/lit/ - Literature

The will to live is a primitive biological drive, like the desire to rape, murder, and eat members of ones own species. It is more forceful in the human race, moreso than all other Dionysian pleasures, because none of our best thinkers have had the capacity to identify if the alternative - which is what exists past the border line to eternity - might gratify the ego more than the circumstances in our present state. However, the bounty of a healthily cultivated civilization can be tasted and felt around with one's own hand, with the certainty of material and metaphysical character that need not be questioned because its fruit is so sweet and so ripe that it quashes all curiosity about how man might have gone about the business of living before the cultivation of hegemonic decency, of 'humanity': this is a word that obfuscates a much less noble and far more callow meaning which lies underneath its pretension of antediluvian truth.

Life may be interpreted as the maturity of one's personal cowardice. The human convinces itself that the shameful pleasure of life is noble because it can then justify the pain that comes immediately after, or, moreover, during the experiencing of this pleasure. Simply because man consents to his peer's depravity, he is satisfied with it, and enshrines it in the holy playbook of civilization.

In doing so, he commits a cardinal sin against his fellow man, which reaches its peak when he tells him in earnest that his life has absolute worth and that he should regard with privilege his divine place in the kingdom of ends, which is just the opposite thing - it is a kingdom of means, and its ends are finite, nor charitably distributed, and regarded with total certainty in the eye of the beholder, from wherever he might stand in relation to the dais. The protest of humanistic appeal regards the individual in respect to his value as a utility to a greater end which he might not himself, nor the objector, completely apprehend in relation to its goal, but is convinced still that by the sole virtue of humanity's unspoken covenant between its members, which was galvanized the moment one man promised a share of his crop to another when it came to maturity and was taken at his word, the very moment one man curbed his irrational desire - so it has been condemned, rightfully perhaps - to murder his business partner and harvest the flesh from his bone without forethought paid to his position of utility in relation to his victim's, that this covenant is right and true because it is one score short of having occured almost simultaneously with man's conception at the Garden. Longevity is civilization's only badge of merit.

>>11295217
The will to live is a primitive biological drive, like the desire to rape, murder, and eat other humans. It is even more forceful in our species than all the other Dionysian pleasures because no one can firmly identify if the alternative - what lies beyond the border line to eternity - might be more gratifying to the ego, whereas the bounty of a healthily cultivated civilization can be tasted and felt around with one's own hand, with a certainty that need not be questioned because the fruit is so sweet and ripe as to mitigate all curiosity about how we might have gone about the business of living before this cultivation of decency, of 'humanity': a word that obfuscates a much less noble and more callow meaning in its pretension of antediluvian truth.

Life is cowardice. The human convinces itself that the shameful pleasure of life is noble because it can then justify the pain that comes immediately after, or very often even during the experiencing of this pleasure. Simply because we consent to one another's depravity, we are satisfied with it, and enshrine it in the holy playbook of civilization.

And in doing so, we commit a cardinal treachery against our fellow man, which reaches its peak when we tell him his life has worth and that he should regard with privilege his divine place in the kingdom of ends, which is just the opposite - it is a kingdom of means, and its ends are finite, nor charitably distributed, and regarded with total certainty in the eye of the beholder.