I’m not happy with the summary review of The Blind Owl by Sadegh Hedayat. I liked the book, and the review was positive, but the summary was at too high of a level and didn’t convey how I experienced the reading. I’m tempted to try again at a lower level. That’s not the subject of this piece.
I happened on a short clip of Claudia de Rham pointing out that physicists (and scientists more generally) are not dismayed when their theories are disproven or someone finds a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit into their puzzle. The reaction she highlights is similar to reactions to Nihilism and Anarchy.
Here’s a longer (but still not full) version.
Most people, it seems, are incessantly grasping for order. A select few crave structure. But what truly fascinates me is the interplay of perception and expectations.
The ‘Orderlies’ – those fastidious devotees of tidiness – become apoplectic at the mere sight of disorder. They needn’t even experience it directly. “Oh, those physicists must return to the drawing board! Their model needs reassessment!” For fuck’s sake, it gives them purpose – a raison d’être, if you will.
This phenomenon extends to the habitual ‘Believers’ scrutinising nihilists. “Without belief, I’d embark on a murderous rampage,” they proclaim – though always directed at the world beyond themselves. Never them, of course, but those ‘other’ people. If not for God, who would maintain order? Evidently, these individuals don’t venture out much if they genuinely believe their deity is keeping things shipshape.
I frequently encounter notions that Nihilists must navigate life burdened by existential dread, their existence devoid of meaning, the universe an empty void. Speaking for myself, I require no such structure. Nothing is absent. There is no dread.
The religious perceive a void – a “God-sized hole,” as a mate once pontificated, that can only be filled by the divine. Naturally, he was moralising, declaring that sex, drugs, and other vices could never satiate this cosmic emptiness. But there is no hole. Perhaps they’re grappling with some psychological vacancy. I sympathise, truly, but stuffing a God-sized hole with imagination seems no more nourishing than consuming an imaginary sandwich. Sod it, I might as well gorge on an imaginary chateaubriand if we’re going all in. I’ll still need sustenance after this illusory feast.
Then there are those who yearn to be governed. They crave traditions and institutions, lacking the critical faculties to evaluate them. Whatever they possess must surely be superior to the worst they can conjure. I suspect they’re envisioning an alternate world populated by like-minded individuals. In fact, I ought to be terrified by such a prospect too.
In the end, perhaps the true freedom lies not in order or belief, but in embracing the beautiful chaos of existence. After all, in a universe of infinite possibilities, why constrain ourselves to imaginary feasts when we can savour the rich banquet of reality?
Philosophics 