hopelesshappiness.com

An out-of-context excerpt from "The Sport of Kings" - a Novel written by C. E. Morgan:

"Whacked steadily from behind by the drovers' staves, each wave of squealing hogs pushes the hogs ahead of them to the slaughter, scrambling and pressing up the stinking ramp made slippery with green shit. Now the first hogs smell base blood over excrement, but are forced ahead into the shadows of that first and last chamber. A bloody-aproned man moves in menace at their far reaches; then one animal is gripped at the pastern above the cloven hoof and dragged, screaming, its left leg clasped in metal, now hauled up by a pulley with a shattering cry, its own weight ripping ball joint from socket so it hangs distorted at the thick hip, screeching its final confession, eyes bulging wide as its neck is sliced and blood jets from its jaw and runs into its eyes. Unable to pass through the slit trachea, the air whistles uselessly. The pig jerks madly and is soon drained pale, eyes bald of life. Now the next one and on and on. All hanging in a line, swaying side to side along the pulley as their bodies are opened, showing waved lines of ribs and vertebrae like the keys of a warped piano, the heads sawn off. Now to the disassembly: a drop onto the table, then quick mechanical thudding, the fall of cleavers, the flinging of component parts---hock, shoulder, loin. In sixty seconds, the hog is gone and meat is made, the dumb passage of life."

A parable on "The Fragmentation of Responsibility" from the British philosopher Jonathan Glover; (paraphrased and retold below):

Once there were 100 bandits who lived in the hills. And in the valley below these hills, there was a village inhabited by 100 villagers. Each Tuesday these 100 villagers sat down to a communal meal of 100 bowls each containing 100 beans. One Tuesday the 100 bandits converged upon the village and each bandit took a bowl of beans from a villager, leaving the entire village to go hungry until Wednesday. The 100 bandits were pleased and repeated the appropriation the following Tuesday. After a few weeks, one bandit spoke up and admitted to feelings of remorse for causing a villager to go hungry every Tuesday. A few other bandits, (though not a majority), also admitted to pangs of guilt. So, after much discussion, being a thoughtful, forward-thinking assemblage of bandits, they continued to raid the village each Tuesday but instead of each bandit absconding with an entire bowl of 100 beans, each bandit took only 1 bean from each of the 100 bowls set in front of each of the 100 villagers. In this manner, no single bandit stole the entirety of any single individual's sustenance or dignity, thus allaying all feelings of guilt and remorse. And the villagers lived hungrily ever after.

On Friday, April 28, I walked away from my comrades in thought and foreswore the life of banditry, for that day.

On Saturday, April 29, I glanced at my former associates and decided to prolong my dissociation, for another day.

Each day since, I have reassessed, and each day I have maintained gastronomic distance from all once-living beast or fowl; though I have continued to partake of fish and seafood. After making this decision, repeatedly, I discovered that there is a word for me: I am a "pescatarian." It feels like a philosophical statement moreso than a decision based on health or bandwagon considerations, which I believe to be the two primary motivations for one to change their diet. I consider "gluten-free" as more likely to be an example of the bandwagon, and the elimination of red meat as more likely to be an example of a health consideration. Additionally, many claiming ethical considerations are jumping on the bandwagon. Regardless, I also believe that within any dietary decision, including and perhaps especially a vegan, vegetarian, or semi-vegetarian/flexitarian diet, there is some measure of thoughtful personal philosophy.

But to be truthful, I have so far been unable to solidify this gelatinous flow of philosophy with words. And if I am unable to wrap words around a concept, it remains an uncongealed abstraction and I remain  unconvinced; which is why I am repeatedly making this decision on a daily basis. I must find the words.

Reexamining the quote and the parable above, I acknowledge the cruelty of meat, and I recognize the irrationality of the argument that one individual will not make a difference. So, is the statement I am making largely within the context of cruelty and fatuity? And because one could argue that this same (means-to-an-end) cruelty and this same (if-I-only-had-a-brain) speciousness apply to many, many different inanities inflicted upon current and future generations, is it this larger scope of narcissistic, unthinking, self-destructive obedience that I am lashing out at in an attempt to bring attention to the reality that the village is slowly dying from hunger?  Perhaps it is. And perhaps it is also the proliferation and spread of multiple groups of humanitarian bandits (in which each bandit is taking "only" one bean on Tuesday, and eight grains of rice on Thursday, and four kernels of corn on Saturday, and two leaves of lettuce on Sunday), that helps to explain why I am making the daily decision to refuse long-suffering-sentient meat. Perhaps it actually is a larger statement applicable beyond a philosophy of food.

