We’ve been given these books about suffering because they’re supposed to be speaking to us. Talking to us. And all I’ve found is waste and misery. And strange feelings of contempt for myself as I complain about my slight headache. As if my own life is something I should hold onto more precious because it is free from pain. And yet finding, like the Catcher in the Rye and like Prufrock- that I can’t.
I turn back to Ecclesiastes, because last semester Dr. Mashburn assigned me a paper on it and ever since then I haven’t been able get it out of my mind. If everything was really meaningless would we really have the need to read Frankl’s book? I am beginning to understand that there are some questions I may never answer. May never be able to put into boxes in my mind. Right now it feels like there is no answer to suffering. No meaning in the silence of God. Because really- do existentialists ever face the why? I mean they are into the how, but the why? In this I mean to say- why do you want to live? Why do you want to avoid suffering? In this case it seems to me that evil is universal. It must be- to further the conversation. Suffering is real and tangible to all. This feeling of suffering seems universal and sweeping and all-encompassing. Surely if this darkness is so very real, there is a hope that is greater than this.
well, now i feel a lot better. maybe this will help my paper writing. we're allowed to blog rant right? it's a direct response to my reading, but for good measure I'll just throw in that I liked Bart but i don't know what Talmage would have to say about his whole "faith being knowable" thing. seems directly opposite to what Talmage said last week- yet i see in myself signs of both.
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