I’ve been contemplating, lately, how one might think about the idea of absolute truth. Apparently the philosopher Rene Descartes had a couple of pretty firm ideas about it: he was sure about his own existence and also that of God. I guess, over the ages, religions have latched onto the notion, believing firmly in certain supernatural entities as well as applying the idea to morality. Unfortunately the irrefutable absolute beliefs of one group doesn’t usually translate to the absolute beliefs of those in the next church. The disharmony that arises from the differences isn’t simply friendly rivalry.

There are, of course, secular moral absolutes, too, having to do with murder and theft and other anti-social behaviors seen to undermine the greater social well-being. The trouble with absolutes, moral or otherwise, is that one can usually come up with plausible exceptions: taking a life to protect another, stealing food to feed the hungry and so forth. And then there’s God’s elusive nature throwing into question that particular absolute truth.

I guess such discrepancies are what encourage some hasty thinkers’ leap directly into the embrace of relative truth and morality. This, even though, given some thought, moral relativity will be found to be a poor position to support a thriving, well-functioning society (no matter what some crony capitalists might want us to believe).

So, maybe what makes the most sense is moral diversity and truth seeking rather than truth grasping. If we recognize that different people at different times are experiencing unique and varied situations that have led to ethical frameworks quite different than our own perhaps we need to cut them some slack. If their moral ground is embraced by the populace and provides a safe nurturing environment who are we to complain?

Absolute Truth

A couple of recent upheavals in my otherwise serene existence have me thinking about the wisdom of the ancient Stoics and the idea of balancing my placid life with a daily dose of worst-case scenario.  According to the philosopher Epictetus such a position will ensure than while one may be sick, yet will be happy, in peril yet happy.

One might complain, I suppose, that waiting for the roof to fall in isn’t exactly an optimal philosophical perspective, but I have to hand it to those old Stoics as well as Cynics and Epicureans, that their ideas might have been less than perfect but their concern for living life meaningfully and well was above reproach.

Which is more than can be said for certain later philosophical thinkers; apparently, there were individuals, more than a few, I guess, who, in order to catch the attention of their peers, wrote in a most obscure manner employing a convoluted prose filled with misleading, faulty logic and leading to pseudo-profundities having little to nothing to do with living life.

This information has been quite an eye-opener for me, considering the difficulty I’ve had over the years trying to make sense of certain philosophical readings. Not being a scholar, myself, I’m not absolutely sure whether my difficulties are a result of misdirection or simply a lack of subtlety of understanding; nuances, I think, are often lost on me.

Nevertheless, I’m going to revisit the ancients. I’m pretty confident that what they sought, that is the nature of our human existence, carries the kind of meaning important to me.

According to the Romanian philosopher Emil Cioran a person would be better off not to have been born. He determined suffering is the rule in life and there is absolutely nothing anyone can do about it. All actions, he says, are or will be cause for regret.

The notion of well-being for Emil is an illusion that many people will harbor off and on during their lives but will in the end be unable to sustain. Apparently Emil thinks it would be better to be, now, where he was before he was born-which is where he must be since he died in 1995.

I guess Emil spent most of his life under a dark cloud; his mother told him at one time, had she known he was going to be so unhappy she would have aborted him. The notion of the accidental nature of his existence seems to have been somewhat of a lift, leading him to the idea that, potentially, suicide is always a possibility.

Emil’s lack of empathy for his fellow man led him to embrace the totalitarian politics of World War II Europe; no doubt he has to be seen as the quintessential misanthrope. Still, he had good friends, companionship and wrote quite beautifully in a lyrical style. He was an artist, really.

It makes me wonder if there wasn’t a certain Stoic resignation in Emil’s behavior; perhaps writing all those negatives provided the opportunity to not have to think about them so much.