Staring into Voids

Beyond the quagmire of the intellectual pursuit for meaning, lies the profound fear of the dissolution of the soul.

When I gaze at the sky, I feel wonder and awe. I feel divine for it is I who peers into the universe and ponder its mysteries and not the universe, despite its age and size which has the gift of thought. And yet, I feel so incredibly insignificant, that I am certain that I am nothing more than a probabilistic certainty - a blip in time and space and nothing more. I witness the unraveling of the threads of the fabric of creation with our sciences, and what is revealed is marvelous. The order of the universe is incredible and the sheer probability of life, no matter how infinitesimal, flowers all around me with prolific diversity. The grasp of our mind fascinates me, and yet, so overwhelmed am I , that I cannot even begin to understand the great scale of 'existence'. I struggle with my fascinating but feeble mind to grasp the edge of our sciences, and wonder about the corners we have painted ourselves into - where we struggle to reconcile our understanding into a consistent theme. And, I wonder, what's beyond this wall? Would our purpose be any clearer if we are able to see that the fundamental forces of our nature are indeed facets of the same multi-dimensional object?

In this absence of a solid understanding of our creation, must we turn to god for salvation? Is it not a web of lies meant to console and numb our minds? For it is one thing to see the hand of a creator in the incredible juxtaposition of circumstances that make this rant possible, but it is quite another to peddle fiction of the elaborate stairways to heaven, and all the fine ornamentation of a god-fearing life lead on the way to eternal bliss .

It's my hypothesis that fear above all other things drives our conception of a creator - specifically a benevolent creator - purveyor of all things that provide said bliss. Given our infinite curiosity, we peel back the layers of our universe one thin sheet at a time, but forever aware of the dark shroud that separates us from absolute truths. And in this darkness I fear that my soul will extinguish with so many questions unanswered. And that old man , dying in his bed, will be all too aware, that in the 10 billion years of known existence there will never be anything like that tiny blip ever again. And in the end, will another one of us embrace one of the many hands that reach out with false tales of a 'chance to persevere' beyond his last breath?

The coin I once tossed....

The excitement is palpable as I count down the days to our trip to Roma. I was there once before in 2007, but it seems like a lifetime ago. I was working in Munich for a few weeks for Infineon. Munich was cold and covered with snow. I dont recall with absolute certainty how I got from Munich to Rome, but given that my first memories of Rome were of the Termini stazione, it would be a safe guess that I took the green and dilapidated trenitalia.

I had known little about the city, other than the pop culture reference to Julius Caesar and the catholic church. I had visited the wikipedia / tripadvisor website and prepared a list of places to see. This was, after all, before the airing of ROME on HBO. I spent a day and a half in Rome, staying in a hostel for some 20-25 Euros a night. The hostel, whose name escapes me, was perhaps a few miles north of the Vatican City. I checked into the hotel first, and then with my backpack walked to St. Peter's Square, I remember walking past the door of 'Museo Vaticani', there were no lines, I assumed that it was closed that day. I made my way past busy city squares and turned the corner to behold the Magnificent Piazza San Pietro. There were massive lines to get into the bascilica, so I got in line and waited .

On Power

My thoughts on this topic are immature at best, but I hope that I aspire to ground myself in some of the ideas that I will ponder upon today.

Power - What is it? Is it acceptable to say that, for better or worse, it is the very thread from which the fabric of human history is made? Is there any inherent justification for power? Is there any benefit to the greater masses to submit to power? Is it simply a consequence of the natural order of things.

Whatever I read of history, I find the same pattern, and the same question. How is it that history is the story of so few? The story of many following a few, to death, to greatness, etc. How did this come to be? When was nobility conceived? Was it on the basis of wisdom or might? Of aggression or kindness? If I were to make conjecture, I would say nobility must have had its birth in military might. A family or group of individuals that protected, or perhaps a group that pillaged. But either way, the threat of violence is central.

Hypothesis: Violence is central to our history.

This is not that far fetched to believe, since, this is clearly the natural order of things. Nature is violent, that is in its mechanisms there is little room for the frail misgiving of human kindness. Just the clockwork of survival. So building on this hypothesis, we can also assume that, at least, in part, our beginnings were inspired by fear of violence. The agents of violence could have been nature itself or other humans. Whatever may have transpired seems to have lead to the result that many agreed to the dominance of few. And eventually this lead to the notion of ownership of land. Land as the primary resource must have only become important in terms of the produce. So in providing protection, the leaders of men must have felt a natural sense of ownership to the realm they had control over.

So a natural affinity to family groups and ownership of land must have led to the first distinction of the first noble family. But was it rational to think that the protection provided by the previous generation would be held intact by the next. Or did the mantle of leadership pass fluidly to the next best protector/pillager? Which brings us to the another question? What would those in power do to retain power? I mean they already clearly proficient in the crafts of violence. Political strife aka the struggle to retain/ or assume power is also therefore a function of violence. (TBC)