Commentary on My Mind at Six

“The past beats inside me like a second heart.” 

― John Banville

We often discover interesting memorabilia when we are hit with the sudden urge to clean and sort things only a few weeks before we sit important examinations. These curios are, of course, interesting in their intrinsic natures as relics of the past, and definitely not because they help us procrastinate. They trigger within us a variety of responses: amusement, embarrassment, nostalgia, lust, happiness, sadness. Their effects may be pronounced because we are a bit mentally unstable (supra important examinations), but I would argue the relationship between our reactions and our conditions is more to do with correlation than causation. Such flashes from the past must be explored regardless of circumstance. In this commentary I intend to create an anachronistic narrative between me and my former self. Such a narrative revolves around a decade-old artifact from my first years in a new school - an exercise book containing sentences which reveal the inner mental workings of an eccentric, if not slightly disturbed, six-year-old.

Source 1

There are many pathways of curiosity which we can take to explore this sentence.

Unfortunately none of them lead to a good place.

Lets begin with the obvious question: what is "tugged myself"? The trusty repository of definitions (Google) defines tug as: "pull (something) hard or suddenly". What is startling here is not the physically impossible feat of pulling oneself, but rather the fact that I must have thought of something similar to what is described in order to formulate the sentence itself. There was no copy pasting, no asking of parents or siblings for help: just pure independent thought. But that is not even the weird bit.

"I nearly choked"? What did I choke on? What was tugged that caused the choking? Was this self-punishment? What initiated it? A fit? No one will ever know. The only rational explanation that can be provided is that I pulled my tongue with my bare hands. Does that result in a near-choking experience? I have no idea. Try it and leave a comment below. 

Source 2

The teacher's red question mark says it all, doesn't it?

Being a good son and respecting your mother is quite a normal thing (bar some cultures), but the concept of yielding, of surrendering yourself to your mother, is reasonably disconcerting. Let's not stray to the realms of Mr. Freud and Oedipus for the safety of our respective consciences. Instead let's look at the essence of sacrificing autonomy. Doing so, for anyone, is just wrong, especially when you do it without questioning yourself.

But I did question myself, and that is the redeeming feature of this source. It is clear I developed notions of dominance, submission, the matriarchy and my own rights as an individual way before anyone else. So not everything's so bad!

Source 3

Yeah.

Clearly "I didn't know why" about many things, but this one takes home the title for the most creepy. As far as I am aware I am not a paranoid schizophrenic, but the hypersensitivity directly referenced in this is troubling, to say the least.

Aside from the wow-that's-actually-kind-of-messed-up factor, there is a glaring logical inconsistency in my thought process. Shadows are not really visible in the darkness, so clearly my IQ was yet to begin its exponential growth.

Source 4

This is actually one of the few written references which exist about my quasi-phobia of dogs.

But that is not what I want to focus on. The more interesting question is: why is it that puppies are not real but dogs are? At what point do puppies become dogs, thereby validating their realness? Is this transformation quick or slow, smooth or erratic? This perspective, of separating puppy from dog, must stem from how children are indirectly conditioned to believe that with age comes authority. Puppies, like children, are insignificant. They have not earned their place in the world. They were squeezed or cut out of their mothers to become useless pilfering organisms. On the other hand, dogs, like adults, are the movers and shakers. They are the hunters and gatherers. The providers and protectors.

In all seriousness, the general uselessness of the youth cannot be understated. Adults may tell us we are important, but as long as it is unclear whether or not teenagers are contributing to controlling the secret workings of the world via corporations and cults, I will refuse to believe it.

Source 5

I will not even blame myself for this one. The education system did this. I guess the imprint of a Western, capitalist and consumerist culture begins to form from an early age.

There are some intriguing things here. Firstly, why "white" sheep? I do not think I have ever seen a black sheep (even though copious reiterations of a certain nursery rhyme has ingrained the concept into my brain). Was it necessary to describe the colour of the sheep? Probably not, but I guess my superfluous authorial style was already starting to develop.

Apparently the only use for sheep (that are white) is their wool for making clothes. Who could have taught me such blasphemy? A vegetarian teacher? Sheep (especially young ones) have many other uses.

