On the steps, a burly man wipes his forehead. He is out for his smoke break. Once dissolved the illusions of free will, purpose, and a self, how does one live in the world?1 He steps back into his shop. The early-morning sunlight spills on the tiles.
Life’s central conflict is our desire for meaning in a silent, indifferent universe. Yet, the true conflict is within. Between the monkey’s desire for meaning and our awareness of it.
The boy runs in with groceries from across the street. He drops the bags by the counter and disappears up the stairs. Most contradictions are solvable: the owner wants wealth, but sees coughing children leave the coalmine; the explorer wants fame, at the expense of starving natives; the girl wants dignity, but can’t resist the club tips. But to want meaning where none exists? That can’t be solved by walking through a door.
On the Kurukshetra battlefield, Arjuna sees on the other side brothers and cousins. He is torn between his duty and morals. Krishna, his charioteer, advises him: the true self is eternal, death does not exist; attachment is the problem, not the killing; and one must serve their sacred duty. But in the twenty-first century, the doors to these metaphysical washrooms have all but disappeared.
The bell jingles, as a family enters. Their daughter presses against the counter glass, looking at the cheese. One can chop with their eyes closed. Knowledge of hard determinism isn’t required to peel onions. He puts the bread in the oven. Or keep one eye open. Keep a wooden frame of Jesus on the counter. Buddha too, just in case. He picks out mushrooms from the metal bin. Or better yet, wear gloves. The animals were being killed for leather anyways2.
But the traditions say to have both eyes open. Camus agrees. Stare at the void with a smile. Yet, full lucidity of the human condition every time one dices tomatoes is paralyzing. The same knife that disembowels truths from reality cuts you. But the problem is not that the universe is silent, but that the monkey is loud, slamming pots and pans. It desires agency, meaning, and a self. There is only one solution. Take the butcher’s knife to the monkey.
Outside the window, his friend walks a bike. The son runs downstairs and escapes out the door. To live authentically, one must confront the ego. Wrestle with the monkey, pin it to the hard tile. Over time, the blade becomes lighter. The contradictions fall apart. The boy doesn’t need meaning.
He returns from the washroom. Olives spill out, as the butcher hands the daughter the sandwich. He takes off his cap, revealing a bare head. From the street window, a smile, as he hangs up the carcass of a monkey.
Quietism says philosophy often augments the anxiety it aims to solve. Prequietism is the state before the questions arise, a child gazing at the Milky Way with wonder. This can become philosophical questioning, the night sky now a source of anguish. Finally, this can resolve into Postquietism: having found answers, ceased questioning, or made peace with uncertainty. ↩︎
Upton Sinclair: “It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends on his not understanding it.” ↩︎