How many things would I sacrifice the phylum chordata for?
Sapientia Ianua Vitae
(Wisdom is the Gateway to Life)
“Wisdom and compassion,” says the bodhisattva. I have no wisdom and have upgraded my compassion to indifference. The only wisdom I have is that of the squirrel jumping from tree to tree without falling. “Look. It knows what it’s doing,” said Matt. Perhaps it knows how to do it but does it really know what it’s doing? I know how to drive, eat, walk, defecate, breathe – all these things excellently. But do I really know what I’m doing? I have no clue. It all seems meaningless, as if I was created to embody the apotheosis of pointlessness.
Is Quechua really a language of indigenous Peruvians that I can go and learn right now? Or does the simulation save “resources” and not bother to create languages I will never interact with? I can never know because if I go and learn a few phrases and study its grammar then I can still infer that this was created or prepared for me to give me the illusion of abundance.
If I was an entrepreneur or fashion designer, or even just a good skateboarder or surfer would I be so skeptical about the reality of people? I think that if I was immersed in a challenging field that I was competent at then I would easily assume that others are doing the same and that this is how civilization runs and is maintained. The fact that I’m so incompetent and static is a big factor in my skepticism of people. I don’t trust that people could be so much better than me and still be labeled as “real.”
I don’t believe in history. And by that I mean everything. I don’t believe in the financial struggles of a local Bulgarian football club. I reject physicalism and materialism and their assumption that there are objects such as people with permanence and causal efficacy.
Do I really believe in Gwangju, South Korea? No, no I don’t. Do I then believe that my family members are in the living room even though I don’t see them? I have to bite the bullet and say no. What exist are sense impressions in my consciousness that I helplessly conceptualize into people with permanence and personal causal efficacy.
Why does a wrestler lose his pride if he is unmasked? Is it because he is ugly and is ashamed of his appearance? If we are made in the image of God why does he have to hide himself? This simulation is his mask and underneath is a disgusting monster. Perhaps. Or perhaps he is beautiful underneath and doesn’t want to be unmasked because he fears people will envy him.
A captain in the Royal Navy, an Anglican priest, a politician – all people I will never experience. They were not born from their mother, they are sensations born from God’s creativity impressed on my mind.
It’s in some sense a wonderful story to believe that Victor Baltard architected all those things in 19th century Paris. However there is no need for an architect. If I ever see his work, this is just a sense impression. When I see the skyscrapers in Chicago I don’t believe that people like myself created them. I believe they are just the architecture of the simulation as the people are.
I could be in constant, terrible agony. The fact that I’m reliably not proves that God is merciful. This reminder gives me some hope that the future can be better than this. I especially look forward to death. Although if my expectations are too high I risk being disappointed. This life has let me down up until now.
Check out this random character from Wikipedia: Guillermo Prieto (10 February 1818 – 2 March 1897) was a Mexican novelist, short-story writer, poet, chronicler, journalist, essayist, patriot and Liberal politician. The breadth of the life accomplishments of the average Wikipedia character far surpasses me. I could never go down in Wikipedia. There would be no flurry of titles for me, no talents and no achievements, therefore no story to be told. This is my punishment – to be a nobody.
I long to triumphantly say: ‘Birth is ended, the holy life fulfilled, the task done. There is nothing further for this world.’ Except that I seriously doubt that meditation can be what releases me from samsara.
What would it have been like to have gone to a Christian school in Connecticut? What about growing up by a river in Bolivia? How different would I be? It’s a bit fascinating to ponder. The possibilities. Or the illusion of possibilities.
I don’t believe in animation studios. I believe God creates video games and anime. I believe all the names in the credits correspond to fake people. I am real and I can’t see myself participating in such impressive creations. I may be totally crazy or I might be super insightful. I don’t know. All I know is I believe it. And of course everyone qualifies as fake people so they are not completely special. It is just more obvious that they are fake when they achieve something amazing than when they work at Walmart or a factory doing more “believable” tasks.