The previous post was supposed to discuss clarity but turned in its own terrifying direction. No more. I shall impose my will on this page! (booming voice)

During a very dark period early in the summer, I wrestled with an existential crisis that threw me into every knowledge reserve I had. The darkness was not quite Plato’s cave, but did bring me back to a very Greek inquiry; “What is the Good life, and how does one live it?” This is part of the reason my posts on Crusoe turned into playful ramblings on the “Good/good.” These old questions joined with two intellectual interests, the ethical turn and Marxism, so that the individual good life could, indeed should, only be understood in relation to larger collectives and humanity in general. What then does one do with gift-curse of consciousness when other conscious beings (humans primarily) suffered on a daily basis? Each one of these terms–––consciousness, being, human, suffering, action–––would break apart into nothingness when looked at too closely, but their aggregate somehow had crushing weight.

If I thought about death, it would only be in terms of a utopian longing to be outside myself, in a different consciousness. Another way to die, it seemed to me, is to dedicate one’s life utterly to the service of others. This seems a plausible, even worthy, solution until one questions how one is to serve properly and make the best use of one’s abilities.

Clarity.

At some point, I realized that the most utopian desire is the one for ethical clarity.