Source 6

Always dreaming, like, always having big dreams? Or always being stuck in a transitory, continuous space-time in which I cannot separate reality from fantasy? Probably the latter. In any case, the aberration in form, (the split between dreaming) must serve to emphasise the dichotomous nature of life and existence. I was aware of dualism and solipsism before philosophy was cool. Are you going to take that, IB TOK doers?

Source 7

This is another "I don't know ..." (Part IV), and it just gets better.

Considering the fact that the human sense of smell is constantly receiving information half of the time (the other half being when we exhale), it is not so far a stretch to say that one is continuously smelling something. However, there is a difference between purposely smelling something and getting a whiff of something. In this rhetorical question I appear to be doing the former. As much of a mystery that may be - of what I'm smelling and what it smells like - the more confusing thing is my continuous self-doubt. Why do I keep doing things without knowing why? Does this perhaps relate to my comments about living in an eternal dream state? Am I a schizo after all? Time will tell.

Source 8

Interesting syntax inversion. Anyways, clearly I had some sort of intuition behind this documentation of my body's response to cabbage. It may be that cabbage contains soporific chemicals, as do poppy seeds, and that is what caused me to act in such a way.

What I have now found out is that six-year-old me inadvertently uncovered a scientific goldmine through personal experience: according to wikiHow (the digital North Star for every lost and hormonal teenager) cabbage contains tryptophan, which releases "melatonin and serotonin for good sleep. It speeds up the onset of sleep, decreases the level of spontaneous awakenings during your sleep, and helps to increase the amount of refreshing sleep you get." If I had the powers of research at the age of six, surely such a finding would have resulted in a groundbreaking academic paper. How unfortunate.

Source 9

Let's just skim over the fact that I knew who Steve Erwin was and focus on this overwhelmingly confusing string of words. Why wasn't Steve Erwin careless, means why was he careful. So my question was: Why was Steve Erwin careful about the animals in the sea? This is one of those questions which is responded to not with speech but with a puzzled look - Steve Erwin just, cares. Why would you even ask that.

I must have held some sort of prejudice to sea animals because clearly I did not believe they deserved the same care as other creatures. Quite sad really. Anyways, rest in peace Stevie.

Source 10

Saved the longest one for last, and what a story this is.

What I admire about this comma-free journey of fifty-two words is that, as a little child, not only did I have the self-control to not kill myself in the story (a prospect which would have been much more exciting), but I also had the foresight to include a disclaimer at the end as a pre-planned resolution for any potential disputes. So considerate.

Another thing which is interesting is that this mini-story reveals a highly complex stream of associations. The given word to construct a sentence around was "bridge". How I managed to come up with what appears to be a microcosm of a short story is a great puzzle in itself.

*

It is odd to read your own words as if they were written by someone else. What is more odd is when these words comprise weird sentences. Upon reflection you realise that at the time you wrote them you did not think it was weird, out of place, inappropriate, uncalled for, offensive, or idiotic. In fact, the innocence is what makes childhood behaviour so amusing. 

The sentences I wrote reveal my thought processes, my likes and dislikes, my fears, my passions, my abilities - all of which would have been lost with the gradual decay of memory. Of course, there are some parts which probably ring alarm bells, and I wonder if I was ever probed about what I wrote.

Now, the only step left to complete the loop is to come back in ten years to this post, having forgotten all about it, and to read it with that new found sense of wonder, preferably at a time in which I should be doing something else, like preparing for important examinations...

Bukowski and the Meaning of Life

“The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing — desire.” 

― Willa Cather

Charles Bukowski

Bukowski’s poem (I suggest reading it) is a blinkered and clichéd construction of reality stemming from his own life of abuse and misfortune, resulting in a dismissively pessimistic viewpoint. This is a poem from a degenerate, and perhaps only speaks to degenerates. I will however, for the purposes of this post, pretend as if the poem is a profound source of philosophical debate, and not a source to be examined by psychiatrists for an insight into the mind of a mentally broken man.

