about their own nature that they themselves where unable to see for themselves. This is the ultimate slap in the fact, for it shows those who are content to be stagnant and comfortable that they should not necessarily be so content to be as they are.