ἀέναος οὐσία

I feel like not writing. Something in me hates it. I like writing only in theory, in thought. In practice, I hate writing. It takes time. Why write? Is thinking not enough? Why bother with it anyway? Yet, I like the idea of writing. I have an idea of me writing that is free, pensive, and creative. I like that person, and therefore, I like writing. I only like writing insofar as it makes me cool.

I feel like not existing; what is the point of existing if we all go back to non-existence anyway? Why bother? Why even try? It’s the same with writing. I am a raft unmoored, drifting in the vast ocean. I know not where I go, nor how, nor why. Waves envelop me. I am weary and battered.

Every word that comes out on the page feels like a lie. What I write is not what I feel. I don’t know what it is, who types it, or where it comes from. I am tired and it’s late. I don’t want to start now. It’s a lot of work, and I don’t want to do any work. I don’t know why I am alive. My life is without meaning.

The above are the words that come out of my mouth. I said them, or rather I typed them. Did I think them? Did they come out on their own, maybe? Could someone who is not me have typed them or thought them? I cannot tell with certainty. The only thing that is certain is that the body that answers to the name Andreas typed some words on his computer. This is concrete, clear, undoubtable reality. The whatness of it is not a mystery. But who typed those works? Why? What is the relation between a body and a person? Is body the same as person? Is it opposite? Different but not opposite? 

I stop myself short of theorising here. I have to resist the temptation. There is a part of me that wants to analyse and examine each and every case. Why does this part of me want to do that? For the sake and fun of it. Another part of me felt that this was contrary to what it wanted and found the whole endeavour rather dull and meaningless. What is to be achieved by categorising and analysing, anyway? The answer would remain the same: body and person are two different things.

This is not a new thought, nor does it try to be. It is my default answer, the one that feels right. In my body exist different persons, different voices. My mind is a building; the voices are spectres that roam and exist between the walls. They stretch in space and time. The same voices can be present at the same moment but occupy different fractions of that moment. They pop in and out.

Let us not get too much into details; they will bog us down. To return, body and person are two different things. Many persons/voices share the same body. Crap! I started writing not having in mind the dichotomy between body and mind—which is Descartes’ thing—but my very own feeling of meaninglessness. It seems like I got bogged down after all.

I cannot find the words to express my thoughts and feelings about meaning. I will try to approach the issue from the perspective of language. The inherent openness of language attracts me. Everyone is equipped with it and can use it. Language is common to all. I do not have special access to it more than any other language user.

Etymologically, the verb to mean has the sense of having something in mind, and this is how it is still used in other Germanic languages¹. So, meaning becomes the thing that is in the mind. Strangely enough, this is also the same for Greek, where meaning is νόημα: that which is thought or the result of the activity of νους (mind). Thus, meaning becomes a product of the mind, and to have a meaning is to have something in your mind.

Etymology also answers the question that naturally follows: How does one find meaning in their life? Well, to find meaning one needs to think. This is particularly evident in the ancient Greek, where the etymological chain is:

νόος/νοῦς
(mind)
↓
νοέω
(make use of mind/process/perceive/think)
↓
νόημα
(that which is thought, the result/product of thinking)

Meaning, then, is something that one arrives at when one uses their mind. Or, at least, this is the hard way of doing things. An easier way would be to use someone else’s product of thinking–to get their meaning and adopt it. Other times, it’s not even a matter of actively looking for a meaning to adopt. Most people find themselves in positions where they have already adopted or are asked to adopt meanings that are not theirs. Corporations, the state, religion, education, parents, friends, strangers, and everything in between fight to get their meaning insinuated deep in people’s minds. 

The conclusion, then, is that if I want to find meaning in my life, I need to think for myself, maybe see what other people have thought, or even adopt one of those pre-made, readily available meanings. I could think like and become a Christian, a Muslim, an Apple fan, a fierce atheist, my parents’ son, my country’s citizen… . The list can go on forever, but I want to be and think like myself and no one else.