Bukowski suggests that we are two-dimensional creatures, and in doing so fashions the notion that our purposes are arbitrary. Through the collocation of “flesh … bone” juxtaposed with the collocation of “mind … soul” the conventionally complex portrayal of the human is challenged through a reductive portrayal. Bukowski immediately separates the physical from the spiritual and indicates that our lives are a simple combination of these two elements. It would be a sin (and completely wrong) to call Bukowski a metaphysical poet, but the concepts he is dealing with here are largely metaphysical. Specifically Bukowski is writing like a dualist, possibly suggesting that mind and matter are ontologically separate objects. This separation may relate to his youth and the injuries he received from his father. He was beaten three times a week with a razor strop and was socially humiliated due to severe acne. Bukowski says it helped his writing as ‘he came to understand undeserved pain’. There is an important transition to note here. The physical effects on Bukowski’s life (being beaten, having acne) had a direct result in his spiritual faculty (writing about pain). This transfer from a negative physical realm to a positive spiritual realm is a possible explanation for his inclination to adopt a dualistic viewpoint. Contrary to some beliefs this is not realism. The poem is not didactically (or esoterically) aiming to make anyone think about life realistically. Bukowski most likely aims to reduce the reader down to a subhuman state so that the reader can feel the lows Bukowski felt. This poem is not a universal meditation on the meaning of life – it is a singular memoir from a man who wants to prove everyone is arbitrary simply because he believes he is arbitrary.

Belief is the one single creator of meaning and Bukowski’s belief is shown in the poem. Maybe those who relate to his attitude believe it is a profound, universal and realistic treatise. Maybe those who cannot relate see it as a collection of lone, depressed, and subjective thoughts. To say that life means nothing is to believe in it. A proper belief is one which is rationally founded, and an improper belief is one which is irrationally founded. There is no rational ground to suggest that life means nothing. Those who believe life means nothing are extrapolating from personal experiences, exactly what Bukowski is doing in his poem, and are confused with what is true and what is not.

I take the quasi-hedonistic view that the meaning of life is based on aiming to satisfy desire. This is not traditional desire in respect to desires such as sex, power, and wealth (although they are included). Humans aim to do things which give them satisfaction. A person giving to charity earns the satisfaction of feeling charitable. A person practicing a religion earns the satisfaction of knowing he will not be punished in the afterlife. A person who sacrifices his life for another earns the satisfaction that his sacrifice would be for a good cause.

A ‘greater purpose to life’ is an inherently misleading phrase. The purposes or meanings behind life are simply the rankings of desires, which are relative depending on each person. Furthermore, if a range of purposes exist from which there are certain supreme purposes and then certain antithetical purposes (these must exist if a ‘greater’ purpose is to exist), then this range has to be founded on ethical beliefs. Ethical beliefs are of course regularly contested and doubted. Standardising the range would mean ranking beliefs, which simply cannot accurately happen. To summarise: the meaning of life is to satisfy desires, and the importance of each desire relative to each person reveals what is of a ‘greater’ purpose or meaning.

I must admit I went off on a tangent whilst exploring the meaning of life and now feel a reluctance to return to Bukowski’s craft (though I am sure you have already have guessed I do not really care about what Bukowski has written). I am neither a cynic nor a realist (these two words cannot be used interchangeably) but I can understand why one would be either or neither. The truth is: it does not matter. By taking different viewpoints (cynicism, realism or optimism) all you are doing is showing that everything changes depending on perspective. This is nothing new. What may be considered new is an answer to why we search for deeper meanings in life. It is an interesting answer, because I believe we don’t search for deeper meanings in life, we search for different meanings. Different meanings come from different perspectives, and these different perspectives inform our different desires, through which we reorder our beliefs accordingly to form a system of what is relatively meaningful.

Bukowski is not exploring a largely controversial concept, he is not a sage and he is not the new Socrates. He is simply canvassing issues of his life in the vaguest way possible so that an illusion of universality is created. The use of definitive statements formed from “nobody … nobody … nothing” are signs of delusion and depression, not truth. Bukowski makes us consider his corrupted stance so that we too adopt these signs of delusion and depression. Once everyone becomes like him, that is when everyone is ‘Alone With Everybody’, as we are all together with the same view that we are all alone. It is not a wrong outlook, but the problem is that it is not everyone’s outlook. The only thing I can commend Bukowski for is that he provokes self-examination within the reader to search for a personal view. His stance may be amateurish, but it is so definitive that it is an initiator of critical thought within those that are not so definitive, such as me or you, and for this purpose I think it is quite valuable.

(Visit the blog which inspired this response)

Perceiving Perfection

“The universe is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.”

