Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground is blowing my mind
I’m twelve pages in
His insight is crazy
Part I of notes from underground is the first work in a Walter Kaufmann existentialism anthology that I’m reading
twelve pages man
I have such a better idea of what existentialism is now
Now I know the category into which I fall
The rant of this man, Dostoevsky’s main character, is so much like my blog articles
Only way way way better
And I’m jealous.
it eats at me
The insight and writing chops and just all of it – it is so incredible to read
It has already taught me so much, and there’s so much that I’ve missed
And for all that wisdom
It just hurts that it’s not mine
What is that? What is it that he has, and what is it that I want?
Are they the same thing?
Whatever it is, why do I want it?
Ok, so even considering however painstakingly similar his thing and what I desire could potentially be,
there’s no way they could be identical
because we are different people
This is the logical argument against envy
The other logical argument against envy is:
just watch it play out in other people’s lives! It’s terrible
Well, I know that
But I am certain you all understand from experience the disheartening reality that knowing makes not for heeding and true wisdom manifests as action
Why must a vile-feeling ambition capture my spirit so?
Rampant and berserk, justifying itself by fringe good intentions
“oh yeah sure right yes of course duh I will”
Why must my horses be bulls and my reigns single strands of twine?
Why must I, and every man, process and consider all things with respect to himself and his own situations?
Almost as if he immediately assumes himself to be the most significant ingredient in each thing he encounters?
But how else could we know something, if not through ourselves?
It wouldn’t be knowing any other way, would it?
perhaps also we cannot differentiate between the objects of our desires and the things whose only relation to us is our common status as existers in the world
Oh well, we did not ask to be individuals
but we are
And we still believe in decent men
What can a decent man talk about with pleasure?
Himself, I guess
So, I do.