This god Delusion, Part I

That I am not a fan of the human species comes as no surprise.

Recently, however, I’ve been watching my thoughts think, and been trying to figure out what is it exactly that stops me from joining the bandwagon of being human. Amongst many things that came up, there was one that my brain automatically highlighted: this desire to be god-like.

One would think that after wars, death, starvation, poverty (etc), the human species would be humbled. Still, it seems that such “casualties” don’t stay in the way of “progress”.

Mercantilistic minds seem to govern our daily experiences. Some sort of superiority complex that I fail to grasp: testing lab rats for primarily human benefits, for testing on humans would be a violation of multiple universal rights.

What of other creatures? Oh but such thoughts don’t cross my mind. I, human, strive for survival. My survival. For the very epitome of progress, of evolution, can only be translated in the human species. Consciousness, human consciousness, because non-human consciousness is looked upon with too much scepticism. Who, other than humans, would enjoy the fruits of having a conscious?

Rationality, for such logic drives the universe. The perfect catalyst for power. Power, for we were born to be in charge of all nature’s creatures.

All academia comes in songs of conquest. All studies concerned with what’s around us, and how can we best manipulate it?

Omniscience, this unexplainable desire to know everything, and to acquire knowledge and shatter ignorance. For knowledge is a weapon, and only wisdom is capable of nullifying its’ cancerous bullets.

But maybe I’ve become too pessimistic. Too nihilistic for a young human such as myself. Human beings are good. Of course we are good. We help the blind lady cross the streets. Sometimes.

And because we are so good, it would be a terrible loss for us to die. For this, by 2045, we shall be able to upload our consciousness onto avatars. Yes, it is actually a thing.

For our presence in the universe is a need, a must(?).

We shall forever live, we shall, like gods, conquer death, and, finally, rule over everything.

 

1. The 2045 Project, headed by Russia, with the help of neuroscience, hopes to be able to further human existence by operating on human consciousness.

 

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Creating Imitations

Existencial crises seem to gravitate towards me. More often than I would like, too.

This time, I could not bring myself to decide on a colour in which I would draw. When someone finally decided for me, I could not even begin to imagine what in the world I would draw.

I walked away, each step I took, engraving the pavement with question marks.

There was a time when calling myself an “artist” was glamorous. Even better, when other people described me as “really creative” and “so talented”, boy, would my ego blush!

It is to my misfortune, however, that I seem to, eventually, begin to dissect everything I experience. So, me being “creative” wasn’t about to be an exception.

It was on Wikipedia, yes, Wikipedia, that I found that back in the day, the notion of “creativity” was something that was solely attributed to God. Only God Himself could create.

Before you beg the question, here’s what Plato had to say about it:

Will we say, of a painter, that he makes something?

Certainly not, he merely imitates.

This is where my suppressed idealistic juices begin to flow. Having been blessed with big eyes, I cannot fail to contemplate all this beauty that surrounds me. The idea of my “art” being a humble attempt at capturing what has already been created sits well with my conscience.

And I’m not the only one:

For he’s the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap

– “Constantly Risking Absurdity”, Lawrence Ferlinghetti

All of this makes me reconsider  what it means to be creative or to create.

In all honesty, and it is the idealist in me that types this, I find it far more heartwarming to believe that all the world’s artistic expressions are but mere translations of a much higher form of beauty, a much higher form of language and an inpenetrable knowledge.

Artists have in them the responsibility to, as Ferlinghetti writes, catch Beauty as she jumps to our arms.

And to end this rant once and for all, because most have said it better than I could ever attempt to,

The poet doesn’t invent. He listens.

– Jean Cocteau