― Eden Phillpotts

We all know everything relies on perception, is subjective, is relative… and so on. It’s been drilled into us that things change depending on viewpoint. We’re told we shouldn’t feel insecure just because we weren’t born to be the Einsteins or the Gandhis or the Jenners of our generation. That fifteen year old girl is told she shouldn’t regard Victoria’s Secret models as ‘perfect’ and that she should love herself. That forty-six year old businessman is told he doesn’t need to get on Forbes list or to be a CEO of a Fortune 500 company to confirm his value in the world.

Everywhere, we've been creating a system of belief to shun all ideas of idealistic perfection and success. The focus has been to look at what we have, and to be content. What this system has created is a league of critics ready to look down upon all instances of near-perfection. They’ll point out airbrushed photos of models, enhanced photos of landscapes and any other perceived inconsistencies which catch their eye. It is now common to say that for anything and everything there doesn’t exist a ne plus ultra. This line of thought needs to come to an end. We have established that everything relies on perception, is subjective, is relative and so on. What we need to realise is that perfection does exist… the only discrepancy across our opinions is what our version of perfection is.

Consider these two photographs. They are of The Rhine (German: Rhein) – the second-longest river in Central and Western Europe.

River Rhine (Source: wikimedia /Gouwenaar)

Rhein II - Andreas Gursky

            The photos look markedly different, but what really separates them? Well, technically, around 4.3 million US dollars separates them. The second photograph, Rhein II, is the second most expensive photograph in the world, made by German visual artist Andreas Gursky in 1999. The first is a tourist’s.

            The photograph of The Rhine was digitally altered by Gursky, removing objects and people until it was completely minimalistic. Gursky explained: "It says a lot using the most minimal means … for me it is an allegorical picture about the meaning of life and how things are." You may read that as complete BS – it’s just a nice looking photograph that got some attention. Christie’s New York, a multinational arts business and auction house, describes it "a dramatic and profound reflection on human existence and our relationship to nature on the cusp of the 21st century.” Once again – BS? You decide.

            The importance of you deciding shouldn’t go unnoticed. The worth of art (as with anything around us) depends on the value we imbue upon it. In my opinion, no work of art is supremely useless. Of course, there are pieces which are ineffective (in this context, I use ‘ineffective’ to mean the work of art does not elicit any profound emotion or response in anyone at all), and these are less valuable. Modern art has been a popular target for being ‘useless’ with its absurdly simple concepts and techniques. Seeing a modern piece of art you usually think “Oh, I could have done that”. However, it’s important to try to respond to your own self, “But I didn’t. So someone’s provided something new to the world and I guess that’s valuable in its own right.”

Artists reflect themselves in anything they create, whether it is conscious or unconscious. If that reflection elicits strong emotion in others, it is valuable. If that reflection is of a key figure, it is valuable. (Take Picasso’s handwritten notes of trivial messages like “I’m in the restaurant” as an example, each garnering an estimated price of around 1500 US dollars.)

            Coming back to Rhein II, Gursky said "Paradoxically, this view of the Rhine cannot be obtained in situ, a fictitious construction was required to provide an accurate image of a modern river." What is interesting here is that his view is that an accurate image of a modern river needs to be formed through unnatural alteration. There is one important thing to focus on here. The image is Gursky’s idea of accuracy, not anyone else’s. Gursky reflects his views in his work. Whether you agree with it or not – it is there. He has created his own version of perfection, and he finds beauty in it, as does (presumably) the man who paid 4.3 million dollars for it.

            What am I getting at here? The first photo is authentic, unaltered and realistic. The second photo is unnatural, altered and idealistic. The second photo, arguably, looks better. Now imagine if it was not two photos of a river I used, but two photos of a model. One altered through Photoshop and one unaltered. Our noble minds would automatically defend the moralistic view that the unaltered model is more real, more beautiful and more representative. But when we focus like this, on what is real, then we aren’t appreciating the versions of perfection we as humans have created.

Of course, the media has done an effective job in brainwashing people into believing they need to look a certain way, which has led to a dreadful era of body image issues amongst practically every single person… but this has happened because people have believed they need to be perfect. No one needs to be perfect. We all need to appreciate versions of perfection.

The Rhein II may be fake but it is visually appealing. It is someone’s version of perfection. I admire it. I will not look for images like the Rhein II in real life nor will I be desensitised to natural wonder because of it. It exists, and I am no person to determine its actual worth.

