Existence

For many years I looked at my life like a case law, a series of proofs… underlying it all there was a presumption that I was moving on an upward path toward some elevation where… I would be justified, or even condemned—a verdict anyway. I think now that my disaster really began when I looked up one day—and the bench was empty! No judge in sight. All that remained was the endless argument with oneself—this pointless litigation of existence before an empty bench. Which, of course, is another way of saying—despair!

It was true, I had always realized it — I hadn’t any “right” to exist at all. I had appeared by chance, I existed like a stone, a plant, a microbe… that here we are eating and drinking, to preserve our precious existence, and that there’s nothing, nothing, absolutely no reason for existing.

If chance be the father of all flesh, disaster is his rainbow in the sky and when you hear "state of emergency, sniper kills 10", "troops on rampage", "youths go looting", "bombs blast school", it is but the sound of man, worshipping his maker.

Nothing exists but natural phenomena...no supernaturals forces, no supernatural entities...nature simply exists.  Matter is.

Deliberate, definite, dogmatic denial of the existence of God. It is not satisfied with approximate truth or relative truth but claims to see the INS and outs of the game quite clearly, being the absolute denial of the absolute.

The tragedy of modern man is not that he knows less and less about the meaning of his own life, but that it bothers him less and less.

Life is a 'tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.’ Shakespeare's Macbeth

The will needs a goal, and we'd rather will Nothingness than not will, rather believe than not know.

This world is the will to power and nothing besides!...And you, yourselves, are also the will to power, and nothing besides!

More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly. I speak, by the way, not with any sense of futility but with panicky conviction of the absolute meaninglessness of human existence which could easily be misinterpreted as pessimism.

Nature does not, in the long run, favour life. If nature is all that exists--in other words, if there is no God and no life of some quite different sort somewhere outside Nature--then all stories will end in the same way: in a universe from which all life is banished without possibility of return. It will have been an accidental flicker, and there will be no one even to remember it. Present Concerns: Essays by C.S.

There is nothing that we can see on earth which does not either show the wretchedness of man or the mercy of God. One either sees the powerlessness of man without God, or the strength of man with God.

Running, one might say, is basically an absurd pastime upon which to be exhausting ourselves. But if you can find meaning in the type of running you need to do ... chances are you'll be able to find meaning in that other absurd pastime - LIFE.

Being religious means asking passionately the question of the meaning of our existence and being willing to receive answers, even if the answers hurt.

If one puts aside the existence of God and the survival after life as too doubtful...one has to make up one's mind as to the use of life. If death ends all, if I have neither to hope for good nor to fear evil, I must ask myself what I am here form and how in these circumstance I must conduct myself. Now the answer is plain, but so unpalatable that most will not face it. There is no meaning for life, and [thus] life has no meaning.

We have only to follow the thread of the hero path. Where we had thought to find an abomination, we shall find a god; where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves; where we had thought to travel outwards, we shall come to the center of our own existence; where we had thought to be alone, we shall be with all the world.

Quote: It was true, I had always realized it--I hadn't any "right" to exist at all. I had appeared by chance, I existed like a stone, a plant, a microbe. I could feel nothing to myself but an inconsequential buzzing. I was thinking...that here we are eating and drinking, to preserve our precious existence, and that there's nothing, nothing, absolutely no reason for existing.

Quote: You know, more and more I think that for many years I looked at life like a case at law, a series of proofs. When you’re young you prove how brave you are, or smart; then, what a good lover; then, a good father; finally, how wise, or powerful or what-the-hell-ever. But underlying it all, I see now, there was a presumption. That I was moving on and upward path toward some elevation, where — God knows what — I would be justified, or even condemned—a verdict anyway. I think now that my disaster really began when I looked up one day—and the bench was empty. No judge in sight. And all that remained was the endless argument with oneself—this pointless litigation of existence before an empty bench. Which, of course, is another way of saying—despair. And, of course, despair can be a way of life; but you have to believe in it, pick it up, take it to heart, and move on again. Instead, I seem to be hung up… And the days and the months and now the years are draining away.

Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.

Ove had never been asked how he lived before he met her. But if anyone had asked him, he would have answered that he didn’t. Chapter 16. A Man Who Was Ove and a Truck in the Forest

split the truly important longings and loyalties is to crack one’s own foundations and to invite the crumbling and, finally, the disintegration of life itself. A divided house cannot stand.

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.

In him we live and move and have our being.

I AM WHO I AM.