The force that pins us down is immense, isn’t it? So immense, so very immense. Frighteningly immense. ‘Well, you have to struggle to be free’, you pipe up bravely, ‘it’s important to be free, after all…’
I listen to you politely. What else can I do, after all? It’s not something I can explain – it’s not something anyone can explain. Yes, on one level we could certainly say that it is important to be free, in a purely abstract sense it is fair enough to say that. In strictly practical terms however, you might as well save your breath and use it for something else. Something more useful. Blowing up big red balloons for a party perhaps, or blowing out the candles on your birthday cake.
But how can I explain, how can I explain? The fatuousness of struggling – however heroically. To be free, that is. Or maybe futile is the word I’m looking for. Or maybe I should stick with fatuous? The struggle to be yet more fatuous than you already are – now there’s a struggle to wax lyrical about. There’s a struggle to bring a tear to the eye and a lump to the throat. It’s the ultimate struggle. The force that pins us down is immense, after all. Far more immense than you and I could ever possibly imagine. That’s what I’m trying to get across here.
All we’re allowed are our fantasies, wouldn’t you agree? Our poor sad fantasies. Regarding how everything is going to be great, regarding how everything is going to be wonderful. Let the good times roll, we say. Freedom is against the law you see, freedom has always been against the law. It would upset the apple cart of course and what would become of all the apples then? It would be sheer chaos. We couldn’t possibly allow that.
Exceptional problems call for exceptional remedies, as nobody can deny. The more exceptional the better. You can stay at home and watch yourself on TV if you like. You can watch a TV programme about yourself – your friends and neighbours can watch it too if that’s what they want. You can study yourself in the laboratory to see if you’re real. You can design sophisticated experiments and recreate various experiences to see how you react. Life’s a bumpy old journey and you can’t be sure if it’s worth it or not.
The research design is simple: you pretend to yourself that you exist, that you really do exist. In reality not in fantasy. You convince yourself of the fact, and then you put yourself through all sorts of torments that you can’t get out of. Then you can settle back and see what sort of experimental data can be obtained. What sort of hypotheses can be proposed. Will our hypotheses be supported or will they be sunk without a trace? Will we have to go back to the drawing board? Is truth false, or are lies true?
I yearn for freedom but fear the humiliation that comes with failure. The dreadful, dreadful humiliation. I fear the humiliation that comes with failure and for this reason I lie low and bide my time. It’s what I do best, after all.