Perfection is beautiful because it sounds so absolute but is so variable. My version of perfection is not yours. Your version of perfection is not mine. Let’s stop belittling everything which isn’t ‘real’ – it’s a mindless pursuit. We need to see the value in things a little bit more, whether it’s an altered photograph, a Photoshopped model or anything else as such.

Everything reflects something, and when everything reflects something there comes a point at which a reflection will reflect something meaningful, and when something has a meaning it has worth… for once, let’s actually begin to appreciate that worth.

Imagine You Died Whilst Reading This

“Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.”

― Haruki Murakami

Let’s say some sort of immediate disease struck you into a fatally feverous state within the next five seconds.

I don’t know what you’re doing right now. You might be sitting down at a desk trying to get some work done, lying down in your bed relaxing, in transit between two places or in any other situation which the irrational human mind could conjure. What if, at the end of these five seconds, your heart collapsed into itself, your eyes went cold and every supporting muscle in your body submitted its reigns to gravity. You would fall onto whatever is supporting you like a sloppy pile of meat… but what next?

There are two possibilities of what happens next – one more likely than the other. The likely one is that you’re within distance of another human being, who’ll soon enough rush to your aid and attempt to resuscitate your sagging corpse. Someone will also telephone robotically for an ambulance. There would be a kaleidoscopic mixture of emotions in the air. You’d probably be brought to the hospital to fulfil formalities and your lifeless body would be lobbed into a frosty morgue to rest. Maybe an autopsy would be performed on you. That’s the most plausible line of action – the discovery of your body and appropriate measures to deal with your death formally.

We are almost always surrounded by people, but what if we weren’t? This is the second, more thrilling possibility. Say, nobody sees or discovers your body once you’ve waned into a crumpled pile of humid skin and bone. For purposes of imagery, let’s confine this idea to you in one room, sitting at a desk by your lonesome.

The five seconds are up. Your head smacks the desk with a dull noise.

1.      Mortis, Mortis, Mortis...

What happens first is that your blood pools into portions of your body under the influence of gravity. This stagnation of the blood causes a bruise-like discoloration – livor mortis. Around four hours later your body’s muscular tissues become bizarrely firm from the collected blood. This is called rigor mortis. Your body is constantly losing heat to the atmosphere and the temperature of your carcass drops. This is known as algor mortis.

2.     Self-cannibalism

Your intestines will teem of living microorganisms, living even after your death, slowly breaking down dead intestine cells. Simultaneously, chemicals and enzymes will be released by a decrease in chemical changes and pH, causing your cells to lose their structural integrity and to collapse, resulting in your body self-digesting itself – known medically as autolysis.

3.     Oxygen depletion

Any oxygen remaining in your body is exhausted by aerobic microbes and cellular metabolism. The depletion of oxygen results in prime conditions for anaerobic organism proliferation. These organisms multiply and consume the ammonia, hydrogen sulphide and carbohydrates present in your body.

4.     Bloat

Anaerobic metabolism results in the decomposition of tissues. This releases gas and green substances and discolours your naturally supple skin tone to a blistered blue. The accumulation of these gases in your body’s cavity causes abdominal distention, making your torso swell and your tongue loll out. The pressure from the gases may even cause seams in your body to split. Tepid fluid discharges from your nostrils and mouth, filling clefts and seeping out in a stream of liquid stickiness across your pasty skin, blessing your complexion with a repulsive sheen of ashen sweat.

5.     Breeding ground

There probably aren’t enough insects in your room for this to happen, but if there were enough, maggots would hatch and sup on the tissues of your body. Hair would detach from skin. Ruptures in the body carved out by maggots would fill with a stream of fluids to escape to the outside environment. These ruptures would be a two-way street, allowing oxygen into the body to create a favourable environment for aerobic microorganisms and fly larvae.

6.     Private pool

Ever dreamed about quick weight loss? The next stage would allow your dead body to lose its mass exponentially, with cloying decomposition fluid leaking out into the environment, filling the gaps between your computer’s keyboard keys like a tiny Venetian waterway. The fluids surrounding your body would accumulate, resulting in a Cadaver Decomposition Island (CDI). Your clothes would become saturated with bodily fluid, which would slowly evaporate into the air, creating a sultry stench.