As an individual, I find it is not difficult to turn my head and ignore the suffering of the caged hog; or the homeless man; or the oppressed and hungry villagers. As an individual, I find it is not difficult to justify inaction based on the futility of my individual action; or based on the certainty that I have earned my place; or based on the belief that I am simply more deserving and "they" therefore are simply less deserving. As an individual, I find it is not difficult to think only of myself.

I can rail against consumerism and bureaucracy and tyranny and all form of injustice; and I do. And I can espouse compassion and skepticism and affinity and all form of justice; and I do. But I find that I am limited as to animated (vs. verbal) statements. By choosing, each day, to reduce the overall daily consumption of human cruelty and stupidity, I am acting my philosophy. And perhaps, in this process, I am also mitigating my own personal daily, unthinking, very human contributions to those very insipidities, (in all manner of reach), I so vehemently denounce; contributions such as my weekly dip into consumerism via a lunch and a shopping excursion; or my political participation in social and/or workplace hierarchies; or my daily buy-in-slash-sell-out to the established Western order of all things so ordered. Yet, total voluntary exclusion will leave me on the outside looking in; whereas my food choices allow me to remain on the inside looking out, affording greater potential for maintaining awareness and trading influence, but nonetheless, also, providing convenient justification for my own personal, daily, unthinking, very human contributions to those very insipidities I so vehemently denounce.

Perhaps, with continued effort, I may one day find a fleeting moment of equilibrium.

Perhaps with continued action driven by thoughtful effort, I may one day find a fleeting moment of equilibrium.

Perhaps with continued awareness demanding reasoned action driven by thoughtful effort, I may one day find a fleeting moment of equilibrium.

Perhaps with continued influence encouraged by insightful awareness demanding reasoned action driven by thoughtful effort, I may one day find a shared moment of equilibrium.

Perhaps if I continue my pescatarian ways, I may one day find the essence of my momentary self.

Intractable: not easily controlled or directed; not docile or manageable; stubborn; obstinate; hard to shape or work with; hard to treat, relieve, or cure.

Some moments consist of layers layered upon layers layered upon layers layered upon layers; fragmenting and reforming and commingling; a melding of melodious dissonance creating a confusion of jumbled and inefficient thoughts and deeds.

Tractable: easily managed or controlled; yielding; easily worked, shaped, or otherwise handled.

Some moments consist of the moment; and while not completely tractable, certainly more peaceful.

This week I have been struggling mightily with the intractable dilemma of Life and mortality. By definition Life is inclusive of mortality, but to consciously consider them together, one alongside the other, has the potential to add multiple layers of unruly complexity. How do I free myself from this fusion of discordant compatibility?

I must let go of something.

If I let go of Life, I become an adherent, or disciple, and/or distracted, or (at the very least) a follower.

If I let go of mortality, I become idealistic, or abstracted, and/or distracted, or (at the very least) impractical.

Yet, this week, this combination has me at odds with myself.

... ... ... ... ...

Perhaps I should let go of the finality.

This week, in these last few hours, I have once again started looking forward. And by doing so, I realize I haven't done so for some period of time. By looking forward, I believe I can live Life and let go of finality, without losing sight of mortality. By looking forward, I believe I can live Life without becoming idealistic, abstracted, distracted, or impractical. By looking forward, I can conceive of an abiding integrity. And if for some reason, the finality of my mortality comes to fruition before I have stopped looking forward... I believe that will be preferable to having stopped looking forward.

If the finality of my mortality had come to fruition during this recent period of "not" looking forward, it could be said that the finality of my mortality had come to fruition several months previous to the finality of my mortality.

I must not get bogged down in a final, intractable synthesis of antagonistic collaboration.

Today, in this moment, I must look, (and then move), forward; and by doing so, the momentum may carry part of me beyond the finality of my mortality.

A. Passionate, stubborn, selfish lack of critical analysis.

Or

B. Arrogant, presumptuous, quixotic surplus of tangled bureaucracy.

This is the choice we are consistently given. And after decades of choosing, despite the seemingly infinite and ever-growing mass of available knowledge...

