Them Humans

Rembrandt-Self-Portrait

Now, ’twas but an ordinary inner dialogue that brought with it the epiphany that I do not see myself as a human being.

Not that I am not human, I just can’t seem to admit it.

Perhaps because of the misanthropic days that precede me? Or because, though I love humanity, I can’t seem to understand humans.

The other day I heard something that almost made me cry (of empathy), “I like people but I don’t like people at the same time.”

I am sure that I have been cured of misanthropy, however, that general distrust for the human species still remains. I want to believe that we are good, that we know right from wrong, but at the same time, I don’t see the opportunity to prove humanity’s goodness.

All that exists is a means to regulate our behaviour, the state, the Law, all attempting to minimize damage, to maintain “order”, and, ultimately, to standardize human existence.

Yes, I am one who would love to witness an hour of full blown chaos, to testify to all those terrible scenarios the word “chaos” connotes, and to see if, indeed, Hobbes was right in his ‘state of nature’ theories.

Would we go crazy and kill each other? Is there something, anything remotely indicative of possible absolutism in this universe? Anything that somehow governs our decisions? Now that I’d like to see.

I almost wish we could all study animals. In fact, yes(!), in efforts to ditch this increasingly anthropocentric world, perhaps it would prove rather healthy to remember that we, humans, are of the animal kingdom, and, thus, not above anything.

Seems to me that human beings have forever colonized the center stage of history, and that all the universe is but our rehearsing room. What happened to the ideals that  once governed people, what happened to the never-ending love letters between man and nature?

We preach democracy but dictate death to the earth in which we inhabit; we agree to pretend on universal laws and rights, but end up restraining our freedoms in this beautiful cloud of logic, this nicely shaped pot of order. What is order, if but a disguised version of chaos?

 

I know not. I know nothing, in fact.

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