7.      Drying off

Your body has diminished quickly, and in the advanced decay stage, decomposition slows down as there is barely any material left. Finally, all that is left is just dry skin, bones and cartilage. If your desk is exposed to sunlight then the remaining bodily elements will become bleached and dry. Your body will eventually skeletonise into a shoddy structure of weakened sinew and bone.

This would all happen quite swiftly if you’re in the tropics. Your room (assume the door and windows are shut) would soon become a festering site, the air layered with the smell of hydrogen sulphide (odours resembling rotten eggs) and some traces of thiols (odours resembling garlic). Any living human would gag on the thick aroma of putrid decay.

*

It’s all very exciting to think about this, and you can call me curious or sadistic, but the complexity of our bodies is stupendous. The tiniest microbes and cells and enzymes conspire together to corrode your cadaver down to its rudiments. Isn’t it incredible? We’re so lucky to be the drivers of these vessels, the possessors of such intricacy, and the sharers of ourselves with countless other organisms. To think, we’re so bound by our outward propensities, we fail to recognise our inward complexities. The world around us bogs us down to a state of unilateral weariness, and it isn’t that we should think we are so unique or special, but it’s important to realise there’s more to life than what we do and what happens to us.

There may be more to life than we think, but there is definitely more to death than we think. The denouement of our masterful lives ends and recedes with the help of those tiny organisms we share our body with. Our deaths are so inspiring. We end with timed care and craft, and it may not even matter how our bodies lose their animation, what matters is everything leading up to that point.

Now, we know those feverous five seconds preluding your demise didn’t actually happen… but what if they did?

In that bare moment of cognition before your expiry, would you be content?

Why We Need The Evil Demon

“Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.” 

― Albert Camus

In René Descartes’ first Meditation in Meditations on First Philosophy, he introduces the ‘method of doubt’. He says that if we wish to find out anything about the world which is constant and enduring we need to start from the foundations and disregard any ordinary opinions. Rarely does anyone restart their machine of thought from scratch for any reason, and it makes you think, if we thrashed in pursuit of this perfect lack of judgment, would we be able to function as people?

All of us have readymade foundations to make judgements, and these foundations are ultimately peripheral to the existence of both sense and experience. We cannot deny the obvious proof of our senses – you see these words, you feel the material of your apparel against your skin, you hear, you taste and you smell. You would have to be irrational to deny your senses, and as Descartes eloquently puts, those that deny their senses are madmen “who imagine they have an earthenware head or are nothing but pumpkins or are made of glass” – they are utterly disillusioned with reality.

Descartes uses dreams to devalue the reliability of our senses. When you dream, you represent things to yourself just as convincingly as your senses do, do you not? Have you ever woken up from a dream which felt unbelievably lifelike? Have you ever confused a real memory for a dream you once had? Most people have, and here’s the vital idea: we as humans are able to form senses which bear no relation to reality – so, really, we have no ability to distinguish a dream experience from a waking experience. Just as much evidence exists to indicate that the act of you reading this is reality, as there is to demonstrate the opposite. Our senses can deceive us and, according to Descartes, it is “wiser not to trust entirely to any thing by which we have once been deceived.”

On the contrary, there is a counter to this line of reasoning if we think of dreams as paintings. Imagine a painter and a painting. The painting is your dream, and you are the painter. You can rearrange scenes on the canvas as the painter, and absolutely whatever you imagine will always be a depiction derived from real things. We can equate this line of reasoning to another, saying that even if familiar things (your ears, your nose, your eyes etcetera) were thought to be imaginary, they must depend on things which are inherently real.

But what are these real things? Descartes says our senses can trick us and tell the truth at the same time. If all your beliefs of the world are based on your sensory experiences and your senses are deceiving, is it not that everything you believe about the world uncertain? To remove this doubt, one would have to remove himself resolutely from believing any falsehoods, but these falsehoods indelibly exist.

If everything can be doubted, Descartes reaches the conclusion:

“I shall then suppose, not that God who is supremely good and the fountain of truth, but some evil genius not less powerful than deceitful, has employed his whole energies in deceiving me; I shall consider that the heavens, the earth, colours, figures, sound, and all other external things are nought but the illusions and dreams of which this genius has availed himself in order to lay traps for my credulity … I may at least do what is in my power [suspend judgement], and with firm purpose avoid giving credence to any false thing, or being imposed upon by this arch deceiver, however powerful and deceptive he may be.”

