keptic' is one of the few labels I accept. In all appearances, I am a soul who doubts everything that I
haven’t fully experienced with my entire self—my senses, my reason, my emotion, my body, my memory and all inward and outward expression. I am, as
a result, incredulous, cynical, pessimistic, doubtful, sensual and extremely honest with myself—usually at the expense of someone else’s, but
mostly my own, philosophical assertions. I cannot allow another’s hands to shape my entire life’s masterpiece, my most important art, my soul,
the entire memory and idea I have of myself. It is my duty to form my truths, no one has the casual rights to such an honour.
is a goal I set for myself long ago.
I attribute this curse to my youthful suspicion of authority, which I seemed to have developed at an early age. I began to peer psychoanalytically
into anyone I assumed was more authoritative than I, always questioning their knowledge and how they arrived at their conclusions. Why must I heed
what this person says? What gives him the authority?
were my most common questions. I only ever discovered that what they were teaching me
what they too were taught: second-hand hand-me-down knowledge, interpretations of interpretations. To appease this seemingly
insatiable lust to turn the tables on the authority figure, I had to dig deeper, down to their sources and to their sources sources. It was imperative
for me to discover if the person teaching me how to be human was indeed somehow more human than I.
Religion was the first to fall. Nothing in it could appease my most incredulous search for truth. The history, the metaphysics, the moralities, the
mythology, the cosmology, the promises, the prophets—all of them became to me artistic endeavours of mere men; people not unlike me pondering the
exact same nature I do throughout my growth. I soon thereafter took to ‘spirituality’ (to use the word in its modern sense) in the hopes of
finding if anyone may have discovered a foundation to stand on, a more firm footing. I was seduced quickly by their words and romantic ideas as they
forced their meaning upon different aspects of existence. These 'teachers' took me further away from myself, tempting me to walk down their
path in their
manner. It was a different almost more poetic take on life, but a take on life nonetheless. Of course, nothing was there but the
ideas of mere men; people not unlike me pondering the exact same nature I do throughout my growth. I found that in that instance, I was still being
Afterwords, foundations shuddered beneath me. Humanity, existence and purpose began to lose their meaning and it wasn’t long after that I was to
drown in the abyss of nihilism, misanthropy and depression—very real dangers that await a skeptic. I felt sickened by the nature of man in all its
cruelty, self-hate and vanity. I saw through my own illusions and hence the illusions of others. Man, to me, was no longer great; and it remained this
way for some time. I became existential, removing myself from the herd as to become no longer a part of this wicked game. Luckily, hitting a spiritual
bottom doesn't always end negatively.
Philosophy became a life-raft for a me. I found love and joy not in what they taught or their ideas or their conclusions; but in the way
taught, the way
formed their ideas and the way
they arrived at their conclusions. These mere men,
experimented with life in the
most beautiful way. The insurmountable odds against the expression of their life's work astounded me and I discovered a new avenue in which to
approach my own life: to discover and create it for myself, to become architect of my own foundation, my own philosophy, to become my own
prophet—free from the invasive almost parasitic ideas of others—a true skeptic.
Everyone should be proud of their enemies and hold them in the highest regard. My greatest enemy in the end was myself, the most important authority
figure I’ve ever stood against, the root cause of all my error. I challenged my methods, my ways, my interpretations, which still stunk of the
interpretations of others. I finally began to take control of myself and I washed away the paint of a thousand artists till I arrived at a blank
canvas. Like a child I was to discover again.
To this day, a child I remain; it’s an approach in my method. I experience and learn through that experience. I build upon the memory I have of
myself, my inward and outward expression—what I call my soul. It’s all a skeptic—some might say a human
—can ever know and trust.
Thank you for reading.
PS. While I have the proverbial microphone I’d like to take this moment to thanks ATS, and more specifically, the philosophers in the Philosophy and
Metaphysics section, for allowing me to practice writing, arguing, reasoning and philosophy among my fellow free-spirits. I read all your insight with
the greatest honor. We are all skeptics at heart. May our searching never end, and may the truth always evade us.
edit on 6-10-2012 by LesMisanthrope because: (no reason given)