...We have become a passionate, quixotic, arrogant, stubborn, selfish, presumptuous, tangled bureaucracy unable to think beyond gaming and blaming.

...We have become a circus train wreck with rampaging elephants stomping performing poodles, and clowns brandishing severed arms to allegedly keep the peace, and one-armed jugglers spurting blood and looking for a new line of work, and the fire eater unable to take another bite, and the acrobats turned human cannonballs, and the knife thrower and sword swallower considering and then reconsidering rescuing the strongman and bearded lady thrown under the train, and broken and bent cogs and sprockets and wheels scattered haphazardly about, and the tightrope walkers broadcasting disputatious accounts of the carnage, and the trapeze artists taking advantage of the chaos and confusion to sow discontent, and the lion tamer left to explain to the authorities because the ringmaster is busy tweeting about the tightrope walkers and trapeze artists failure to maintain balance, and a large majority of the public giddily unaware, and another significant portion of the public unable to comprehend---on so many different levels.

...We have become a contradiction, routinely and often unknowingly swapping roles as straight man and dimwitted comic, as good cop and bad cop, as sadist and masochist, as beggar and miser, as master and slave, as know-it-all and dissident, as mastermind and stooge, as us and them.

...We have become a shadow box of nooks and crannies and niches; small places to hide and feel secure; protection from all except that which is directly in front, on the surface; superficial and immediate; no exploration; no depth of reasoning; limited investigation and slapdash interpretation; believing that others are outside looking in and seeing the whole picture, when in actuality we are all peeking around corners; and if inclined to explore we are often strongarmed back into our place; and from our place, inside our small and comfortable cubbyhole, we define self, and purpose, and Living.

...We have become expectatious, which, because it is technically not a word, appropriately represents our constant anticipatory state of entitlement which, because it is technically not a sense, should not be even a fleeting frame of mind, yet here we are believing the world owes me something simply because I draw breath; and because we are so busy worrying over getting our individual due, we are unable to make the effort to notice and take action to assist those with greater need which would be far more helpful and productive not just to those individuals here and now with greater need, but ultimately to the survival of Humanity because those with the greatest need are those future generations who are not here to help themselves or even to have input, and yet here we are believing we are not messing things up for great-great-grandchildren.

...We have become a freak snowstorm; turning our previous potential for warmth and compassion and beauty into a blinding blizzard of detached solitude; transforming a possibility of universal interdependence and synergy into a cold and lonely struggle for independent survival; forcing us into isolated and entrenched encampments designed to protect us from outside elements; disfiguring our landscape and adjusting our perspective to match the barren desolation; creating whiteout conditions in which we no longer know up from down; in which we no longer know the passing of time.

...We have become conflict and confrontation because our yardstick is power and money instead of acuity and aptitude, and though our yardstick has always included power, power has also typically been reflective of (at least a degree of) acuity and aptitude, but today, despite the seemingly infinite and ever-growing mass of available knowledge, the incestual relationship between power and money has excluded acuity and aptitude, claiming power and money as the true measure of acuity and aptitude despite the hideously malformed and monstrously incompetent offspring power and money, (or power and power, or money and money), have sprung upon us.

...We have become oblivious.

...We have become undone.

...We have become, unbecoming.

I cannot keep up with indisputable reality, so I search for surrogate realities that fit my personal ratiocination.

The bureaucracy of government cannot keep up with indisputable reality, so the bureaucrat encourages the voter to search for personal yet compatible coherence that will not disrupt the flow of administration created by the system that governs the bureaucrat's reality.

The bureaucrat's reality is very narrow.

The system can keep up with indisputable reality because the system dictates indisputable reality.

The system insists the bureaucrat regulate and maintain, and the system encourages the voter to play at alternative realities.

The system feels no pain, yet fights for survival.

In the system, you are a voter.

In the system, the voter votes with every decision and with every action; no matter how imaginatively consequential or seemingly inconsequential.

The system is as close to a pure Democracy as we will ever see.

The system is intelligence without consciousness.

It has been suggested that perhaps Neanderthal was not less intelligent than Sapiens, but instead, died out because their intelligence was misdirected.

Perhaps I am not less intelligent than the system; perhaps my intelligence is misdirected; perhaps I am merely evolving; perhaps as Neanderthal became one with Sapiens, I will soon be one with the system.

For years now I have been saying that (upper-case) Happiness is our neverending search for Truth and Wisdom.