This arch deceiver is The Evil Demon – the conspiring entity which keeps us from neutrally witnessing the world around us. It is interesting that Descartes refers to this entity as evil, and that he says he must do whatever he can to free himself from the grasps of this demon. In my opinion, this demon is absolutely necessary.

There are two types of people in this world, those who know they are living a delusion and those who do not. Most of us do not realise that our lives are cloaked with a constant obligation to adhere to lies. We are within confines, and the limiting factor on our freedom is the compulsion to acquiesce to the persuasion of The Evil Demon.

Descartes’ idea of ceaseless deception within our lives is what I consider to be the major theme of the way in which we all function. I have constructed a vague structure to briefly explain what we do, why we deceive ourselves in doing that, and why this deception is necessary.

What You Do	Why You Are Deceiving Yourself	Why This Deception Is Necessary
Feel as if you might be important relative to others	None of us are really important individually. It is a universal lie everyone’s subconsciously complicit in. You may feel relative importance at times, but this is a temporary notion.	As social beings that thrive on interaction, we need to feel recognised within our societies. Possessing the faculty for emotion has rendered this of utmost importance. We are able to feel elation and depression and an array of complex emotions such as jealousy, love and abhorrence – so the mental state of the human is so epically integral to our health that we need to nourish it with lies.
Take pleasure in escaping	The weight of obligation rests on our shoulders. Tasks need to be completed and life is so extensive that simply taking in everything at once is too wearisome. What we need is a way out – and so we use escapism. You watch television shows for hours on end, you go on vacation, you listen to music before you sleep… or perhaps, like me, you write needless essays on arbitrary topics.	If we did not free ourselves from the mundanities and stresses of everyday life the weight of the world on our shoulders would crush us into flaccid imprints of a once-spirited being.
Fear failure	When we fear the possibility of something happening we are in touch with an abstract concept of risk which does not exist in real life. Therefore, we attach ourselves to a fantasy – a fantasy that failure will happen. This is a careful construct in your mind, and only your delusional mind makes you believe this failure is inevitable.	The capability of thinking rationally is possibly one of the most remarkable traits we possess. The ability of risk assessment is integral to our survival and to our development. If we did not fear failure, the decisions we would make would have calamitous consequences.
Become frustrated as a result of someone else’s actions	If a person does something to cause you annoyance, grievance or anger, this is because you do not believe they are acting ‘correctly’… but this ‘correctly’, is not reality but an ideal instilled in you. The emotion you feel stems not from their actions themselves, but from how their actions differ from your fantasies.	If we did not have a set of virtuous ideals that we believed was convention for others to follow in respect to us, we would be condoning all kinds of awful behaviour.
Create idealistic aims	When we start a new habit, the basis for our motivations is the fantasy of what our life will be whilst or after we are engaging in the habit. Except, this is not real. The idealised and deceptive dream of the habit and outcome rarely ever match up with 'reality'.	Aspiring to objectives out of our reach ensures we can reach our maximum potential as people. Of course, we are tricking ourselves into believing it is achievable, and with that comes the unavoidable pang of disappointment when we do not achieve reach our expectations. Ultimately, though, it is necessary for us to improve.

What does this tell us? We are disillusioned creatures, more than often out of touch with reality, more than often acting like those who have an earthenware head or are nothing but pumpkins or are made of glass. As much as we would like to believe we are not the madmen, and that we are the ones that understand ourselves and our atmosphere, it is not the case. We are being deceived all the time. The crazy thing is that we need to be! We need The Evil Demon because our lives are built on deception.

It is not necessarily a bad thing that we are delusional. If it is what helps us operate efficiently then so be it – admire it and allow it. Maybe The Evil Demon is not evil at all. If it is our faults and inabilities of perfection that make us human then maybe this demon is not a demon, but an angel, helping our humanity blossom. We can refute and accept many things – whether The Evil Demon is a wicked master of trickery, or some horned benefactor – but in the end it is just us with our ideas and our theories which give any meaning to the world around us. So Descartes acknowledged in his meditation the supreme nature of doubt, and he encouraged us to doubt all things, for if we do not doubt, then the world is full of perfect and fantastical absolutes – absolutes engendered by warped and disillusioned minds.

So do not be perturbed or fearful… because for all of us, it is more comfortable to live with the lies and ignore the truth, than it is to live with the truth and ignore the lies.