existential_james
New member
(The following is composed entirely of quotes, epigrams, and aphorisms from various philosophers...and clowns. Can you tell which is which? )
What is truth?
The impossible often has a kind of integrity to it which the merely improbable lacks. To say of what is, that it is, or of what is not, that it is not, is true. You see, truth is the cry of all, but the game of the few. There is no one track of light on the surface of nature - every eye looking on finds its own. Therefore truth is always strange - stranger than fiction. If you would be a real seeker after truth, you must at least once in your life doubt, as far as possible, all things. Then, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. And you will know the truth and be set free. Truth will triumph. It always does, doesn't it?
However, I figure truth is a variable, so we're right back where we started from. Maybe if we tell the truth about the past, we can tell the truth about the present. But who dares to say that he alone has found the truth? Truth is a very difficult concept; multi-faceted. The "general welfare" is not the sphere of truth; for truth demands to be declared even if it is ugly and unethical. But it is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else will speak. What then is truth? A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms. In short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, which after long usage seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding. Such is the irresistible nature of truth, that all it asks, and all it wants, is the liberty of appearing. The sun needs no inscription to distinguish him from darkness.
What is truth? (Pilate jested, but would not stay for an answer.) The truth is the truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. Pure truth no one man has seen, nor ever shall know. Thus it takes two to speak the truth - one to speak, and another to hear. But beware, there are always four sides to every story: your side, their side, the truth, and what really happened. When truth cannot make itself known in words, it will make itself known in deeds. All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.
To me, truth is not some vague, foggy notion. Truth is real. And, at the same time, unreal. Fiction and fact and everything in between, plus some things I can't remember, rolled up into one big 'thing.' There is some fiction in your truth, and some truth in your fiction. To know the truth, you must risk everything. Lies, however numerous, will be caught by truth when it rises up. The voice of truth is easily known.
The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple. Believing something that is not truth is a waste of time. Between the truth and the search for truth, I actively choose the latter. That is truth, to me. The quest to abandon illusions about our condition is also a quest to abandon conditions which support illusions. I don't give them ****. I just tell the truth and they think it is ****. But even that echoes in the wild and limited universe of man. It teaches that all is not, has not been, exhausted. It drives out of this world a *** who had come into it with dissatisfaction and a preference for futile suffering.
After all, the belief that there is only one truth and that oneself is in possession of it seems to me the deepest root of all evil in the world. When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow. Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies. Sometimes lies are more dependable than the truth. In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act. From error to error, one discovers the entire truth. Chase after truth like **** and you'll free yourself, even though you'll never touch its coat-tails. The next best thing suffices: to believe your own thoughts, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men - that is genius.
However, whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods. To those who would insist that truth is absolute (as if reality stood unveiled before you only, and you yourselves were perhaps the best part of it), mere disagreement suffices to disprove you. We perceive things, not as they are, but as we are. Whistle something but the past and done: treat the other faiths of men gently; it is all they have to believe with. Their minds were created for their own thoughts, not yours or mine. An objective uncertainty held fast in an appropriation–process of the most passionate inwardness is the truth, the highest truth attainable for an existing individual.
Lastly, there is a line between genius and insanity. Insanity is relative; it depends on who has who locked in what cage. Sanity is only an act; insanity is dropping it. To lie, of course, is to engender insanity. The only difference between myself and a madman is that I am not mad. Other than that, there is no difference: all it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day. The world of madness is a lot bigger than the world of the sane. So, yes. There is a line between genius and insanity.
But I have erased this line. Nothing is true. All is permitted.
So take off that mask... and show us all who you really are.
Yuav paim quav.
What is truth?
The impossible often has a kind of integrity to it which the merely improbable lacks. To say of what is, that it is, or of what is not, that it is not, is true. You see, truth is the cry of all, but the game of the few. There is no one track of light on the surface of nature - every eye looking on finds its own. Therefore truth is always strange - stranger than fiction. If you would be a real seeker after truth, you must at least once in your life doubt, as far as possible, all things. Then, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. And you will know the truth and be set free. Truth will triumph. It always does, doesn't it?
However, I figure truth is a variable, so we're right back where we started from. Maybe if we tell the truth about the past, we can tell the truth about the present. But who dares to say that he alone has found the truth? Truth is a very difficult concept; multi-faceted. The "general welfare" is not the sphere of truth; for truth demands to be declared even if it is ugly and unethical. But it is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else will speak. What then is truth? A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms. In short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, which after long usage seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding. Such is the irresistible nature of truth, that all it asks, and all it wants, is the liberty of appearing. The sun needs no inscription to distinguish him from darkness.
What is truth? (Pilate jested, but would not stay for an answer.) The truth is the truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. Pure truth no one man has seen, nor ever shall know. Thus it takes two to speak the truth - one to speak, and another to hear. But beware, there are always four sides to every story: your side, their side, the truth, and what really happened. When truth cannot make itself known in words, it will make itself known in deeds. All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.
To me, truth is not some vague, foggy notion. Truth is real. And, at the same time, unreal. Fiction and fact and everything in between, plus some things I can't remember, rolled up into one big 'thing.' There is some fiction in your truth, and some truth in your fiction. To know the truth, you must risk everything. Lies, however numerous, will be caught by truth when it rises up. The voice of truth is easily known.
The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple. Believing something that is not truth is a waste of time. Between the truth and the search for truth, I actively choose the latter. That is truth, to me. The quest to abandon illusions about our condition is also a quest to abandon conditions which support illusions. I don't give them ****. I just tell the truth and they think it is ****. But even that echoes in the wild and limited universe of man. It teaches that all is not, has not been, exhausted. It drives out of this world a *** who had come into it with dissatisfaction and a preference for futile suffering.
After all, the belief that there is only one truth and that oneself is in possession of it seems to me the deepest root of all evil in the world. When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow. Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies. Sometimes lies are more dependable than the truth. In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act. From error to error, one discovers the entire truth. Chase after truth like **** and you'll free yourself, even though you'll never touch its coat-tails. The next best thing suffices: to believe your own thoughts, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men - that is genius.
However, whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods. To those who would insist that truth is absolute (as if reality stood unveiled before you only, and you yourselves were perhaps the best part of it), mere disagreement suffices to disprove you. We perceive things, not as they are, but as we are. Whistle something but the past and done: treat the other faiths of men gently; it is all they have to believe with. Their minds were created for their own thoughts, not yours or mine. An objective uncertainty held fast in an appropriation–process of the most passionate inwardness is the truth, the highest truth attainable for an existing individual.
Lastly, there is a line between genius and insanity. Insanity is relative; it depends on who has who locked in what cage. Sanity is only an act; insanity is dropping it. To lie, of course, is to engender insanity. The only difference between myself and a madman is that I am not mad. Other than that, there is no difference: all it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day. The world of madness is a lot bigger than the world of the sane. So, yes. There is a line between genius and insanity.
But I have erased this line. Nothing is true. All is permitted.
So take off that mask... and show us all who you really are.
Yuav paim quav.