So, if in our search we one day discover that Happiness is intelligence without consciousness, and if we faithfully and without equivocation commit to intelligence without consciousness, we will have destroyed Humanity.

But that is okay; because in finding Truth and Wisdom, we will be Happy.

Or will we?

Perhaps not; because if we have concluded our search, and if Happiness is found in the search as opposed to in the grail, we will no longer be Happy; and we will have destroyed Humanity.

Perhaps to save Happiness, we must rescue individual consciousness.

To rescue individual consciousness, the voter must disrupt administration.

To begin to disrupt administration, the voter must make atypical choices.

To disrupt administration is to alter the system.

Today the voter makes choices that are superficial; and selfish; and subservient to the system.

To continue on our current trajectory, and to allow the system to continue to make our choices, may bring Wisdom to us, and may bring us to Truth, and may even (for a time) bring comfort; but ultimately, the Truth of "intelligence without consciousness" will swallow us whole. We will have destroyed Humanity.

By disrupting administration with choices reflecting a depth of consideration for all of (past, present, and future) Humanity, we may break free from the selfish superficiality of commercialism and consumerism, wresting control from the wealthy, powerful few, and freeing individual consciousness to once again pay attention.

To be heedful instead of needful.

The system won't care.

The system will adapt.

There are a few wealthy, powerful individuals who will care; but they (and/or their descendants) will also adapt.

Individual consciousness will always be faulty. That is the joy and the essence of Humanity.

I want to believe that a faulty yet heedful consciousness is preferable to the seemingly inevitable worsening of our current state of systematized, needful frivolity.

I want to believe that the seemingly inevitable is not inevitable. But to change direction will require (in some cases) the awakening of the individual consciousness, and (in other cases) the resuscitation of comatose consciousness; all so that we may individually pay attention.

I want to believe that we are still capable of individually paying attention.

For whatever reason, I feel an exceptionally strong sense of urgency surrounding the rescue of the individual consciousness.

Perhaps I feel this urgency because no matter how desperately I want to believe, today I am grievously disheartened by the obvious breadth and the suspected depth of the coma.

Perhaps I feel this urgency because the only way to prevent my personal mortality is through the combined efforts of active individual consciousness. If I am only able to live on, through you, and if we eventually lose the "flawed you" of individual consciousness, then we will have destroyed Humanity.

We yearn for resolution, and we spurn disruption. Yet to survive, I must spurn plausible interpretations that lead to contrived resolution, and I must actively embrace thoughtful disruption.

I must be heedful instead of needful.

And though the system will fight for survival, the system will feel no pain.

And ultimately the system won't care.

Because the system will adapt.

I am a liar. Like two hooligans unknowingly caught in the act on camera, my left brain tells a different story than what my right brain experienced. And when confronted with the cinematic evidence, my left brain works very hard to put a positive spin on their actions. I am a liar.

I am stupid. Like two bureaucrats justifying ever-increasing expenditures, my left brain tells my right brain that the sacrifices are for the greater good and my right brain believes; passionately. And when the pain of sacrifice becomes too much to bear, my left brain works very hard to create a new story accounting for their actions. I am stupid.

I am confused. Like two schizophrenics convincing one another of their sanity, my left brain shapes the disorder, anxiety, excitability, and disorientation experienced moment-to-moment by my right brain into a fiction worthy of a Pulitzer. And when categorized as fiction, my left brain works very hard to convince the committee that their actions are not fiction. I am confused.

I am useless. Like two mid-level managers grumbling about the latest software upgrade, my left brain reassures my right brain that organic creativity will always be more valuable than mere algorithms. And when their meager bonuses reflect the uptick in sales, my left brain works very hard to persuade upper-level management that it was due to their actions and not a result of the new ordering system. I am useless.

I am predictable. Like a counselor and an addict, my left brain works very hard (reasoning with my right brain) as an advocate of the greater rewards found in delayed gratification. And when the system consistently knows my right brain better than my left brain knows my right brain, my left brain works very hard (reasoning with my right brain) as an advocate for the greater rewards found in delayed gratification. I am predictable.

I am truthful. Like two disagreeable old curmudgeons arguing over anything and everything, my left brain tells my right brain that even though together they grasp reality, his perspective is slightly more important than hers. And when experience shows otherwise, my left brain works very hard to maintain. I am a liar...